#Autumn can’t be here soon enough | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

markresonates · 8 months

Text

two hot

summary: for some reason, your body requires more than one alpha to satiate your needs in heat, leading Mark to seek assistance from his best friend when you unexpectedly start going into heat in public.

pairing: alpha bf!Mark x omega!fem reader x alpha!Haechan

other: alphas Jen & Jis lil voy

genre/trope: porn w/ lil plot, tiny fluff bc i'm soft; omegaverse, fake medical conditions as a plot device; (eventual poly, not jealous love tri)

word count: 8.8k

a/n: so here's that markhyuck omega heat sex threesome idea i mentioned a while ago...per usual, it’s longer than i said why am i the way i am i'm splitting it into two parts w/ pt 2 up soon!

warnings: rough unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), cock warming, manhandling, exhibitionism & extremely public, voyeurism, humiliation, lil dumbification, overstimulation, degradation & praise, spitting, stomach bulge, cum inflation, knotting, oral fixation reader, breeding & creampie kinks; sweet hard dom Mark & hard dom Haechan, super sub reader [ note – heat sex is categorized as dubcon; therefore, read at your own discretion ]

You thought you had more time. You should have had more time.

About an hour into your new Introduction to Astronomy lecture, your waning attention span is fully disrupted by a suspicious wetness you feel between your thighs. You uncross your legs and casually glance down, heart dropping when you discover a small pool of glossy slick in the middle of your lecture hall seat, heralding the start of your heat.

it’s official: life fucking hates you.

Rationally, you’re aware of the fact that you need to formulate a plan but as you shift in your seat, your train of thought is derailed by the sensation sparked between your legs. You clench your jaw and grind your teeth together, forbidding your mouth from vocalizing the shred of gratification you get from squirming in your seat.

Of all the damn days to pair a bodysuit and a pleated mini skirt, this day has got to be the absolute worst. But of course it had to be warm enough today that you felt comfortable showing more skin. In your mind, it made sense to seize the favorable weather before the last remnants of Summer disappeared into a chilly Autumn, but now you’d rather be bundled in three thick layers and sweating buckets than vulnerable in your current attire.

While you arch your back and discreetly grind against the messy chair, the bodysuit stretches, progressively sliding up your abdomen, and bunching at your waist. The damp material tugs on your hood, a second later, your clit is subjected to rough stimulation directly. Intense tingles ripple through your core from the sensitive spot. Even with your lips pressed together, you can’t suppress the tiny high-pitched squeak in your throat.

Renjun angles his laptop towards you, quickly typing out are you okay?

You freeze your body. Giving him a terse nod, you rid yourself of the unwanted attention and resume the lewd activity. It takes a mere 30 seconds for your folds to eat up the narrow strips of material that once covered your intimate parts, giving your slick pussy a wedgie. It’s uncomfortably restrictive, and yet, simultaneously a massive turn on.

You should be more concerned but the torturous pressure feels too good to stop, restraint briefly suspended again in a pleasured daze, chasing the desired pulsating sensation. Your eyes pop out of your head hearing the small metal snap of your bodysuit’s crotch region pop open, exposing your panties underneath and instantly bringing you back to reality.

Jisung ducks his head near your ear. “Hey, what’s that-?”

“What’s what?” you immediately cut him off, worried he heard the same noise.

He hums, pursing his lips. “What’s that smell?”

“uh, well…”

You gulp, so mortified that it’s impossible to meet his eyes, embarrassment warming your cheeks, your heat cranking up the bubbling sensation within you.

This shouldn’t be happening. You’ve documented your heat cycle since the day you started taking suppressants years ago. If you left it up to nature, your heat would be a seasonal affair. Now, thanks to the convenience of modern-day medicine, taking one daily pill significantly lowers your heat cycle frequency to biannually.

It’s always been consistent enough that you could pinpoint the exact 48 hour period in which it would start. In fact, a series of predetermined dates are highlighted on your desk calendar for when you’re supposed to be in heat: over four months from now.

Your scent is detectable in two ways: if someone were to press their nose directly to your scent gland, or the significantly more potent way, through the profuse slick secretion omegas produce in heat.

And given the fact that you’re practically sitting in a puddle of slick at the moment, panic is knocking at your front door with fever. Any alpha in a ten foot radius will soon smell the arousing nectar leaking out of you.

Fortunately, you’re in the last row of a half empty lecture hall. Rather than a dozen alphas, it’s a handful of the closest ones that’ll be raising their noses to get a whiff of the fragrant aroma floating through the air, two of those alphas being your friends.

Jisung sniffs around curiously, even going so far as to lean forward, over where Jeno is sitting directly in front of you.

“Hmm, it’s, like, sweet and fruity. Do you smell it? Like raspberries…or maybe strawberries?”

Renjun stops typing notes on his laptop. “I don’t smell anything.”

Figures; betas like Renjun don’t detect omega scents until they are at the absolute peak of their heat, and even then it wouldn’t be very strong.

“Also, for your information, raspberries and strawberries aren’t berries.”

“Wha- Really!?”

“Yeah. Most fruits that end in ‘berry’ aren’t actually berries, botanically speaking.”

“Um, Renjun?” you try to grab his attention in a hushed voice, failing as a result of Jisung talking over you at the same instant.

Besides your first heat, you’ve always been well prepared. You take preventative measures against potential alphas who may smell you and want to take advantage of a heat-drunk omega.

Your typical protocol entails remaining holed up in your dark room. The mini fridge by your desk is fully stocked with four days worth of food and beverages, the air conditioner is on full blast, curtains and blinds drawn closed. Your door is secured shut with three bolted locks too.

For your past few heats, Mark has locked himself up with you as well. Being an omega, it was of vital importance to find a trustworthy alpha that wouldn’t savagely take advantage of your heat-induced instinctual nature to follow an alpha’s orders. The whole reason you submit to Mark is because you know he would never take things too far. For your past two heats, Mark was knotting you until his exhaustion proved overwhelming, and he physically couldn’t use his big dick any longer. Basically, your alpha can’t go far enough, for some indiscernible reason.

Based on the increasing amount of slick and the new ache in your core, you’d estimate you have less than an hour before your heat will seriously start affecting your senses. There’s a reason you keep track of your heat cycle, and it’s to avoid horrendous situations like this one.

You’re struck with uncertainty and a minor sense of helplessness, facing your worst nightmare alone. At the moment, you don’t have Mark by your side, protecting you from other predatory alphas, ensuring you eat and drink something when you’re too out of it to do so yourself; and most importantly, pleasuring you to take away the pain that comes with your extreme heat cramps.

You need Mark.

Mouth beginning to water, deep in your filthy thoughts, you don’t register the conversation around you. You imagine him taking care of you in this very lecture hall, bent over the sturdy wooden podium at the front of the class.

You’re preoccupied and perplexed, a fraction of you developing a peculiarly strong craving for a knot – any knot. Considering how fast your heat crept up on you in the first place, you have every reason to believe this craving will continue to intensify. You feel ashamed to admit it, but at this rate, you might just find yourself allowing any alpha to knot you.

Jisungs face scrunches up in disbelief, hearing another botanical fun fact. “No way. You’re trying to tell me bananas are berries? I don’t believe you.”

Jeno snorts, barely peering over his shoulder to throw his two cents into the hushed conversation. “Why are you arguing with Renjun? When was the last time you ate a fruit?”

“I don’t know. When was the last time you didn’t fall asleep at 6 am?” Jisung grumbles, not-so-quietly as he intended.

If they weren’t in a classroom setting, Jisung would’ve hidden behind Renjun or grabbed something to shield himself from the other alpha’s wrath. Jeno fully twists his torso around, dawning a toothy grin that spells trouble for the youngest in the near future. He opens his mouth to speak but ultimately falls silent.

The lecture hall’s desks are the type that flip down to hover over half of your lap. With only your right thigh covered, Jeno’s eyes flick down to where you've been looking.

He zeros in on the source of the fruity scent Jisung was referencing. He drops his smile, licking his lips, dark pupils flashing candy apple red. The other two shift their attention to your lap in quick succession.

Initially, Jisung doesn’t see what they do from his position. His curiosity then leads the naive boy to bend his upper body down and inch forward. Finally granted a vantage point to peer between your legs, his face turns a shade that matches the berries he spoke of a minute ago.

“Uh, y/n? Are you, um, in-” Jisung stutters, his bright eyes locked between your parted thighs.

Both alphas stare, mystified by the sight of your drenched panties, the thin white material now see-through and doing nothing to stop you from making a mess in the center of the lecture hall chair. Lifting your head, you see Jeno’s pupils fully dilated, swirling with lust, and you imagine Jisung isn’t too far off, mirroring the older alpha.

You belatedly try to snap your thighs together but Jisung, of all people, latches onto your inner knee and keeps most of your seeping slit on display for them. His fingers digs into your soft skin in an uncharacteristically possessive manner, while Jeno quietly growls.

They’re increasingly aroused hearing a spurt of your slick gush from your core, discovering you to be turned on by your own humiliation. You softly whine, embarrassed beyond all possible belief.

“What happened to decorum, huh?” the beta scolds the younger alphas.

Jisung snaps out of it and rips his hand away so fast it hits his desk. “Ow!”

“Acting like you just presented and never smelled slick before? Ugh. Get a fucking grip, you guys.”

Renjun sets his phone on his desk, angling it towards you to show his screen and you tune out the apology from the frazzled boy on your right. “Hey, so I texted Mark. The good news is he’s on his way.”

You exhale in relief. “Okay. Wait, what’s the bad news?”

Renjun winces, reluctant to kill your newly kindled hope. “Well…he said it’ll probably take him a half hour to get here.”

“A half hour?”

You snap your tongue, loathing today’s dreaded turn of events. You squeeze your eyes shut to fight off the tears threatening to stain your burning cheeks.

“Oh, hold on.” Renjun scans the new message from your boyfriend, rereading it in his head, triple checking the text before delivering the additional details. “He said he’s…sending someone to get you? And they’ll be here in a dozen minutes or so.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Who?”

“Dunno, he didn't say.” Renjun shoots him another text, asking for the identity of this mystery person he’s referring to.

You stare at his phone intently, beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck and haloing your hairline. Renjun taps the dim screen to keep it from turning off.

As you impatiently wait for an answer, your old nervous habit of picking and biting your nails resurfaces. You peel part of your nail off and fixate on the minor self-inflicted sting for the sake of a distraction from your intimate regions pulsating with arousal, not to mention the graphic, x-rated imagery about how easily you’d bend over for alphas in your vicinity.

Renjun lifts the back of his hand to your feverish forehead, the worry on his face deepening into his soft features. “Don’t take this the wrong way, y/n, but why did you come to class if you were in pre-heat?”

“When I left my apartment this morning, I didn’t fucking feel like I was in pre-heat,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

You ring your head low and swallow your bad temperament as the harsh tone reaches your ears. You cringe, barely recognizing your own voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated because I don’t know what’s going on. I shouldn’t take it out on you though.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. You’re stressed out.” Renjun gives you a sympathetic look, equally as confused by your body as you are. “Well this explains why you wore that today.”

“What do you mean?”

Renjun clicks on the weather app to show you the temperature outside. “Because it’s cold today. But if you were really warm, the temperature outside wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Ugh, oh my god. You’re right,” you reply, mentally slapping your forehead for not actually checking the forecast for today. Simply put, you believed you knew better, based on how warm your room felt when you got out of bed this morning.

You hold your abdomen and apply minimal pressure there, preparing for the onset of pain when your cramps start up, just like the bad habit responsible for the new drop of blood swelling at the tip of your finger.

Jisung is quick to dig into his messy backpack and procure a quick fix for any minor injuries. It’s clear that he’s trying to be as helpful as possible, still feeling terribly guilty for holding your thighs open and preventing you from hiding what was visible to him and Jeno through your thin panties.

You dab the blood with the folded tissue he hands you, and then wrap the blue and green, dinosaur themed band-aid around your finger. “Thank you,” you whisper to Jisung sincerely, touching his arm to express gratitude.

You don’t blame the guilt-ridden alpha too much. After watching your pussy leak slick through the soaked white material, it was only in his nature to want to breed an omega on the verge of going into heat. The baby alpha Jisung you know and love wouldn’t do that.

Renjun lightly taps the back of your hand when you pick the finger next to the freshly bandaged one. He clasps your hands together, preventing you from doing more damage to that hand, at least.

You frown at your hypocritical friend who himself hasn’t managed to kick the same bad habit as you. Nonetheless, you appreciate his comforting action.

“You know, I keep thinking why me? What have I done to deserve this?” You gesture at your thighs with your free hand. “And how am I supposed to last another however many minutes?”

Renjun pauses and sighs. “On second thought, maybe you should go now. It’s way stuffier inside, so it might be a good idea to go splash some water on your face in the bathroom first before whoever Mark sent gets here.”

You hesitate for a second. You're troubled by not only the mess you've made in your seat, but the continual trickle of slick, potentially painting a colorful bullseye on your wet cunt.

Alphas with practiced, keen olfactory systems can track a scent from a mile away, the express purpose to savagely use the needy omega they find simply because your kind is at its most vulnerable in heat.

You always knew that omegas drew the short stick in life, but it was only after you had observed Mark’s rut in person that you officially became envious of alphas. An alpha’s number one priority during rut, above food and shelter and anything in between, is to breed omegas.

They’ll brutally fuck a slick hole for multiple days, repeatedly knotting them until their bun-hungry alpha brain is sure that the omega will deliver them happy, healthy pups.

Nearly every omega and most alphas take suppressants, making the chances of knocking up an omega less than 0.001% if both partners are medicated. Though, regardless of their incredibly slim chances of conceiving, that does not dissuade a stubborn alpha in rut from attempting to produce offspring.

During Mark’s last rut, despite the primal need to dominate and fuck your brains out, oddly enough, his stamina weirdly didn’t match yours.

“Whoever Mark’s sending is supposed to get here any minute, so there’s no real harm in leaving a minute earlier. No one would try anything with you if you’re in a public setting like school,” Renjun assures you and gives your hand one last squeeze.

“Y/n?” Jisung works up the courage to gently tap your arm like you did his, giving you what remains of the travel size tissue packet that’s been in his backpack for nearly three years. “Don’t worry about the chair. We’ll wipe it off when you leave.”

Jeno guiltily turns around again and apologizes like the younger alpha. He then makes a generous offer to save you the trouble of waiting a second longer to leave for good.

“I can drive you home now, if you want, y/n. And, you know, if you feel comfortable enough being alone with another alpha…no pressure. It’s just the least I can do.”

“Um, thank you. I think, uh…”

Fifteen minutes ago, when you had no plan whatsoever and hadn’t been in contact with Mark, you would’ve taken him up on the offer, but Renjun is right. You know that a part of you is really craving a knot. However, you believe you’re lucid enough to handle going to the bathroom by yourself.

You don’t see yourself jumping at the first opportunity to sit on a throbbing alpha cock, bouncing up and down, pathetically begging them to fill you up with an excessive amount of cum, like you did before. Plus, you don’t want to attract even more unwanted attention if two of you were to stand up and walk out in the middle of the lecture.

“I think I’m good, Jeno. It’s just around the corner. I’ll be fine.”

You pick up your bag, tying the varsity jacket that Jeno generously handed to you around your waist. You head for the door, walking at a reasonable speed to not attract more attention than your scent likely has.

Jeno’s jacket conceals most of the slick running down your inner thighs, and you make a mental note to somehow make it up to him later.

You have almost reached the bathroom when, out of nowhere, you’re ambushed by an alpha, pressed face first against the brick wall of the science building.

Whoever it is had the sense to slip his hand in front of your heated forehead to break the blow against the wall and not crack your skull open on impact. Obviously, alphas don’t want a dead omega.

You can’t breed something that’s not breathing.

That’s basic alpha 101.

Your heart rattles in your ribcage, racing a million miles per hour. You wish you were allotted enough time to wipe up your slick before being attacked.

If only you had accepted Jeno’s offer to be safely escorted, then you wouldn’t be pinned to a wall, hands held behind your back by an alpha presumably relying purely on an animalistic desire.

To make matters worse, being dominated so aggressively triggers a surge of arousal from within your inner omega, the yearning for sexual fulfillment intensifying at a rate higher than in your lecture.

On instinct, tremendously touch starved, you grind your hips back, pressing your ass against the half-hard cock hidden in the alpha’s pants.

He leans closer to your ear, pulling the cherry lollipop out of his mouth to whisper in a deep, gravelly voice, “Did somebody miss me?”

You whimper, timidly, and he chuckles.

Something possesses you to tilt your head to the side, submissive and craving a knot so damn badly that you’re willing to bare your vulnerable neck for the alpha.

He hesitates, before nosing at your scent gland, shakily exhaling through his mouth. Presented with such an alluring opportunity, the alpha almost loses his cool, tempted to accept your invitation and take advantage of your omega’s baseline reflex to submit.

Practicing a degree of restraint that very, very few alphas in his unique position possess, he instead places a single soft kiss to the spot he knows is reserved for Mark’s teeth.

Mark…

You break out of your innate trance as lips that don’t belong to your alpha are still pressed to your neck, the gravity kicking in about what it means to allow a stranger to bite and claim you.

You can’t imagine what your life would be like as a double claimed omega, shared by two alphas, belonging to both Mark and the mysterious, possessive person behind you.

You catch him off guard by ripping away. You whip around, snapping your tongue when you finally discover the identity of your attacker.

“Argh, what the fuck, Haechan?”

You lean back against the solid wall, holding a hand over your chest as if your heart is on the brink of bursting through the slats of your ribs.

“Did you have to give me a heart attack? What happened to saying hello, hm?”

He snickers, a melodious, infectious laugh that makes you want to smile as well. This time, with tremendous effort, you hold your ground.

“What’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” he says, sticking the candy back in his mouth.

You wish you could chase away the butterflies in your stomach that are consistently conjured up when his designated pet name for you rolls off his silver tongue. You’ve seen Haechan flirt with countless girls, yet he’s always reserved “sweetheart” and “sweetie” for his favorite omega.

You can’t describe why hearing his pet names excites you, inappropriately so. Perhaps, you like feeling special to him in some way, his sugar-coated sweet tooth reserved for you and you only.

Mark knows all of this.

He would have to be both blind and deaf to not see Haechan’s effect on your body and pick up on the sound of your heart racing. His charming best friend is frustratingly swoon worthy, but Mark had never minded it much. A case can be made that Mark is the jealous type. It’s for this very reason you find it so curious that he allows Haechan to get away with openly flirting with his omega.

“Why are you even-?”

You freeze as he wipes a tear from your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers along the side of your face and down your neck. He wraps his hand behind your neck with his thumb pressing into where your pulse is fluttering rapidly, tucking the lollipop into the side of his cheek to speak.

“Shh, take deep breaths for me, baby. In…out…in…out.”

The alpha’s instruction marginally calms your nerves, your omega instincts compelling you to follow without question. You are obedient and malleable, most especially in heat, for Haechan and your own alpha, of course.

“Good girl.” His praise has you biting your lip, whining softly. “Renjun probably told you but Mark’s on his way. He sent me to take care of you first.”

“Oh,” you reply, dumbly.

You should have suspected that Mark would send him to pick you up. It’s obvious in retrospect. He trusts Haechan with his life; by extension, he would have total faith in his best friend to handle you too.

“Yeah, oh,” he mimics with an annoyingly charming curl of his heart shaped lips.

Haechan basically gets off on annoying people, although his form of teasing you differs from others. Plus, you never fail to give him the reaction he’s searching for, playfully rolling your eyes, quietly snapping your tongue, or throwing some weak comeback in return.

“Are you disappointed to see me, y/n? I know you're Mark’s princess but you’ll just have to settle for me this time.”

“Wow, how noble of you. My hero,” you reply, sarcastically. “Can we go now?”

“By all means, lead the way, sweetheart.”

Right on queue, you roll your eyes, just like he knew you would. You take a few steps in the direction he gestures to before the first heat cramp punctures your core. Luckily, Haechan catches your body as your knees buckle, doubling over in pain.

Haechan clears his throat. “Y/n, you should know that Mark didn’t just send me here to pick you up,” he says cryptically, unpocketing his phone.

He proceeds to play a voicemail Mark left him. You listen with pursed lips, furrowing your brow as you take in your alpha’s words.

You try to concentrate on the message, partially distracted by Haechan’s scent swirling around you, quickly permeating your skin and thoughts.

“Hyuck, you’re the only alpha I completely trust to take care of y/n like that…and by that, you know what I mean. And don’t be surprised if she, like, starts to beg for it. She can be realllly needy, trust me.”

There’s a spike in Haechan’s scent, reminded of his personal mission to hear you beg.

Despite not having kissed him, you can taste him on your lips. His all-encompassing spicy musk intensifies, melting into a subtle syrupy vanilla that clings to your tongue and stirs up a hunger for forbidden fruit. The cherry candy is no match to his natural scent.

“Oh! One more thing. y/n likes it a bit, um, rough when she’s in heat…so just keep that in mind. I’ll be there as soon as possible, dude. 40 minutes tops. Alright, see you then.”

Haechan looks at you, searching for a reaction, but instead, he sees your face contort painfully again.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

You turn your head, now within proximity to count all the pretty moles on his sun-kissed face, like sunflower seeds you’re tempted to taste and swallow by the handful until you’re physically ill.

“Do you want…”

You straighten your back again, a chill running up your spine as Haechan slowly reaches under your skirt. He drags his hand up the inside of your thigh. The tips of his fingers draw through the many lines of slick dripping down your legs.

“…my help?” he finishes in a tone deeper than you knew he could produce.

Your cheeks and ears burn with embarrassment, feeling another mini rush of wetness soak the utterly useless material covering your throbbing core. There’s no denying that you’re incredibly aroused by Haechan. He knows you know he can smell the gush of new slick you involuntarily released.

A strong sexual desire pumps through your veins, driving you up the walls. You’ve always been curious about what it would be like to have the alpha ruin you and use your body like a toy, but you’re not certain how much of that can be attributed to being on the verge of heat. For better or for worse, you decide that that’s a problem for future you to determine, and present you to toss out the window.

Tasting a mere crumb of Haechan’s touch wasn’t enough – you had to swallow him whole, and the only way you could do that is by giving him the pleasure of devouring you first.

“y-yes, please.”

Your answer is so faint that if he were any farther away, he wouldn’t have heard it.

Haechan suppresses a smug smile, pleasantly surprised to get your first “please” this soon after catching up with you.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart.”

His skilled fingers touch where you want him most, grazing over your clothed pussy. Anticipating some kind of pleasured noise, he holds your body close and pops the lollipop inside your mouth.

He scans your surroundings for a place nearby with any additional smidge of privacy. Locating a possible secluded destination, he steers your weak body in the direction of his choice. Haechan snakes a hand up the front of your skirt again, pressing his thick cock against your ass as you stumble forward.

Imagining how dirty you must look turns you on, the debauchery of grinding on someone in broad daylight while they have your skirt flipped up to rub over your wet panties has your vision blurring momentarily. Modesty is nothing but a vague concept in the far off distance, seconds away from disappearing over the horizon.

The next thing you know, your body is pressed against a cool hard surface, bleary eyed and craving the kind of high only a mind blowing orgasm can earn.

You vaguely recognize you’re behind the science building you came out of before Haechan ambushed you, escaping the bright rays of burning sun that were beating down on you by slinking into the secluded shadows with the golden, silky voiced alpha.

Your skirt rides up as he shoves a knee between your legs. He gets a firm grip on your hips as you grind down against his thigh, soaking the material of his skinny jeans, creating a wet spot in the denim with your slick.

“Wow, would you look at that? Baby made a mess all over me already. I bet you wanted that, huh? Rubbing your slick on me so people know you’re fucking two alphas?”

You remove the lollipop to refute his provocative claim. “I-I’m not fucking two alphas.”

“Ha, maybe…not yet, anyways. But you want to. Isn’t that right, y/n?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue rough, throat scratchy like sandpaper. You part your lips to argue with him but nothing comes out. Instead, you insert the lollipop again, sucking on the shrinking round candy, a poor attempt at covering up your original intention.

“Exactly…now, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Haechan places your clammy hands on either side of his shoulders to ensure you won’t lose your balance, then he lowers himself to crouch in front of you.

“Hold.” He lifts up your skirt, giving you the bottom hem so he can get down to business.

Haechan’s fingers dig between your clothed folds, feeling your slick leak onto his hand. The thin material pushes into your entrance in an unsatisfying way and you whine.

He tsks his tongue three times, shaking his head. “Just as I suspected.”

You don’t need a reminder of how wet you are, and yet Haechan still brings his hand up for you to see the wet webbing clinging to the tips of his spread fingers anyways. A small embarrassed noise escapes your mouth.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, using his thumb to toy with your clit, “you look so adorable when you’re embarrassed. All rosy-cheeked and messy.”

Haechan slides your panties down your legs and you cooperate by stepping out of them, hands still anchored to his shoulders. He brings them to his face and licks off a great majority of the wetness that seeped out of you, peering into your soul as he does so. Your lips form a slight pout, missing his touch.

“Ha, Mark was right. You are a needy omega,” he teases and pockets your panties like a trophy he’ll proudly keep forever.

“What would Mark say if he saw his precious omega barring her neck for a total stranger?”

You softly moan a bit louder as he curls his fingers just right. Your knees wobble, struggling to stay upright.

The image of the alpha ravaging your body while Mark watches the act unfold, makes it difficult to focus on your surroundings, distracting you from the minor degree of shame in your chest.

You couldn’t care less about your indecent exposure at the moment either – you feel too good to care about anything.

“H-haechan…I want you…want you so fucking bad,” you breathe out, words slightly slurred with the round candy in your mouth.

Haechan’s cock twitches, picturing you in tears, your walls struggling to accommodate him. However, he is aware that behind a school building isn’t the most ideal place to take an omega in heat, especially considering the potency of your heavenly scent, steadily increasing.

Since Mark isn’t here yet, the least he could do is take you inside the building.

Your slick seeps into the frontside of Haechan’s clothes, clinging to his upper body for dear life as he carries you into an empty classroom. He sets you down on the lab table and observes the damage to his clothes.

“i-i’m sorry about that.” You lean back, peering down at your lap, nervously.

“Oh, baby…c’mere.”

Haechan cups over your knees and tilts forward to kiss your neck, sucking a dark hickey right next to your mating mark from his best friend.

“I like collecting these little spots from you.” He pries your thighs apart and draws closer to your bare pussy.

“It’s cute that your body can’t help but mark me somehow.”

He gets on his knees, darts his tongue out to swirl around your clit. His fingers prod your slick core and slide inside you, stroking your sensitive spot skillfully. The breathy noises he’s rewarded with are ones he’ll remember forever.

It’s astonishing how quickly Haechan figures you out.

He’s already in tune with your body, keenly aware of what makes you tick, knowing how to make you quiver and arch your back beautifully.

Not before long, Haechan has you shaking uncontrollably, squeezing your eyes shut, your short stuttered breathing uneven and shallow as your orgasm peaks, and you topple into an abyss of intense pleasure. The lollipop falls out of your open mouth, rolling off the black table.

You might as well be outside, stargazing in the dead of night based on how many constellations and galaxies twinkle and swirl behind your fluttering eyelids.

Haechan doesn’t let up on his efforts to overload your system with a tingly static sensation. Sobbing pathetically, you try to bat him away with what little strength you have, overstimulated and overcome with the sizzling heat frying your nerve endings.

He huffs and retracts his hands, wiping his mouth and the mess of dripping juices on your inner thigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t touch you anymore!” he tosses his hands up in the air, melodramatic as ever.

“Finally,” you murmur, granted relief to catch your breath for the first time.

You’re heavily panting, linking your fingers together and resting your hands atop your head to allow better airflow into your oxygen deprived lungs. He steps back and studies you like a unique specimen for medical observation.

A few quiet moments pass before the dull cramps creep up inside you, not yet terribly painful but aching in a way that guarantees incoming sharp pains. You whimper for stimulation again, sending puppy dog eyes at Haechan.

“More…please.”

The alpha’s face is painted with mischief, taunting you by reaching for your body then abruptly stepping back to watch you sniffle, and rock back and forth.

Upon noticing your eyes starting to well up with tears, he ultimately gives in. Haechan curls two and then three fingers inside you, opening you up for his throbbing cock.

As much as he’d love to see you cry, he’s under strict instruction to satisfy and take care of you. He can’t threaten to not relieve the effects of your heat and tease you to the point of genuine distress.

“Aww, don’t cry, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

You let out a breathy moan and make grabby motions to the tent in his pants.

“Hm, does the cry baby want a knot?” You bite your bottom lip, nodding. “Yeah? Can you use your words? Or is there nothing going up there in that pretty little head of yours?”

He lightly taps your forehead twice, then slides that hand up to tangle in your hair.

You smile, shy and small, and, dare he say, adorable. “You- you think I’m pretty?”

One side of the alpha’s mouth curls up, amused that “pretty” was the only word that you clung onto. He rolls his eyes, teasingly.

“Of course you’re pretty, y/n.” Haechan removes his hand from your hair to take out his thick cock. “And only the prettiest of girls get this.”

With a newly unveiled salivating incentive, you immediately pull yourself together, spine straight as an arrow.

You stare at his shiny, precum-glossy cock with heart eyes, licking your lips as he gives himself a few jerks and produces more pearly droplets from his slit. He pushes you back against the lab table when you try to get to your feet for a taste.

“You can choke on my cock later, princess. I thought you wanted a knot? Or did you change your mind?”

“No! I-I do want it,” you frantically reply.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I really want it, Haechan, really badly.” He raises an eyebrow, expecting more. “Please…please, knot me. I wanna be filled with your cum. I’m begging you…breed me, Alpha.”

Breed me, Alpha rings in Haechan’s ears like wedding bells signifying the everlasting bond of a committed partnership. Hearing your sweet voice desperately begging for his seed, using the dominant title you only ever use with Mark, your real alpha, gets Haechan rock hard.

He savors every second he gets to be your alpha.

Satisfied with your eloquently worded, pitiful plea, he lines himself up. His shiny cockhead glides through your folds before breaching your dripping entrance.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart,” the alpha whispers against your scent gland, his mouth sucking it softly.

You gasp as he drives his hips forward, forcefully pushing against your tiny hole until you’ve accepted his blunt tip, and sucked his fat cock inside.

Mark can smell you the second he drives on campus. He rolls his window down to take another alluring whiff, his right hand just barely gripping the bottom of the steering wheel while his left palms the bulge in his snug jeans, tenting obscenely.

Mind preoccupied, his tunnel vision blinds him from focusing on a single thing besides seeking you out and filling you with loads of cum as soon as possible. He doesn’t recall pulling into the parking lot, getting out of his car, or locking it. All he knows is that, within the blink of an eye, he’s rushed across the campus, his feet landing just outside one of the science labs housed in the same building as your astronomy lecture.

Yanking the door wide open, his wild eyes dart to where his best friend’s knot is locked inside his omega, rubbing your clit so aggressively after your third orgasm that you’re reduced to a twitching mess.

You don’t immediately recognize Mark’s presence, too lost in the intense buzzing sensation to even register that the alpha barged into the room.

Mark slams the door behind him and purposely leaves the door unlocked like Haechan did. There’s a certain reckless thrill that comes with the possibility of getting caught in a compromising position.

In contrast to the way he raced here, driving haphazardly and disobeying traffic laws, Mark slowly crosses the lab room towards your splayed body in a few, brisk strides. He removes his hard cock from his jeans with a lazy smile, stroking himself and licking his lips as you cry out.

Haechan flicks his chin up at Mark, greeting him happily. He makes a show out of pressing a slick-coated finger against your lips to silence you.

“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta keep it down. You don’t want everyone next door to hear, right? They’d probably say ‘we should go check on whoever’s crying!’ Only to come in here and find their pretty classmate is a dumb little slut…with a cunt full of cum.”

You whine, leading him to push two of his dirty fingers into your mouth to shut you up. His smirks as you mindlessly suck on them like a binkie, shutting your eyes and humming pleasantly.

“She’s so pretty when she cries.”

“I know right?”

Mark makes a growling noise in the back of his throat as he rubs his hand over where he can see the faint outline of Haechan’s thick knot buried inside you, making your abdomen bulge. Both you and Haechan shutter, feeling a tingly sensation from the pressure your boyfriend applies.

“So, how’s she been?”

“Well, she-”

“Mar?” you weakly croak around Haechan’s fingers and he removes them.

“I’m here, y/n, I’m right here.” Mark wipes a lone tear of yours away and caresses your warm cheek. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“I’m…hot.”

“No objection there,” Haechan jokes.

“Why did you send Haechan?” you continue like you didn’t hear the alpha currently plugging you up with cum.

“Oh, y/n. You remember how you were during your last heat.” Mark stops stroking his cock and takes out a tissue to dab away the sheen of sweat on your feverish forehead.

“Actually, you were probably too far gone, huh?”

You blink up at him, tilting your head into his hand when he tries to wipe your cheek. If you’re being honest with yourself, you only recall bits and pieces, and none of those memories are exceptionally vivid.

“I didn’t know it was possible. Like, I looked it up and on average, omegas need to be knotted 5x before their heat breaks. But, y/n, seriously, I lost track of how many times I knotted you and it’s never enough. I couldn’t take care of you throughout all of your heat and it killed me to see you like that and not be able to help you more. You need more than I can give you, princess.”

He offers you a small genuine smile, his hand trailing down to palm at your exposed breast. Mark gently rolls your nipple between his fingers, hearing you quietly purr. “So Haechan was nice enough to agree to help me help you.”

“But Mark-”

“It’s for your own good, y/n,” Mark calmly tells you. “And didn’t Haechan make you feel nice?”

“Um, well, I-”

You gulp, ruminating on how you want to answer, whether you should tell him that another alpha made you feel as amazing as Mark does.

“Wanna tell me what it’s like to have his knot locked inside that tight little pussy of yours? I know you love being full of my cum. What about his cum? I bet you looove getting fucked full of his cum too, huh?”

“Y-yeah, I love being full of cum…your cum and-and Haechan’s cum.”

Mark smiles at your response and rewards you by pinching your perky nipple. “That’s what I like to hear, baby.”

You whine when Haechan wiggles his mostly deflated cock out of your tight core. “You really weren't lying when you said she gets super wet.”

“Hm, let me feel.” He hums, looking closer and dipping his fingers inside the dripping combination of your fluids.

Mark widens his nostrils and takes in the aroma of Haechan’s cum mixed in with your juices, his eyes flashing blood red.

It’s unfamiliar and vaguely off putting to smell his mate has been violated and fucked open by another alpha. Although, overall, the dominant sensation coursing through Mark is arousal, turned on by the thought of sharing your body.

“Nah, man. It gets worse, you’ll see. Her heat hasn’t even peaked yet.”

Mark addresses Haechan like you aren’t even here. To be fair though, during your heat you’re not all here anyways.

“W-worse?”

“By the end of her last heat, she had so much fucking cum in her, I don’t know where it was all going.”

“Ha, we got ourselves a little cum dumpster here,” Haechan snickers, sliding his fingers inside your cum dribbling cunt again.

With such an overflowing amount of slick and cum, if someone told you that the obscene squelching that fills the room is a soundbite from some high quality pornography, you wouldn’t doubt it. You croon as he curls them up just right, taking a moment to stimulate your most sensitive spot skillfully.

He retracts them sooner than you’d prefer and brings his fingers to your mouth. “Suck.”

A fat droplet falls on your bottom lip.

Mark rubs slow, comforting circles over your abdomen. “Go ahead, baby,” he encourages, leaning down to suckle on your neglected bud.

Earning Mark’s blessing, you obediently suck your own berry wetness and Haechan’s cum off of the alpha’s fingers.

“God, what a filthy slut,” he says once you’ve fulfilled his wish. “She gives in so easily, she’d do anything to get another load of cum.”

A weak sound of protest weasels up the back of your throat, disagreeing with the term he used to describe you. You expect Mark to disagree with his best friend’s crude statement, but he shockingly does the opposite.

“Tell me about it, dude. The whole time she’s always begging for a knot and more cum. I know a lot of omegas beg in the middle of their heat…”

Mark pets your head gently for a second, then snakes his fingers into your hair, giving it a brief yank.

If you weren’t on the precipice of your heat hitting full force, his sudden action would’ve caused you a decent amount of pain. But by now, your aching body welcomes any form of touch – the rougher the better. The demeaning terms trigger strobing excitement inside you.

“…but with y/n, it’s like where did my sweet omega go? Who’s this needy cumslut?”

Your bottom lip quivers, internally conflicted by your budding arousal. Mark looks down at you with pity in his eyes.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, “don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying it to be mean, I’m just telling the truth. You don’t know what it’s like trying to take care of you.”

You whine softly, your foggy emotional state making you feel guilty, even if the fraction of you that’s still of sober mind knows that you have nothing to feel guilty for. The seeds of insecurity take root in your head, questioning if he secretly resents being with you, if you’re too much of a burden that he wishes he wasn’t your alpha.

Mark reads the emotional turmoil brewing on your precious face, and to soothe the distress, he quickly leans over to kiss it away. He kisses down your face, lips lightly kissing your forehead twice, between your eyebrows, the tip of your nose and finally to your lips, much gentler than the hand responsible for the arousing sting on your scalp. Mark tastes the other alpha and grins anyways.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about it, y/n.” He brushes a few stray tears away from where they began to spill from the corners of your wide, glossy eyes. “I just wanna make sure you’re well taken care of this time.”

“Even without you, I can take care of myself well enough,” you sniffle, lying through your teeth, fooling no one, not even yourself.

Your hand twitches, wanting to prove a point but hesitating because you're not used to being watched by two sets of eyes.

“Go ahead and touch yourself, princess. I know you want to,” Mark tells you.

“R-really? Like, um…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “...in front of him too?”

You sneak a glance at Haechan, who, by the looks of it, is about ready to unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole any second now. You vaguely remember wanting him to do so not too long ago in your most fuzzy heated state.

“Yes, in front of me and Haechan.”

“Aw, sweetheart. I just fucked your pretty cunt and yet you still feel embarrassed?” Haechan pouts in mock sympathy. “That’s adorable.”

Mark exchanges a look with his best friend before turning back to you. “Be a good girl for me and demonstrate how you used to do it before we met. You can do that, right, babe?”

An adoring smile reaches his lips, eyes locking with yours. You could try to deny the lewd act, but above all else, you want to please your alpha.

Mark wants you to be a good girl, and that is exactly what you will be. You gulp, releasing a shaky sigh, and nodding timidly. Your mouth twitches up to mirror his sincere smile as best as you can manage.

“That’s my girl,” Mark beams.

Mark knows how to comfort you, pushing two fingers into your mouth to give you something to wrap your lips around. He gently cups the back of your hand and guides it lower while you’re pleasantly suckling.

You tilt back, propping your upper body up by extending your left hand behind your back. Folding your spread legs up and planting your heals on the edge of the wide black lab table, exposing your throbbing cunt to the alphas.

You trace your fingers through your folds, rimming your freshly used entrance before sliding two of them inside, moaning around Mark’s fingers as you follow his instructions.

Muscle memory of touching yourself on a frequent basis over the years takes charge, and within seconds, you locate your weak spot.

“There you go. Good girl.”

You mewl, your legs trembling every so often as you draw your fingers up to stimulate your clit. The muscles in your face are equally as prone to a visceral jumpy reaction as your lower half is.

Craving more, you lay your upper body back against the table, and switch hands to curl your left fingers in your abused pussy and rub quick circles over the hood of your clit, stroking up and down to stimulate every nerve around the electrifying spot.

“M-mar…” you whimper, drool trailing from your stuffed mouth. “Fuck-fuck me. Please, I n-need your cum now.”

Mark bestows a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “How about you show me how bad you want it, eh?”

You hop off the table and lower to your knees obediently, folding your legs underneath you and sitting back on your feet, hands placed flat on your thighs, spine arched to show the round curve of your ass.

Haechan whistles. “You sure did train her well.”

“Nah, man. y/n didn’t need training. She’s just a perfect omega.” Mark smiles, happy to show you off. He pets your head as you start to squirm and quietly whimper.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

You part your lips, holding your tongue out to catch the spit that falls from Mark’s mouth. He hums, approvingly, watching you swallow it and open your mouth again. He pauses for a second before flicking his chin at Haechan.

“You want Haechan’s spit too?”

You glance at Haechan and release an affirmative noise a second later. Your core aches for further rough filling again. You rub your slippery thighs together, feeling more slick gush from your throbbing pussy, increasingly aroused when Haechan steps up to the plate.

He lets a string of saliva dangle from his tongue, slowly dripping into your mouth, and partially dribbling down your chin intentionally, simply because he wants to make a mess of your pretty face.

You're about to wrap your lips around Mark’s cockhead when all of a sudden, the sharpest pain stabs your abdomen. Your jaw drops in a silent scream, crumpling into a ball, squeezing your eyes shut, and nearly blacking out.

Mark kneels down and rubs your shoulder, lifting your head to look you square in the face. Worry colors his sharp features and shatters the heated, public pornographic fantasy.

“Shit. y/n’s cramps usually subside for an hour or so after getting a knot,” he mutters to Haechan. “I didn’t want to do this…but I don’t think we have much of a choice now…”

[hint for pt 2]

additional warnings: double penetration, spitroasting, oral (fem & male), face sitting, throat fucking, choking, somnophilia, squirting, sex toys, nipple play...i think that's it.

it’s 2023.

why did it take me this fucking long to write markhyuck x yn ?? i said i’d write for this pairing in FEB 20 FUCKING 21.

sorry for not posting in forever. since spring, i've been going through the trial and error phase of finding the right combination of medications for my fucked mental health 4x, and one of the biggest side effects i've experienced on all of them has been a loss of interest in things that used to excite me, which includes writing. that, paired with the lingering effects of long covid, has made it so that when i sit down to write, i often feel like i'm fighting with my own brain to construct a single linear thought.

the #1 motivation for writers is feedback and interaction. for me, knowing people enjoy my works and appreciate the time i put into something has a huge impact. i'd be really grateful if you shared this by giving it a reblog and would love to see you spam your thoughts/reactions in the tags or comments!

pt 2 is written out already, it just needs to be proofread. now...i'm not saying i WON'T post it next weekend, but comments, reblogs and feedback would definitely inspire me to finish it up on time.

okay 'tis all. thank you for reading and i hope you (yes, specifically YOU, beloved reader of mine who's reading this RIGHT NOW !) are doing well:))

stream 127's *FACT CHECK*

➾my masterlist

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inga-don-studio · 2 years

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The absolute mindfuck every late Summer when you get that first taste of cooler weather and the ‘autumn/Halloween button’ is pressed somewhere deep in your lizard brain, only for the heatwave to return with a vengeance.

#Sad melting cryptid hours #Two days of absolutely LOVELY 70’s/low-80’s days are over … now back to our regularly scheduled surface-of-the-Sun programming #Still- at least autumn isn’t too far away- unlike when spring weather here resembles San Diego autumn & I’m stuck in this-#- confuzzled ‘AUTUMN! … n-not autumn?’ state for a solid month #Managed to take care of a bunch of errands & tasks I’ve been putting off over the weekend because the heat kills my energy & motivation #So that was good even if it meant I didn’t have time for working on cosplay/art stuff #Autumn can’t get here soon enough imo #🎃 cryptid sighting

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sarawritestories · 1 month

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You're My Forever

High Lord Eris Vanserra xFem Reader

Summary: Eris Vanserra sits on his throne, allowing himself to be lost in his thoughts when his mate comes looking for him.

Content warning: A little bit of self doubt. A whole lot of love

A/N: This is dedicated to @milswrites who helped me have a major breakthrough in a plot of my Novel and this was the best way I knew how to thank her!

Word Count: 1.3k

ACOTAR MasterList

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.

A title the eldest Vanserra child never thought he would receive. Running his hands along the gold arm rests of the throne, as if the cold bite of the metal could keep him rooted in reality a reminder that he wasn’t dreaming. Beron was dead. His reign of terror came to an end. This throne, this manor, the entire Court of Autumn was Eris’. Eris sat on the extravagant piece of furniture crossing his leg over the other and allowed himself this one moment to be lost in his thoughts. A moment where he let his doubts rise to the surface.

Would he be a fair ruler?

Could he make a difference within his court?

Was he a good mate? A good husband?

Would he make a good father? Make sure his kids experienced no harm by his hand as he had with Beron?

Was this just a dream? Would he wake up tomorrow back in the clutches of

“Eris?” Eris blinked at the sound of his name looking up he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your voice. You had stepped into the throne room a pink silk robe wrapped around yourself, your hand supporting your swollen belly. Your hair fell in soft curls right above your chest, face as radiant as ever.

The newly appointed High Lord met your eyes once more, his mate, his beautiful mate, wife soon-to-be mother, the most beautiful female in all of Prythian in his eyes. Your soft smile still made his chest tighten. “My Little Doe, what are you doing out of bed?”

You approached the dais, you were halfway through your pregnancy and walking was becoming more challenging, “I’m looking for my husband, who should have met me in bed hours ago.” She stopped right in front of him and looked around the room, “I can’t seem to find him, High Lord, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

Eris rubbed his chin as his eyes dipped slightly, your robe slipped down revealing your shoulders just enough, that Eris saw the light pink lace bra and the swell of your breast. and he adjusted in his seat. “My fair maiden, what does this male look like?”

“Handsome, has adorable freckles across his nose, eyes that resemble fiery embers.” Your eyes glanced down to his mouth, “A very kissable mouth,” You smiled, “His hair is red and long and smooth enough that I find myself always running my fingers through it.” You grip his knee clad in his riding clothes from going out to the villages earlier.

“Well, he sounds very beautiful,” Eris puffed out his chest causing you to giggle, and he loved that melodic sound. “He must be if he was lucky enough to have you, as his mate.” His throat tightened; he was a lucky male indeed.

“I believe I am the lucky one. The mother blessed me with a mate, who is brilliant, kindhearted and passionate as he is pretty.” Your smile fell slightly. “Are you okay?”

Eris smiled, and adjusted his legs and patted his lap, “Come here, My Love.”

The High Lord tilted his head as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m too big, I’ll hurt you.”

Eris growled, as his brows furrowed, “We’ve talked about this.” He leaned down and gripped your chin, “What did I say?”

You sighed, “I am growing a person, and with that is going to be changes I’m simply not used to.” He quirked a brow, waiting for you to continue. “And if you heard anyone talking down about me, you would be the one to teach them a lesson. Even if said person was me.”

The male kissed your forehead, “Good Girl, now come here and sit on your High Lord’s lap.” He released you from his grasp and leaned back. You stepped toward him, and Eris helped turn you and placed you on his lap, picking your legs up so that they dangled over the arm rest. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you placed your hand on the base of his neck. With a flick of his hand all the doors that led to the room locked causing you to jump briefly. “Now, where is that sweet little babe of ours?” You smiled as he tugged at the tie of your robe and the strings fell to the side and the silk slid off your round stomach. Revealing lace panties that matched your top, garter belts holding your sheer stockings in place. With his free hand he grazed your calf and worked his way up your body.

As he began his slow ascent up your body, he could smell your arousal, “Waiting for me in bed? I am a fool.” He reached your stomach, admiring the stretchmarks that have appeared in the last few months. His russet eyes, met yours, “You are the most beautiful creature, and how hope our child is just as beautiful as their mother.” You could feel heat rise to your cheeks, as you leaned your head back as Eris warmed his hands just a bit to ease the discomfort.

“Eris Vanserra, I know what you’re doing.” You lifted your head quirking your brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His lips pressed to your stomach his fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties.

Your hand found his wrist. And he lifted his head, “Eris, what’s wrong?”

Eris sighed and moved his hand, wrapping you back in your robe. “Nothing is wrong. I have everything I want. I have my court, my throne,” He pressed his forehead to yours, “My beautiful mate, carrying my child.” He closed his eyes. “I’m terrified that I will wake up, and I will find that this will all be a dream.”

“Darling, how long have you been feeling this way?” You whispered pressing your hand to his cheek swiping your thumb a crossed his freckled cheek idly.

“Since I became High Lord.” Before you could scold him, he continued, “I didn’t want to worry you. Or worse, I was afraid that you would think I would turn into my father and leave.”

“You’re my mate, my equal,” You pulled away and lifted his chin, so he met your gaze, “When I accepted the bond, I did it because I love you. Because I knew then what I know now.”

Eris tilted his head, “What is it that you know?”

You leaned in and kissed his nose, “You’re my Forever. I will always choose you.”

Eris smiled and pressed his lips on yours and you granted him access to deepen the kiss. His tongue met yours as he devoured your taste. You moaned in his mouth and felt his cock rise to attention against your ass. You began to move your hips to give the high lord the friction he craved, and he grunted in your mouth. His fingers threading through your hair as he dominated the kiss, his hand idly rubbing your stomach.

He pulled away from you needing air, “You’re mine and I love you.”

You laughed, “I figured, the child in my womb would have been a strong argument for both of those statements.”

Mischief danced in his eyes, “You know I am keeping track of all of your rule breaking for when I can properly punish you.”

You smiled and pecked his lips, sliding off his lap facing the door. Turning your head you winked, “I’m well aware, High Lord.” You untied the robe and let the pink silk fall to the floor turning back to face the High Lord. He admired your full body, and his heart rate began to quicken. “Now, may I show you how much I love you?" You got down on your knee’s hands braced on his thighs.

Eris began unlacing his pants a smirk on his face, “As you wish, High Lady.”

#eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris imagine #eris x reader #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra imagine #high lord eris #High Lord Eris Vanserra

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leaderwonim · 4 months

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I LOVE YOU LIKE . . .

pairing. enhypen ot7 x fem!reader

genre. fluff, angst in some of them if you squint

synopsis: in which enha members love you like different songs

LEE HEESEUNG

“i love you like seasons by wave to earth”

he was the bad boy who was afraid to love you because he was so scared he would ruin your life. he tried convincing you that it wouldn’t work, that you deserved way better than he could ever be.

“that’s not true hee,” you say as you cupped his face into your hands. “i love you and that’s all that matters.”

although lee heeseung swore to himself he would never fall in love, the idea is thrown out the window as soon as you muttered those 3 words that seemed to change his whole lookout on life.

“i love you.” he says as he places a kiss on your forehead, engulfing you into a hug. “thank you for loving me back in this universe.”

PARK JONGSEONG

“i love you like my love mine all mine by mitski”

jay was a certified lover boy by heart. people, more specifically, guys—would often tell jay it was too early to settle down and he should have as much fun as he could before that moment came.

he disagreed completely. jay wanted someone to love, someone who he’d propose to after dating for some time. he didn’t just want someone to warm his bed for the night, or call when he’s drunk and alone. he wanted someone who would stay up late to talk about spontaneous things like how many kids they wanted or what career they wanted to go into.

and he found himself lucky when he met you, the cute girl in his chemistry class on his first day at college. you swooned him over with just one smile, and he knew he was helpless right there and then.

“here—i can get that.” he says, reaching for your heavy backpack.

“oh it’s okay jay!” you quickly protest, but it’s to no avail because jay’s already got it swung around his shoulder, your textbooks in his hand.

“i can’t have my future children knowing i made their mother carry heavy items, can i?” he jokes, which makes you blush as you look down at your feet.

“enough jay! you’re gonna make me turn a tomato.”

it has only been one week since he’s asked you to be his girlfriend with some cliche chemistry pickup line, but it was the best decision of his life. after all, you were all his, and he was all yours.

SIM JAEYUN

“i love you like would that i by hozier”

sim jaeyun likes to think of your relationship as a breath of fresh air on the first day of summer vacation. he feels fulfilled when he’s with you, and he couldn’t ask the universe for a better feeling.

when you spoke about the things you loved, he listened in attentively, his pretty eyelashes batting as his ears concentrated themselves to only tune into your voice.

“hey! are you listening?” sunoo whines as he taps jake’s shoulder, but heeseung stops stops him.

“don’t bother,” heeseung snickers. “jake’s too obsessed with his girlfriend to hear you.”

he lives for picnic dates with you in autumn when the leaves are turning their pretty shade of orange. he’d pick a more secluded place, one where you can run off into the nearby grass while he chases after you, pulling you into a hug and placing kisses all over your face once he catches you

PARK SUNGHOON

“i love you like slut by taylor swift”

park sunghoon was most definitely the most popular guy in your uni. he had the looks and his shy but charming personality made him even more attractive to the girls.

when they first saw you walking around with sunghoon, there were rumors that he was just using you because they’d never seen him with a girl before and he wasn’t the type of guy to get into a relationship (but boy were they wrong)

he wanted to take things slow because he really liked you, so you two began hanging out more and more and he even introduced you to his friends — heeseung, jake and jay.

heeseung and jake even took you to the arcade after one of your long exams, claiming they needed to take care of sunghoon’s girlfriend even though he hadn’t officially asked you out yet.

when girls at the uni saw this, they freaked out, bombarding you with words like slut or whore simply because you were hanging out with sunghoon’s friends.

“i don’t know why they hate me so much.” you sniffle as you wipe away your tears. one of the girls had bumped into your shoulder harshly as she was walking by, creating a small but aching bruise where she had hit.

“c’mere.” sunghoon says, pulling you into his arms. “they’re just jealous because i like you and not them. you’re the most beautiful and sweetest girl i know.”

even though everybody seemed to like park sunghoon, he made it clear that he wanted you, and when he pulled you in earlier as you cried to him, you realized that in a world full of boys, park sunghoon was a gentleman.

KIM SUNOO

“i love you like sweet by cigarettes after sex”

it was truly easy to fall in love with kim sunoo. he was the epitome of sunshine, and he made your days just a little bit brighter by simply being around you.

loving kim sunoo was sweet and delicate, going on small dates where you two would walk around and eat street food as you admired the views that seoul had to offer.

“i love you, you know that?” sunoo suddenly says, finishing up the last of the bread he bought from the sweet old lady vendor next to your house.

“all of a sudden?” you giggle nervously, tippy toeing to place a small kiss on the bridge of his nose.

“just thought i’d let you know.” he shrugs. “i love you more than anything.”

“i love you too sun,” you smile. “you’re the sweetest boy i could ask for.”

YANG JUNGWON

“i love you like real love baby by father john misty”

loving yang jungwon felt like finally kissing your soulmate in the rain.

it felt like kissing them with such a passion even though both of your hairs are wet from the water and you swear that you’ll catch a cold the next day by your soaked clothes.

however, it doesn’t matter because you’re finally with the one person that you want.

loving yang jungwon felt like that. it felt real, and it felt like it was the final piece in your missing puzzle.

“wanna dance in the rain?” jungwon asks, eyebrows wiggling themselves at you.

you roll your eyes, smacking your hand against his chest softly. “and risk catching a fever? i thought you were more responsible than that yang.”

“ouch,” he says, holding his chest. “we’re on last name basis now?”

you pull him in, placing a kiss so quickly on his lips that he whines when you push him back.

“that was not fair!” he says, sitting himself next to you on the soft fuzzy floor.

“oh my won baby,” you tease. “we can dance in the rain only if you promise we get chinese takeout after.”

“PROMISE!” he shrieks, grabbing your hand as he practically runs over to the coat shack.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“i love you like black friday by tom odell”

nishimura riki was a joker by heart. he loved playing around and making jokes because it made his body rush with dopamine that fueled his ability to keep going.

however, when he was with you, it was like there was a whole new side to him — that not even his friends or family knew.

“i wish i had a better body,” you say, frowning as you look down at your legs that were currently tangled with riki’s on the couch. “i wanna be perfect like all of my friends.”

the clicking of his remote stops immediately after you say that, his game console long abandoned as he untangles his legs from yours, pulling you straight into his arms.

“yah, where is this coming from?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “did someone say something?”

“no.” you sigh.

“you know that you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever set my eyes on?” he says, holding your shoulders so that he could make direct eye contact with you. “pretty like the ocean, pretty like the wind, everytime i’m around you — i get this rush of adrenaline. you make me so happy.”

your eyes soften at his sweet and genuine tone, wrapping your arms around his neck as you play with his hair. “i love you riki, you make me happy too.”

he lets you lay your head on his lap as he plays his game, your laugh every time he made a noise of disapproval at his teammates made his heart leap.

757 notes · View notes

cheolism · 5 months

Text

✧ UNDER THE SKIN

✧ werewolf!choi seungcheol x reader ✧ synopsis: walking through the autumn forest you know you're not alone. there's a predator after you. but can you really be considered his prey if you're more than willing to be caught? ✧ wc is approx. 4.6k ✧ tags: supernatural au, smut, slight horror? prey-and-predator roleplay except your boyfriend is literally a werewolf. ✧ warnings: minors do not interact. feelings of being watched/stalked, being watched/stalked; prey-and-predator dynamics, mentions of being eaten; power dynamics, strength kink, overstimulation. one mention of breeding. consent !! sex without a condom, sex in the forest; multiple rounds n multiple positions. mean!seungcheol, possessive!cheol. pet names (baby, princess, babygirl) ✧ part of the svthub fall-ing for you collab!! make sure to check out the other works!!!!

the silence of the forest tries to convince you that you are completely alone.

it was as if the entire wood was holding its breath. no breeze filtered through the leaves; no birds flew overhead. it was just you and the trees.

it was completely still and you appeared to be alone.

but you know you’re not.

you wrap your flannel tighter around your body, the autumn air biting gently at your flesh. it wasn’t so cold that you found it intolerable, wasn’t so cold that you were searching for warmth. instead you sought comfort from your flannel, as if the fabric could shield you from whatever lurked in the forest.

because you weren’t alone.

you know that. you know that just as you know night would be falling in a few hours, just as you know that the full silver moon would soon begin creeping into the sky.

you weren’t ignorant enough presume you would be lucky enough to escape the notice of whatever lurked in the depths of the forest.

so you walk through the forest, looking up at the trees. their foliage was far prettier than the dull brown of the shrubbery. the trees boasted their beautiful colors, shades of vivid crimson and deep gold; there was an amber leaf on the ground larger than your hand, and you wishes that you had your phone so you could take a picture.

instead you contine to walk.

deeper and deeper you walk into the forest. it’s quiet except for your movements. even when you pass a brook, its cold waters rushing over smoothed stones, its song seems muted.

maybe it was because you are all too aware that you were being watched.

you can’t see your stalker. but you could feel them. you could feel the weight of their eyes on your body, could feel how the hairs at the back of your neck were rising.

turning around only meant that you would be walking directly into their path. and so you continue onwards, deeper and deeper.

you wish your boyfriend was here.

seungcheol isn’t extraordinarily brave; he isn’t necessarily a hero. he didn’t push you in front of him when the two of you dared to go into haunted houses during halloween but he still rushed through them, his hand clamped tightly around yours as he tried to find an exit.

he isn’t a physical fighter either. but there is something about seungcheol’s presence that humbled those around him. from his broad stature to his thick brows, seungcheols’a aura just said that he wasn’t someone to mess with.

but you know him beneath that exterior. his cute pouts, his boyish laughter and charm. his devotion to you. that was who you wanted at your side right now, walking through the forest with that feeling of being watched never leaving.

it would be nice to even hold his hand, you think. to feel his warm. even if you just linked your pinkie through his you would be all right.

you pause beneath a maple tree. it is large, its leaves a gradient that shift from bright yellow to a fiery orange.

a bird sings overhead. and you listen. it stops quickly, and you watch as it breaks from the treeline to fly away, abandoning you to whomever watched you walk through the forest.

seungcheol wouldn’t abandon you. he would keep watch over you while you rested, would grab your hand and reassure you before leading you back through the forest.

you continue on your way.

eventually you come across a river. it is wide enough to where you don’t dare to swim and you know better than to think that you could wade across. fallen tree leaves float along, and you wish for a fleeting moment that you could be a leaf and just float away.

but you weren’t a leaf.

you follow the river alongside its muddy edge, walking quickly so your shoes won’t sink too far. there’s a bridge ahead, it’s black metal vivid against the beautiful and serene autumn scene.

there is a gravel path that leads to the bridge. as soon as you step onto it, rocks shifting beneath your feet, you hear something.

you can’t be sure of what it is. you couldn’t really make anything out, the noise quiet and muffled. but you know there’s something out there.

you go still.

you hear a bush rustling behind you, hidden, and that’s all you need to continue onward. you go onto the bridge, reaching for the cold railing. you slide your fingers along its surface as you walk, its frigidness biting at your fingers.

you are halfway when you feel it. your entire body freezes, heart hammering so loudly in your chest that it almost sounds like thunder. you can’t move. you imagine this was what your ancestors felt like when they came upon a saber-tooth tiger or some other sort of apex predator. you imagine them frozen with horror; paralyzed with it.

“look at me baby.”

as if his words were a commandment given by a god, you are powerless to do anything but obey. you turn on the bridge.

and he’s standing there.

he is stocky with broad shoulders and hips. his hair is a mop of black waves. you can’t make out his features, but you knew him and knew there was a smirk playing on his dark cherry lips, knew that his lips were twinkling underneath his thick brows.

“you’ve walked awfully far, princess,” he says. he steps onto the bridge entirely. you watch him the way prey watches their hunters; fearful and observant. “don’t you think it’s time to stop? time to give in?”

for another horrifying moment you can’t speak. pure horror freezes your entire being. you were right, you had been followed, had been stalked through the forest. you wish you had been wrong.

you knew him, knew the danger that lurked underneath his skin.

your thigh twitched from being held so tightly for so long. you became alive again.

you make a step back. he takes several more towards you, walking casually, uncaring of your fear. you can only move a little compared to his broad, relaxed steps.

he continues to talk as he moves towards you. “i thought you would’ve given up by now, baby. would’ve turned back to the car before now.”

“you --” your voice breaks. “you’re -- you leave me alone.”

“aw,” he says, now close enough that you can see his grin. “it’s cute that you think you’ve got any authority here, princess.”

it’s horrible the way that his words electrify you. they send shocks of fear and something you refuse to name through your system; make your entire being alive with something other than fear.

he looks up to the sky. you can’t help but follow his gaze. the sun was sinking, the light blue of the sky making way for sweet pinks and soft oranges.

“the full moon is tonight.” he puts his hands into his coat pockets, looking back at you and still grinning. the two of you are still too far apart for you to make the fine details of him, such as his eyelashes but you swear you can see his canines; see hos abnormally long they were and how they glinted in the light.

“the sun’s going down.” he keeps his gaze on you as he continues across the bridge, his footfalls striking fear further into your heart. “looks like we’ve missed supper, princess. but don’t worry. i think i see something temping in front of me . . . “

“and i just can’t wait to eat you up.”

his words seem to get you back into motion. you turn on him and begun to run to the other side of the bridge, footsteps loud, every fiber in your being screaming at you to get away.

get away, get away, get away from him, get away from that wolf.

you can hear him running after you. you need to go quick, need to go faster.

“come on princess!” he shouts. you try to pick up speed. you need to go and go and go, needed to find your way back to your car. need to get in and lock the door and go far far away.

the wolf was going to get you. and he was going to devour you.

“stop running babe!” you leave the gravel path behind, breaking into the treeline and into the forest. “I’m gonna get you! running will just prolong it!”

the trees blend, and your breath becomes harsher. your heart hammers in your chest.

you can’t keep running. you can’t hide either, not with his superior sense of smell due to his nature.

you conclude that you will have to try and fight when you feel something grab you. you’re yanked back and you can feel arms wrap around you before the combined momentum of his body hitting yours makes you strike the ground.

you don’t land on the ground but on him. for a moment you are breathless, hands clenching at his flannel as you fight for breath. he’s not out of breath at all, and his thick eyebrows are high on his face as he watches you.

“told you i’d catch you,” he says, smug. his eyes flicker over your face, drinking you in. “now you’re mine, princess.”

you push back against him, trying to tear yourself out of his arm, thick arms. he lets you go for a moment, letting you think that you can get away. then his arms are wrapping back around you, pushing.

he traps you against the ground. you can hear leaves crinkling underneath your body as you lash out against the man, trying to push his body away. but he’s sturdy, his thick thighs framing yours and his hands pressing against your shoulders and keeping you down.

“come on, baby,” he says, thick lips pushed into a pout. “stop fighting me. i’ve got you.”

you nearly have your breath when he begins to lower his face to yours. you can’t help but look at him, take in his striking features. the set of his eyes, the sweet brown of them. his smirk and how his lips are slightly cracked.

his breath ghosts over your face as he takes you in. his lips hover over your cheeks; your temple. his body is warm and heavy on you, to the point where you can no longer feel the bitter autumn air.

he moves his hand to your face. he presses his palm against your cheek, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip. he has you in the literal palm of his hand and you were helpless. all thoughts of fighting has left your system and you can’t help but bask in his presence now that he’s here.

“see?” he is smirking. his thumb tugs at your mouth. his canines look awfully sharp. “all the fight’s left you, baby. you’re in my arms, where you belong.”

that sends the fight back into you. you wrinkle your face, hands releasing their grip on his flannel to push at him again. “fuck you!”

he laughs. “come on, princess. just a taste, babygirl. just a bite.”

he shifts on you, weight going to your thighs. he moves his face back to yours, lips skimming over the curve of your cheek and the line of your jaw.

“just a bite,” he echoes. as soon as you feel his teeth against your skin you freeze, hand going back to his coat and twisting.

it’s horrible, you think. horrible that you’re so eager for him.

you tilt your head back, baring your neck.

you can feel his smile against your throat. he bites at your neck weakly, without any real intent. you can’t help but whine.

“see princess? you’re so eager for me, so willing.” his words send a flood of warmth through your body and you can feel it as they settle in your cunt, could feel the way your juices begin to wet your panties.

you whine something that sounds like a name. he exhales against your skin, one of his hands moving against your body. he moves his hand up underneath your shirt. you can’t help but jolt as your body is exposed to the chilled autumn air.

“don’t worry, baby,” he soothes. he presses his nose against your throat, breathing you in. his hands settles against your stomach, thumb swiping at your skin. “i’ll take good care of you, princess.”

it’s horrible, you think. your boyfriend is such a sweet man. he buys you more clothes and jewelry than you know what to do with, spoiling you relentlessly. he treats you as if you’re a princess. he loves you with every fiber of his being, loves your fiercely and treasures you more than any diamond.

and here he is, body settled over yours. he stalked you through the forest, used his werewolf senses to track you down and make you feel like you were being hunted. he has you trapped beneath him, has you wishing so desperately he would just devour you.

he was your kind, sweet boyfriend.

and here he is reminding you that underneath his skin he’s a predator.

and you are his prey.

seungcheol's hand moves further up your shirt as his mouth diligently works against your neck. he nibbles at your skin, alternating between biting gently and sucking. he's teasing you, you know; teasing you and making you nothing but putty beneath him.

"get off," you mumble, words quiet and body moving against him, trying to feel more and more of him. "leave me alone."

you can feel seungcheol grin against your skin. his fingers skim along the underside of your breast and through your bra, but you can feel the scrape of his nail against you. your mind focuses on the tingling sensation, and when he shifts on you again, his knee coming up and pressing against your cunt, you can't help but get truly desperate.

immediately you're flattening your cunt against his knee, rubbing against it through the layers of fabric.

he laughs at you. "see? i've barely even done anything to you and you're so desperate for me, princess. you could cum from just this, can't you?"

you shake your head in denial. seungcheol moves his hand over your breast, tracing your nipple through your bra. his begins sucking at your skin in favor, grinding his knee up against your cunt.

"cheol," you sob out, fingers grabbing at him. "need more."

"so much for pretending," he laughs. he pulls his face from your neck. "chasing you really got you all bothered, didn't it?"

"don't make fun of me!" you can't help but whine at him.

seungcheol chuckles again. he's grinning at you, eyes sparkling with affection. "what do you want to do? keep playing?"

you sniffle. "please."

his smile hardens into something more cunning. he takes out his hand from underneath your shirt, letting the cold air hit your stomach again. "hm? what's that, baby? want me to be the big bad wolf? want me to be mean and rough?"

you want it. horribly, you want it. the thought of your boyfriend, your big strong werewolf boyfriend, loosing himself.

"come on babygirl. use your words."

"please," you beg.

seungcheol laughs again. "fuck, princess. such a fucking slut, aren't you? so fucking desperate. you don't care what's going on as long as i'm fucking you."

"just want you," you agree. and you did. you wanted seungcheol so fucking much. wanted him, his strong hands pressing you against the forest floor, his fat cock fucking into your cunt. you wanted him in a way you never wanted anything else, a way completely foreign to except for when you were with choi seungcheol.

"cute." seungcheol moves off of you just enough so he could begin working at your pants. he pops the button of your jeans quickly, pulling your jeans off just as fast. you can't even despair at the cold air before he's moving his body back over yours.

"can't believe you ran from me." he pushes his knee back up to your cunt. now that your jeans were out of the way you could feel him better, could feel the scratch of his jeans against your cunt and through your panties better.

and it feels so fucking good. grinding your cunt down on his knee, using him. it sends sparks to your gut and cunt, and your hips move on their own, searching.

"ran from me and here you are, fucking yourself on my knee." seungcheol lowers his face back to yours, lips skimming over your cheek. he doesn't kiss you. normally his lips are constantly against yours, devouring your mouth. but he keeps his mouth away from yours, and it does something to your mind to know that your boyfriend, the man who would give you the world, won't give you this one thing.

"my hands are cold, baby," he says. seungcheol moves his hand back along your chest, letting his fingers skim over you. "guess i'll just have to use you to get warmed up."

you shake your head, trying to remember the plot. "nnn -- no -- pervert --"

but then you grab his hand and push it down. seungcheol slips his hand into your panties, finding your cunt and molding his hand against it naturally.

"fuck, princess," he sighs, lashes fluttering. "cunt's so fucking warm. gonna feel so good milking my cock."

your cunt tightens at his words, wishing it was his cock. he grins, mouth to your neck. he mouths at your neck, kissing sloppily while his hand slowly moves at your pussy.

he works his hand against you, fingers slow. he draws his fingers against your cunt and clit over and over and over, playing your pussy through your panties languidly; as if you were in the comfort of your bed and not on the forest floor, bodies surrounded by fallen autumn leaves.

seungcheol works you to orgasm slowly. satisfaction escapes you -- you want more. you want him fucking you, want him rough against you.

but seungcheol refuses. he bites and licks at your neck, marking you. he maneuvers his fingers so his thumb is pressing flat against your clit through the fabric of your underwear. he focuses on your clit, dragging his thumb over it.

and you hate it.

his hand at your cunt has you whining, hips bucking up and begging for more. your panties are soaked through, warm from the heat of your pussy. you can't feel him the way you want to, can't feel all of him the way you so desperately need.

"need," you rasp out. one of your hands moves to the forest ground beside you, grabbing. leaves crinkle in your grasp. "more, please. more, need more, cheol."

seungcheol removes his hand from your cunt. you whine high at the back of your throat. you wanted more, didn't want him to take his hand away completely.

"such a little slut for me," he laughs. he moves back, sitting. seungcheol grabs your panties in both hands and pulls. your underwear is ripped, and he tosses them aside. "all i had to do was get you beneath me, huh? just had to show some dominance and you're nothing but an eager little slut."

"not," you protest. his hands smooth over your thighs and then he's pushing them apart. "not a slut."

"no?" he moves his hand along your skin, fingernails dragging and sending sparks through you. "then what would you call it, princess? running from me only to give up as soon as i get my hands on you?"

"you're mean."

seungcheol raises a thick brow. he doesn't disagree. his hand finds your cunt naturally. two of his thick fingers hook into your pussy just as quickly, familiar with your body.

"i'm mean?" he slowly feeds his fingers into you, sliding them until you've taken their entire length. you can't help but let your eyes roll back, mouth parting in a wordless moan. his fingers were always so thick, stretching out your cunt and making it burn in the most delightful way.

"i'm mean and yet here i am, fucking your little cunt with my fingers on the forest floor."

"you're not," you argue, voice tight. "you're just sitting there. not moving them, just fucking using my -- my --"

he grins. "your what, princess?"

you refuse to say it, twisting your fingers against the leaves on either side of you. the autumn air bites at your skin but you can't care, can't care when seungcheol's body is framing you and his thick fingers are up your pussy.

"say it." with one hand in your cunt he uses the other to push back his hair, showing off how he has one eyebrow cocked. "gotta use your words, baby. or i'll just leave you here. make you walk all the way to your car with no panties, cunt wanting more."

you whine. "i -- cheol."

he hums, shifting. the movement has his fingers sliding, just slightly, in your pussy. it's just enough to remind you of how desperate you are.

"please," you beg, "please cheol. i want -- i want you to fuck me, want you to fuck -- fuck my pussy."

seungcheol laughs, and then he's pulling his fingers from your pussy. you don't have a chance to miss his fingers before he's shoving them back in. he isn't gentle, and he's fucking your cunt with his fingers the way he would use his cock.

the pain of being opened isn't pain so much as it is that pleasure-pain that you crave. the sort that you seek out after a long day. it's the sort that has you moaning and letting your legs fall all the way open, allowing seungcheol to move closer.

you could cum like this.

but then seungcheol moves his hand from your pussy entirely. you groan, hips still moving up in hopes of him sinking his hand back into your pussy. you want, you want and want and want and here he was, depriving you, turning you into this wanton creature.

seungcheol then works at his jeans and all the protests vanish. you watch hungrily as he discards his jeans and underwear.

his dick makes you drool as soon as you see it. thick and long and pretty. he wraps his hand around it, rubbing at the head. you can't help but watch, greedy, as a white pearl of cum begins to bead at its tip.

"want it?" he asks despite knowing you do. "should make you beg, shouldn't i? make you beg for my cock."

you open your mouth to do just that but then he's on you. seungcheol's large hands are on your body, moving you, manipulating you. he flips you onto your front, moving you to rest on your knees. you can feel him press his cock against your ass, and, like a slut, you push back against him, hoping he'd fuck into you.

seungcheol does. he fucks into your cunt, shoving his dick into your pussy and mounting you like an animal. as if you were both animals. he allows your pussy to adjust for just a moment, just long enough for you to grab at the ground and bury your face against the cold dirt.

and then seungcheol's fucking you. he rams his cock into your pussy, relentless. the angle due to the position has you drooling, has you biting your lips and moaning.

"take it," he commands, hands grabbing at your hips. he holds you still, making you take his cock. "running from me like you're not mine, like you're not mine to fuck. like your cunt isn't mine, princess, like you're warm little pussy isn't mine to fuck and breed and your body isn't mine."

and seungcheol fucks you like you're his. fucks you like you're his and nobody else's, like he owns you, owns you just to fuck you.

you could nearly cum like that.

but he doesn't let you.

because choi seungcheol looks like a cute, doting boyfriend. but underneath underneath that he's a mean, greedy wolf that wants.

seungcheol draws out of you, the slide of his dick making your toes curl. he manipulates you again, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting. he uses his strength to bring snap his dick into your pussy over and over, relentless in his search.

"fucking princess," he growls. and then his fingers are back to your cunt, sliding against your wet pussy and finding your clit. he matches his pace with how he rubs at your clit, and soon enough he's bringing an orgasm that comes crashing through your body.

he doesn't stop there of course. seungcheol continues fucking you. he rams into your pussy, shoving his fat dick into your warm pussy.

"mine," he says, voice low in the back of his throat. seungcheol ducks his head, pushing you back to the ground and covering your body with his. you can see his canines, long and white, glinting; can see the ring of golden that had begun to grow around his pupils.

"yours," you agree.

you quickly become oversensitive. each thrust in and out has you whining, has you wiggling in his grasp. seungcheol doesn't care. you don't protest and so he continues, fucking into you.

you orgasm again. seungcheol grins, teeth sharp. "that's it," he says. "milk my cock, pretty girl."

he's moving you again. you're light underneath his hands, his strength allowing him to move you however. he's moving you back onto your front, one arm looping around your middle to keep your ass pressed against him and his cock sheathed deep in your pussy.

but it's not satisfying. not to him.

and so he moves again. he pushes you, his hand between the blades of your back and keeping you still. each slap of his hips against you leaves a sting, but it's so delicious you can't, and don't want to, do anything other than take it.

in this new position he seems to find what he was searching for. seungcheol growls, something that sounds more animal than human. he rams into you, cock striking your core with each thrust, harsh and strong and rough.

you know you're making loud, obnoxious whines. but you can't stop. not when he's fucking you like he wants to breed you, when he's fucking you like this.

"fuckin' running from me," he hisses, "running like you're not mine. i've got you, princess. fucking got you."

when seungcheol cums he's filling you to the brim. he's painting the inside of you white with his spunk, marking you. when he pulls out he's still hard, and he takes himself in hand. seungcheol fucks into his fist as he looks at you, eyes roaming over your body as you lay against the forest floor.

when he spills again it's on your bare ass, marking you on the outside. you don't think he'll ever stop cumming. eventually, however, he does.

seungcheol drapes himself over you, ignoring the mess. he pants into your ear, arms wrapping around your body and holding you.

you don't know how long the two of you lay on the ground. the front of your body, the part pressed against the dirt, is cold. everywhere seungcheol touches is warm, and when he finally goes to pull away you whine, not wanting to loose his touch.

in the end seungcheol carries you back to the car. he holds you like you weigh nothing. you can see the gold begin to eclipse the brown of his eyes, and when he speaks its in a rasp.

he tucks you into the car, pulling the blankets around your body. seungcheol presses kisses to your face, lingering, not wanting to leave.

when he finally does move from you he's at the edge of transformation. he can barely speak, sweat beginning to dot his hairline.

but seungcheol darts forward for one more kiss despite this, clingy and wanting. because despite the werewolf exterior, despite the fact that he is, by all appearances he is a monster, seungcheol, under his skin, yours.

#svthub #svthub.collab #— jupiter writes #svt smut #seventeen smut #s.coups smut #scoups smut #svt fic #seventeen fic #kpop smut #kpop fic #choi seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol fic #svt #seventeen #scoups #s.coups #choi seungcheol

766 notes · View notes

glaxelilly · 1 year

Text

Genshin Men - Cockwarming

— Al Haitham, Zhongli, Kazuha, Wanderer, Ayato

Warnings: nsfw, fem!reader, dirty talk, the tall ones are kinda Dom

Al Haitham // While he’s reading

You’ll cockwarm Al Haitham anywhere and at anytime he has a book in his hand. It’s gotten to the point where the man can’t read without a pair of your lips wrapped around him, keeping him snug inside of you right where he belongs. “Darling I have this book I’ve meaning to read, so please get over here. I want you on your knees today, thank you my love.”

Zhongli // Enjoying his evening tea

You’ll cockwarm Zhongli after he gets home from work. The high energy funeral director is a lot for him to handle, so you make him a pot of his favorite tea and sit on the balcony with him. He’ll drink the tea, listen to the bustling of the harbor, and relax at the feeling of your warm mouth wrapped around his cock. “Thank you, dear, you did so perfect for me. Here, have a cup of tea for your sore throat.”

Kazuha // Writing Poetry

You’ll cockwarm Kazuha when he’s stuck with his writing. He claims it helps clear his mind, so the two of you will find a secluded spot where he can feel nothing but the wind on his skin and your warmth on his cock. Once he breaks out of his slump, he’ll get so caught up in his writing that he’ll forget you’re there, and you’ll have to whine around him to remind him. “Oh my dear autumn breeze, I’m so sorry. Here, why don’t I make you feel good, huh my love?”

Wanderer // When he’s bratty

You’ll cockwarm Wanderer when he’s being a nuisance. After spending the whole day being a little shit to anything that breaths, you’ve had enough. Once you’re home, you immediately have him on his back on your shared bed, and in a flash he’s tied to the headboard and your sitting on his cock not moving an inch. At first he just laughs at you, saying this is nothing compared to what he’s been through, but pretty soon he’s a mess underneath you. “P-please, fuck don’t make me say it just move! Shit please just- oh my arc- please please please just OKAY IM SORRY! I’m sorry I’ll be good! Please just move please!”

Ayato // Doing paperwork

You’ll cockwarm Ayato when he decides to actually get caught up on his work. He’ll neglect doing it for awhile, which stresses Thoma out, but it’s because he knows what you’ll do for him when you see the giant stack of papers. You’ll instantly feel bad for him, and suggest sliding underneath his desk to make it easier. “How could I ever say no to you, dear? You always make me feel so good.”

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munson-blurbs · 7 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: Fast-forward two years, and the little Munson clan is celebrating Halloween with some old--and new--faces.

Warnings: allusion to smut, a lil surprise...

WC: 1.2k

A/N: Happy Halloween! A gentle reminder that requests for the TUI universe are officially open. And thank you to @rip-quizilla and @the-unforgivenn for helping me with this little blurb.

Divider credit to @saradika

Autumn has fully settled into Hawkins, Indiana. The sun sets a bit earlier each evening; green leaves become orange, then red, then brown, before fluttering to the ground and being raked into trash bags. A chill hangs in the air, not strong enough to create frost, but enough to warrant a layer of clothing or two.

Lucky for you, your Halloween costume this year is a long-sleeved olive green shirt underneath a sleeveless brown house dress, high socks, and loafers. Warm, cozy, and perfect for pretending to be Misery’s Annie Wilkes.

Eddie strides towards your shared bedroom, a Ghostface mask pushed up atop his mess of curls. He leans against the doorframe and lets out a low wolf-whistle.

You roll your eyes and grin. “You’re so full of it,” you laugh, adjusting the straps of your dress where they’re twisting on your shoulders. “This is quite possibly the least sexy costume anyone could wear.”

Eddie tuts, pushing off on his bicep and shaking his head. “It’s not the costume; it’s the woman wearing it.” His lips tug upward in a toothy smile. “C’mon, give me a little twirl.” He moves his forefinger in a circular motion to indicate what he wants.

You oblige, slowly turning and offering a 360-degree view of your outfit. “How do I look?” you deadpan.

“Like you’re killing for two.” He presses a kiss to your lips, his palms resting on your rounded bump just as they have ever since you’d started showing. Now that you’re in your final few weeks of pregnancy, he seems to find an excuse to touch it every spare chance he gets. “You’re sure you’re up for trick-or-treating? If you’re too tired or something, you can hang back. Jeff and I can handle the kids.”

It takes all of your willpower not to let out a disbelieving snort. If the two men are engaged in conversation, Harris and Ettie could be halfway to Timbuktu before they even notice they’re missing. “I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. “Annie Wilkes wore sensible shoes, which certainly helps. Although,” you scrunch up your nose, “these are kind of uncomfortable.”

Eddie peers down at your loafers and immediately bursts into laughter. “Babe…they’re on the wrong feet.” He cradles your face in his hands and brings his lips to the tip of your nose. “Let me fix that for you, okay?” You sit on the bed while he crouches down, slipping off your shoes and placing them on the correct feet. “There ya go.”

“I can’t see over my belly!” You lament with a laugh, holding out your hands so your doting husband can help you up. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be more useful once I’m not pregnant.”

“I think growing a baby is pretty damn useful,” Eddie murmurs, thumb grazing your cheek, “not to mention how goddamn gorgeous you look while you do it,” he adds, a soft growl inflecting his tone. He would ravish you right then and there if Freddy Krueger himself didn’t appear by his side.

“Is it time for trick-or-treating?”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie jumps, snapped out of his lovesick stupor in an instant. His hand flies to his chest as his heartbeat steadies. “You scared the hell outta me, Har.” He takes a deep breath before answering his son’s question. “We’ll go as soon as Uncle Jeff and Auntie Viv and Ettie get here.”

Harris nods, the dark gray fedora slipping in front of his eyes. “I wish my baby brother could go with us,” he says with a sigh, swaying his arms back and forth. “When is he gonna be born?”

“Two more weeks until he’s officially due,” you report, gingerly caressing your bump and smiling. Harris has been asking about the baby’s arrival ever since you and Eddie told him he was going to be a big brother. “And then he’ll come trick-or-treating with us next year.”

He beams at this idea, bouncing up and down with enough energy to make you question whether he’s already started eating candy. “I...can’t…wait!” he exclaims, each word more breathless than the last as he acts like a human spring. “Do…you…think…he’ll…like…Skittles?”

Eddie places a hand on Harris’s shoulder to stop his movements. “Baby Brother won’t be able to have Skittles for a long time,” he chuckles, the dimples in his cheeks making an always-welcome appearance, “but if you wanted to share with me, I wouldn’t turn down some peanut M&Ms…”

“Nah, I’m good.” Harris says simply, turning his attention back to your stomach. “It would be kinda cool if he was born on Halloween, though.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But then I wouldn’t be able to trick-or-treat with you tonight,” you point out.

“Oh. Right.” Harris puts a hand on your bump and speaks directly to it. “You stay put until I get my candy.”

Jeff and his family arrive thirty minutes later, clad in their Winnie-the-Pooh themed costumes. Ettie, held in her mom’s arms, is the titular character. Viv makes the perfect Kanga with a Roo stuffed animal hot-glued in the fabric pouch that stretches over her own bump.

“That’s a good look for you,” Eddie snorts when Jeff walks in dressed as Eeyore.

“Right back atcha,” Jeff retorts with a playful smirk. “You’re like a geriatric Ghostface.”

You and Viv share an eye roll at their juvenile banter. “How’re you feeling?” she asks you, strategically ignoring the way Jeff and Eddie are swapping insults.

“Tired of being pregnant but terrified to give birth.” You laugh as you say it but your words are 100-percent true. As much as you’re ready to have your body back to yourself, delivering a baby is a daunting task. “How about you?” She’s due only one month after you are, and the two of you often commiserate about your respective pregnancies.

“Exhausted,” she admits, right hand fingers digging into her lower back and massaging it. “Chasing after a two-and-a-half year-old while being almost eight months pregnant is not for the weak.”

Your lips scrunch up sympathetically. “I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”

As if on cue, Ettie wriggles out of her mother’s grip so she can toddle over to her favorite uncle. Eddie scoops her up, and she greets him with an excited “hi!”

Tears gather at your lash line embarrassingly; the sight of your husband cooing over a young child has your third trimester hormones working in overdrive. You clear your throat and blink them back before anyone can notice. “Who wants to go trick-or-treating?”

Pillowcases in hand, Harris and Ettie cheer loudly as the six–almost eight–of you head out to take on the neighborhood in a conquest for full-size candy bars. You and Viv walk next to them; your husbands lag behind to lock the door.

“You ready to do this with double the amount of kids next year?” Jeff smirks, as Eddie turns the key and jiggles the knob to ensure no one can get it.

Eddie huffs out a laugh. “God, no.” He looks at his long-time friend and grins. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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residenthughes · 2 months

Text

coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

#connor dewar x reader #connor dewar #connor dewar fic #cd24 #minnesota wild #toronto maple leafs #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #connor dewar fluff #dewey 2 #brandon duhaime #dewey 1 #dewey #residenthughes

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pparadiselost · 7 months

Text

crying wolf.

werewolf michael kaiser x red riding hood fem reader clichés always hold a grain of truth to them. warning(s): nsfw, noncon, murder of an uninvolved character, breeding, knotting minors do not interact.

a big bad wolf lives in the woods near your village.

that much you know.

the wolf has been the talk of the town for years now, and no matter how many men set off to kill the wolf or how many traps had been set up to catch it once and for all, the sly beast always managed to escape the trickery of your town.

there came a point where you stopped caring about it. you had no reason to step into the woods, satisfied with your quiet life in town, and outside of the stray sheep being killed and eaten every few months, the wolf really didn’t do anything to disturb your quality of life. it must suck to be a sheep farmer while this was all going down, but you weren’t a sheep farmer, so you didn’t care.

“you ought to be more careful!” the old cheesemonger’s wife scolds you as she hands you a generous chunk of cheese. “you know, the huntsmen are saying that they’re going to form an escort group in about a week’s time. shouldn’t you wait until then to go visit your grandma?”

you shake your head. “mama said i should go as soon as possible. grandma hasn’t been feeling well for a while, and ever since the whole wolf scare, we haven’t been able to visit her frequently. i just want to make sure she has enough food, because she can’t really do much herself.”

the old wife clicks her tongue and waggles her finger. “i keep telling my husband here, they really ought to catch that wolf quickly. this is how these things always begin. a couple sheep here and there, and next thing you know, the wolf’s run off with a toddler. who’s to say it won’t develop an appetite for a pretty girl like you?”

“oh, please.” you snort slightly. “the only things with an appetite for women like me are the drunkard sleazebags that waste their money away in the taverns.”

“well, you can say that again,” she laughs. she winks as she tucks you an extra slice of sweet cheese into your basket, and she waves you off before you finish off your errands and head home.

the chilled autumn breeze nips at your skin, and you huddle under the red cape your mother’s lovingly sewn for you. it’s become your best friend when winter starts to draw close, and you’ve worn the garment for years. you’re sure you’ll wear it in due time when you’ll set out through the woods to your grandmother’s, where the bright crimson ought to serve as an identifying beacon of sorts for your ailing grandmother.

the sun threatens to set in the distance by the time you gather up all your supplies and head to the outskirts of the village, where your home is. you double check the contents of your basket at your front door, not wanting your mother to scold you for having forgotten anything.

a bottle of hearty wine? check. loaves of bread that won’t go bad soon? check. cheese, meats, and fruits? check.

“i’m home!” you called out, swinging your front door open. your mother jumps and places a hand over her heart, exhaling deeply when she notices it’s just you.

“you scared the wits out of me, dear!” she scolds, stirring intensely at the pot in front of her. “a knock before you come in wouldn’t hurt, you know!”

“says the person who leaves the front door unlocked.” you toss your boots off and hang your cloak up, and you set down the heavy basket on the already set dining table. you swing in to a seat at the table, stomach growling at the scent of fresh stew. “i got everything for grandma tomorrow. is there anything else you need me to bring to her?”

“do you think i should pack some jam for her? i have a few jars that mr. ah… what’s his name again- well, he gave me some because his sister had made too much, and i reckon that your grandmother wouldn’t have too many sweet things to eat while she’s sick,” your mother suggests. you shrug, and she wipes her hands down on her apron before grabbing at the pot’s handle. “stay put where you are, dear. hot pot coming through!”

“i don't think it'll hurt. might as well bring it over if i’m headed there in the first place,” you offered. your mother smiles at you fondly as you practically lunge for the pot, spoon in hand to scarf down a well-deserved meal.

“slow down, or you’ll get a tummy ache,” she reminds you. you swipe at your mouth with your sleeve, earning a wince from her, but she doesn’t say anything. the night quickly melts away into the everyday hum of dinner followed by a quick berry pie dessert.

you haven’t even thought of the wolf until your mother tells you to go fetch the rest of the laundry she forgot to get earlier in the day. you balance a laundry basket on your hip as you drag your feet outside, wishing you were snuggled up in your bed with a book instead. the cold wind bites at your exposed neck and face, and you scowl as you haphazardly yank at the clothes and socks hung up on the laundry line.

“stupid wind,” you grumble under your breath. you stuff some shirts into the laundry basket, but when you reach to grab at the last pair of socks on the line, the wind tussles it free from the clothing pin and the socks go flying off in the distance. you let out a yelp before running after it, watching the white socks flutter like a pair of doves before landing onto the dirt.

“stupid, stupid wind!” you doubly curse as you bend down, yanking your nightclothes up so that the hem won’t be stained by the dirt. you reach to grab the socks before something in the ground catches your eye, and you shift to take a closer look.

your eyes widen in horror.

pawprints. wolf pawprints.

you shudder and quickly stand up, racing back to the safety of your laundry line and basket. the cursed beast must have been wandering around the wilderness near your home. a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of some stinky mutt of a wolf sniffing at your laundry, and once you see that there are no more clothes left on the line, you march back home and shut the door firmly behind you.

you have nothing to fear. you’re no sheep and definitely not meal material for the big bad wolf. you don’t even bring up the pawprints to your mother once you’re inside, and you don’t even think of the wolf again when you go to bed, bracing yourself for the long journey to your grandmother’s cottage tomorrow.

…

“do you have everything?”

“yes, mama.”

“are your boots comfortable?”

“yes, mama.”

“will the cloak be enough to keep you warm?”

“yes, mama.”

you swear the entire day’s going to be over by the time your mother’s done fretting over you. she’s not only gone over the contents of your basket once, twice, thrice, four goddamn times, and she’s still convinced that somehow she magically forgot to add everything to it. she keeps fretting over you, pulling the cloak tighter around your throat and making sure the hood covers your head comfortably.

deep down, you know she means well, but she keeps fussing over you like you’re a newborn baby. you’re old enough to take care of yourself, old enough to know how the world runs, old enough to stand on your own two feet without having her circling you like some kind of anxious mama bear. which she is, you suppose.

she kisses your forehead gently, looking at you with the weathered affectionate eyes only a mother could ever muster up. “i know you’re sick of me worrying over you like this. i can’t help it—you’re my baby.”

“i’ll be back before you even know it, mama,” you joke back. “and if i’m not back by dinner, you can assume i’ll be at grandma’s for the night. either way, i’ll be back by tomorrow for sure.”

“i’ll be waiting for you,” your mother promises. she clasps your hands, rubbing her calloused palms over yours. she squeezes your fingers carefully, grinning at you despite her obvious nerves. “my baby’s all grown up! going through the woods by herself and everything… what am i going to do when you actually leave the nest?”

“oh, you’ll be fine.” you hoist the heavy basket up, flashing your mother a thumbs-up. “i’ll be on my way then. i shouldn’t dally around too much, or it’ll get late.”

“right, right. i guess i’ll bake something to pass the time while you’re gone. maybe making your favorite pie ought to incentivize you to come home faster!” she agrees with a hearty laugh. you’re just about to turn around and set off before your mother cries out a panicked “wait!”

you look over your shoulder. “huh? what is it, mama?”

“i know this is probably just me fretting,” she looks at you firmly, and she wrings her hands slightly, “but it’s better safe than sorry. make sure to never wander from the main road, okay? you’ve heard about the wolf that’s been terrorizing our village. i don’t want to risk you getting hurt.”

you’d snark back at her a bit normally, but the pure fear in your mother’s eyes makes you bite your tongue for once. “i’ll stay strictly on the path, mama. besides, the wolf’s never taken a human before. and i’m sure there’ll be huntsmen and all sorts of other people out and about at this time of day, so i’ll be okay.”

“i know,” she sighs. “it’s a mother’s instinct. i can’t help but fret over you constantly.”

she waves you off, and you’re on the path to your grandmother’s before you even know it. the weather today is perfect: brisk refreshing air, a few cotton-white clouds in the bright blue sky, and the mischievous twinkles of sunlight streaming through forest trees’ branches.

truth be told, you like these solo adventures more than anything else in the world. living a quiet life in your village has its perks, but when everyone knows everybody, you rarely get a chance to set out by yourself without the scrutiny of your entire town on your back. you hum a little song while you skip through the beaten path in the woods, savoring the solitude. it shouldn’t take you more than a few hours to make the round trip, save for a quick lunch break in the middle and maybe a snack for the road at your grandmother’s abode.

you couldn’t be happier right now. the basket swings from the crook of your arm as you stroll through the woods, admiring the wilderness. a pair of butterflies flutter every now and then, and you can make out the melodic warbles of birdsong. you wonder if it’s mating season for the creatures; the closest you ever got to romance were the fairy tales in your book (your mother’s old hand-me-downs, from when she lived in the port city before moving her to marry your now-absent father) or the occasional wedding that took place in your village (the last one was 7 years ago, when the wheat grinder’s daughter married the postman. you pressed the flowers from your corsage between the pages of a heavy dictionary).

either way, you wish your village had more to show a young woman like yourself. everyone seems happy living their rustic life, and while you were satisfied with the peace that your mother strove so hard to provide you with, you knew that the world had more to show you.

and you crave it. just as the horizon of the woods seems to stretch on forever and ever, you wonder if there’s something beyond it just waiting for you.

maybe there ought to be a great marble castle, blinding white in the distance, complete with a prince charming inside atop his great steed. or maybe big markets with all sorts of treasures from afar! sometimes when a stray merchant stumbles across your town, you’d eavesdrop on the stories they’d tell to the little kids (you always dreamed about tasting the delicious spices they bragged about. cinnamon, was it? oh, that sounded fabulous).

but instead, you’re stuck with this bumfuck, hillbilly country town. there aren’t even any good looking guys here, and you know it’ll take at least a decade to convince your mother to let you move out away from the safety of her arms. the height of gossip here is a stupid wolf running around the woods. your village is so boring that they can’t even find a human to gossip about.

sweat dots your brow once you’re a good way into your journey. parts of the woods clear out into patches of grass or the sporadic lake, and your stomach starts growling slightly. you debate pushing yourself a bit further before you decide otherwise—your mother had packed you a delicious lunch, and it wouldn’t hurt to give your feet a quick break while you wolfed it down.

you scan the nearby woods for a clearing you could sit at, and after a few more feet of walking, you’re greeted with what looks like a meadow of wildflowers in the distance. you keep your eye on the main path before plopping down on the side of the beaten track, leaning your back against a tall tree.

‘lunchtime, lunchtime,’ you excitedly think to yourself as you peel back the cover of your basket. in the corner, all wrapped up, is a pair of sandwiches, a bottle of water, and a whole apple that your mother has prepared for you. the bright noon sun above your head indicates to you that it's the perfect time for lunch, and you lick your lips as you unwrap the sandwiches.

you go to town on your food. you have to force yourself to slow down a bit so you won’t choke on your food, and you listen to the back-and-forth of bird calls as you savor the taste of tasty bread. the crisp tanginess of the apple is welcomed by your tongue after you finish your sandwiches, and you chew thoughtlessly.

crunch.

‘hm?’ you don’t even move when the sound of rustling comes from behind you. it’s probably a deer or something. the sound of rustling wasn’t uncommon this deep into the woods, and huntsmen often told stories about daring foxes or squirrels that would venture close to the tracks to fight over scraps that other travelers had dropped.

crunch.

you swallow down the final bite of your apple, inwardly wishing you had more. you dangle the core in between your fingers, and you wonder if you should toss it into the woods. yeah, that wouldn’t be too bad, right?

crunch.

the birds could pick at it for a bit, and then maybe the bugs could enjoy the sweet treat. what use would you have for an apple core? you stand up, dusting yourself off the best you can, and without looking too far into the woods, you rev up your arm and throwing the apple core as far as you can into the trees with as much force as you can muster-

-only to hit something square on with the apple core.

you blanche. what did you just hit? you weren’t looking too closely, and you had expected the apple core to unceremoniously fall somewhere on the ground and be forgotten. but instead, something of considerable size lurks in the woods, and you hold your breath as you haphazardly grab your basket and your cloak, getting ready to run for it.

“ow…,” a boyish voice whimpers.

huh??? you freeze in your place, confusion flickering through your brain as a shadowy figure rustles around the place you had tossed the apple. a voice? you hadn’t expected that. you were supposed to be the only person here.

did you accidentally hit a wandering huntsman on accident?

“w-who’s there?” you call out. “come out and show yourself!”

“i was trying to-,” the voice grumbles. you hear footsteps and the crunching of breaking branches and leaves, and you keep your distance from the voice. the figure shifts closer to you. “-before you hit me in the face with your leftovers.”

your breath stops just short in your throat when you see a young boy around your age step out into the light. you clearly look confused—you’ve never seen him before, and no one’s mentioned anything about a boy this deep into the woods.

“who are you?” you ask, your own voice hushed. “i’ve never seen you before.”

“i should be asking you that,” he huffs. he folds his hands over his chest, and he pouts. “i want to know about you first.”

“i live in the village.” you point the way you came, down the path. you make the wise decision to casually leave out your name and any other important information you can. “are you from there too?”

he shakes his head. “i live in the woods.”

the woods! you’d never heard of anyone living in the woods. it was pure wilderness, dangerous and scary, no less for someone who wasn’t even a veteran wilderness expert! for someone that lived in the woods, the boy looks surprisingly well groomed. his long blond hair pools over his shoulder and down his chest, and it looks clean and well maintained. his cheeks are rosy and pink, and his bright blue eyes stare you down with a kind of pride you’ve never seen before.

“that’s dangerous, you know,” you point out. “there’s a wolf that's been running around these parts lately. it’s not safe for you to be out here all alone.”

he raises an eyebrow. “a wolf, huh?”

“yeah! it’s been killing sheep in my village. everyone’s been talking about it,” you remark. “i’d take you back to my village if i could, but i can’t.”

“i’m not welcome there,” he coldly remarks. his eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s leering at you. “besides, i wouldn’t want to live in a stupid village anyway. i’m happier on my own. everyone else and their stupidity would make me mad.”

annoyance shoots through you, and you shrug. “suit yourself. i can’t force you to go if you don’t want to. but i’d rather not have blood on my hands.”

“blood on your hands, huh?” the blond boy steps closer to you. “where are you headed to?”

“why do you want to know?”

“because it’s not often that i see a girl wandering around this deep by herself. you said it yourself: it’s dangerous out here.”

you hold your ground as he steps closer, circling around you. he’s tall when he stands at full height, almost enough to rival some of the tallest men in your village. his body is toned, most likely from living in pure wilderness for however long he has, and despite the lighthearted banter between the two of you, something in your gut swirls with anxiety when he prowls around like a wild animal.

“i’m headed somewhere,” you answer vaguely. “i have some stuff i gotta deliver.”

“and it’s that way, isn’t it? opposite your village?” he approaches closer, and you whimper when he sniffs at your ear. “lemme guess… that old lady’s house on the other side?”

your stomach drops. the boy grins, his sharp canines on full display when he sees the awestruck look on your face.

“bingo! you smell like her,” he laughs easily. “that’s a long journey for a pretty girl like you.”

you pull your cloak closer to yourself, instinctively wanting to shield yourself from the strange boy. “that’s enough! i’m going to get going.”

“sure, sure.” he sends you off, still grinning like he’s won some grand prize. “be careful out there though, darling.”

he cocks his head, watching you as you start running away from him. the blond smirks to himself, your sweet scent still clinging to his nose as your silhouette flickers from his view and then disappears into the distance.

“a wolf, huh?” he murmurs. he sounds amused, still thinking about the flabbergasted expressions on your face. something inside of him stirs sinisterly.

he’s hungry, he decides.

and suddenly, sheep meat doesn’t sound as appetizing anymore.

…

horror weighs on your heart like a brick thrown into a pond. it ripples and quivers violently, forming merciless waves that spread out, swallowing up anything in its path and leaving things warped in its wake.

your grandmother’s house is trashed. the windows are smashed in, and the front door is broken. your heart hammers in a panic, and your mouth goes dry. your pupils shake as you stand a distance away from the house.

your mind is blank. what happened? robbers? wild animals? a murderer?

you know deep down in your heart that the correct thing to do is turn on your heel and run, run until you find someone else, run until another person could take care of the issue for you. but your feet stay glued to the ground, and your thoughts swirl over with terrifying ideas.

your grandmother is inside! she’s a weak, defenseless lady, practically confined to her bed because of her old age and her illness… there was virtually nothing she could do to defend herself if anyone attacked her.

what if you were already too late?

“g-grandma…!” you cry out. your basket bounces next to you as you run into the house, tears clouding over your vision. the house seems too big, like it’s swallowing you up without the safety of your grandmother. the inside of the cottage looks just like the outside. furniture overturned, big claw marks etched into the walls, and absolutely no sign of your beloved grandmother.

your blood turns cold at the claw marks.

was it the wolf?

“grandma, if you can hear me, say something…!” you whisper, too scared to raise your voice properly. “o-or move something! grandma, you’re in here, right?”

your body trembles uncontrollably. the only room remaining that isn’t within clear sight is your grandmother’s bedroom. your gut tells you to leave immediately. you don’t want to go in there, but you have to. who’s going to help your grandmother if not for you? what if by the time you ran away and brought other people, it was too late for her?

your steps echo throughout the ruined house like the toll of church bells, and you press your lips into a thin line. you reach out for the door, which, despite its dilapidated state, somehow managed to stay partially attached to the hinges. you push, forcing your head to quit spinning from your fear.

“we meet again, darling!”

your heart drops to the ground. blood paints what seems like every inch of the room, and you immediately stumble backwards, tripping over your own feet and landing like a sack of potatoes onto the ground.

‘move…!’ your brain screams at your body. ‘get up and move!’

but you can’t. the scene unfurling in front of your eyes makes your limbs feel like they were made of lead. you can’t bring yourself to do anything. you can’t crawl, can’t scream, can’t do anything except stare back up at the blood-drenched young man that looms above you with a wolfish smile.

he licks his lips. he looks exactly as he did in the woods. tall, with long blond hair and dazzling blue eyes. except this time, there’s a pair of pointed wolf ears that sprout from the top of his head and a bushy tail in between his legs. he’s splashed with crimson, and his mouth is smeared the deepest red.

“see, i knew this was where you were headed to,” he laughs. “are you looking for the old lady that was in here? sorry to tell you, sweetheart, but i think i was a step ahead of you.”

you can’t bring yourself to breathe.

“you- you’re the wolf…,” you choke out. the smug smirk never leaves the boy’s face as he leers down at you, and another wave of pure dread drops like a deadweight into your stomach when he nods.

“about time you pieced it together, stupid girl.” the boy clicks his tongue mockingly. “i always watched that stupid village of yours get their panties all in a twist trying to catch me. i mean, human or not, did you guys really think you’d catch anything with stupid traps like that?”

you raise your arms instinctively when he leans down. “please don’t kill me…! i won’t say anything- please don’t eat me!”

he pauses, and he takes a long inhale. you clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself from the crunch of your bones under his sharp teeth, and for the smell of your blood to fill the room. this is it. this is how you die. another victim to the weird werewolf that had terrorized your town for god-knows-how-long, gobbled up mercilessly in the same way the boy had devoured your poor, helpless grandmother.

he laughs again, and you shudder. you tentatively peel your eyes open, only to scream when you see yourself at eye-level with him.

“did you think i was going to eat you too? nah, i’m not gonna do that to you. i’ve had my fill with that bony old grandma of yours.” he grabs your wrist, and you yelp when pain shoots up your arm. he yanks you up to your feet, and you shakily lean against him when he drags you into the heart of the scene of the crime. you don’t want to look at all the blood splattered against your now-dead grandmother’s bedroom, and the boy flings you like a ragdoll onto her bed.

he looks so monstrous, towering over your cowering form. in every other way, he looks like a normal human, like any other boy you’d see frolicking in your hometown, but his animalistic features betray him. the gleam in his eyes mark him as unmistakably a ruthless predator, and your heart feels like it's going to give out.

“what are you going to do to me?” you eke out. “are you going to take me hostage?”

“hostage? for what? do i look like the kind of person to bargain with stupid humans?” he snorts, and when he shakes his head at your foolishness, his long hair tumbles over his broad shoulders. you look like a deer caught in headlights as he clambers onto the bed, and he presses a hand on either side of your face as he cages you in between his body and the mattress.

he’s smiling, but you can’t detect any trace of goodwill or kindness on his face. “do you really want to know what i’m going to do with you, my darling?”

you didn’t know how to respond. he leans down to your level, and you whimper when you can smell the stench of blood and death on his mouth. despite this, he presses his lips against the outline of your jaw, and you quiver underneath the boy as his tongue darts out to lick at your skin.

“i’m going to make you my mate.”

your head feels like it’s caving in.

“what-?” you flinch. “no- no, no- nonono- you can’t do that… i can’t- no, i can’t do that! i can’t be your mate…!”

he narrows his eyes, yet his lips never leave your face. he keeps kissing you greedily, and you push at him to no avail, unable to wrench his heavier, stronger body off of you. you start sobbing and crying out, yet the boy pays no attention to you as his mouth tastes your skin like a starved man.

“be good, or i’ll force you. you wouldn’t want that, would you? i don’t want to hurt a pretty thing like you,” he hisses. you sniffle and swallow back your oncoming sobs and you avert your eyes.

“i promise i’ll be gentle. besides, i’m way better looking than any of the men in your village,” he attempts to cheer you up. “c’mon. look at me. isn’t something like this more exciting than a drab country wedding? i’ll treat you like a princess. just love me, darling. does it matter if i’m a wolf or not?”

“you’re a wolf that kills! i don’t want to be with someone like you!”

he frowns, and his hands move to your cloak. your heart pounds painfully against your chest as his fingers twist at the material. your mother’s painstaking handiwork dissolves like sugar in water under his grip, and you know moving to defend yourself is futile. he quickly shreds your clothes as you cry quietly.

“you would do this too, if you were me.” his fingers trace over the bare skin of your collarbones and dip towards your breasts. his hands are sticky and warm against the chill of your body, and he cups your chest. it’s insane, how well your body fits into his big palms. he watches you with lust-stricken eyes, and his cock strains against his pants when he sees your tears wetting your pretty face and you laying there underneath him, not bothering to fight him off.

he knows. he knows you’re being obedient out of fear rather than true submission, but it’s good enough for him.

“i’m lonely,” he whispers. “you don’t know how it feels. having to kill to live. having to stay in the shadows. having to always yearn from afar because all of those stupid humans can’t see that i’m more similar to them than i am different.”

“t-that’s no reason to ruin my life…!” you protest. it’s a last ditch effort, but you shakily inhale anyway. “please… let me go. we can pretend like none of this happened. i promise i won’t tell anyone anything. i’ll give you my word. just… i can’t be a wolf’s wife- i can’t- i can’t do that-”

he shakes his head. “i want you. you talked to me in the forest. offered me help. treated me like a normal boy my age. i was too scared, so i hid my ears and tail, and you were none the wiser. that- that’s enough proof, isn’t it? that with enough time, you’d come to love me for who i am…”

you let out a strangled cry as a hand starts groping your tits, rough fingers brushing over your sensitive nipples. it feels foreign, having your boobs touched like this, but a dull heat thrums deep inside your stomach. the boy looks entranced as he stares down at your form. the way your plush chest molds and bends to his hands makes him desire you even more, even if he’s aware that you’re terrified to death of him.

“i can’t let you go. i can’t,” he doubles down. any of the remorse you had managed to wrench out of him disappears bit by bit, and he groans as he paws at your body greedily. “god, you’re just so pretty… i have to have you.”

you clench your thighs together. his lips meet yours, and you nearly vomit at the taste of iron on your mouth. he’s clumsy, but he kisses you so hungrily, eager to lap up any semblance of affection. you grip at the sheets as his hot tongue swipes at your closed lips, and you’re determined to deny him. he frowns into the kiss, and you feel a twinge of pride well up.

the wolf exhales angrily. the hand that’s been roaming your chest twists at your nipple harshly. you yelp at the pain, and the boy shoves his tongue into your mouth, moaning into the kiss. you start thrashing slightly. he doesn’t heed any mind to your discomfort, and if anything, he begins grinding his clothed hips against your thighs.

he can’t get enough of how you feel. your kisses are like honey to his mouth, and his body melts at the feeling of you against him. you know he’s going to leave bruises all over your tits from how hard he’s grabbing at them, but despite everything that’s overwhelming you, the heat that pounds against your core only builds.

you can’t breathe. you clench your eyes shut and try to bear it, try to work through the sparks of pleasure that cloud your mind from having your breasts molested, as the wolf kisses you how he wants you. your mouth tastes foul when he finally pulls away, and a string of saliva connects the two of you momentarily.

you glare up at him.

“i want to fuck you…,” his voice trails off. “i want to fuck you so bad. but i have to be gentle. i promised to treat you well…”

your pussy curls at the thought of taking the wolf’s dick. he bucks his clothed erection higher and higher up your legs, and he moans shamelessly into your mouth as he kisses you again. he slobbers all over your mouth like a feral dog, his tongue slithering into your throat like he’s fucking your mouth.

you don’t enjoy this. you don’t want this at all. yet you can’t ignore the throb that pulses at your core, the way your walls squeeze every now and then painfully against nothing. you’re not turned on by this—you’re not. you want to convince yourself of that so badly, but every time you realize the situation you’re put in, pinned down to a bed with a werewolf that wants to stuff every inch of his dirty cock into your cunt, arousal swirls inside your body.

his hands trickle down to your pants, and fear pricks sharply at your heart.

“i’ll be a good mate.” he peels the rest of your clothes off, mimicking the gentleness of a human lover the best he can. “i can be like a real human husband. no, i can be better. i know i can be better than any of those stupid boys in your village.”

you shudder when cold air rushes at your bare cunt. the slick that coats your slit is undeniable, and the boy’s pupils widen at the sight. he swallows, and you watch as his neck bobs. even by human standards, he’s handsome, and your body betrays your mind as he coaxes your thighs open.

“you want me too, don’t you?” he asks. he offers a weak smile. it’s almost sickening, how someone who mercilessly took everything from you can pretend to be a human in hopes that you’d grant him any pity. “i’ll make you feel good. i’ll be everything you want me to be.”

he lets go of your legs, and he grabs at his own clothes, shredding them apart. he groans when his cock springs free of his pants.

your heart drops into your stomach.

“i-i can’t take that-,” you choke out. “that’s too big! you’ll kill me- i’m not kidding…!”

he tilts his head to the side, and he shrugs. his cock is inhumanly huge, and if he were to put that inside your cunt, you swear that you’d be able to feel it in your throat. it’s long and thick and swollen up to an angry red. a few prominent veins run along his length, eager to stuff itself into your soft and vulnerable cunt. his balls hang heavy and big, undoubtedly filled with all the cum that he wants to fuck into you.

he grabs at your thighs again, and you squeal loudly in protest as he keeps you pinned in place.

“stay still-,” he grunts, “it’ll hurt less if you stop squirming like that! you’ll get used to it with time. it might hurt a little, but it’ll feel good with time… now shut up, and let me fuck you already-”

you grit your teeth and brace yourself as he starts rubbing his length against your lower lips. he moans softly, savoring the way your warm body feels against him. you can feel his cock twitch dangerously against your folds, and you whimper in a mix of pleasure, disgust, and fear whenever his cockhead catches at your sensitive clit.

he lines his cock up at your fluttering hole, and you stop breathing. your chest feels tight, and your head feels blown out. you prep yourself for the oncoming pain, but he pauses for a moment.

“give me your name.”

you blink. “huh?”

“if- if i’m going to take you to be my mate, i should know your name at least. before i do this,” he whispers sheepishly. your stomach twists with hatred. why should he care? he’s going to do all of these horrible things to you, so why is he even bothering to pretend to play the act of a caring lover?

“yours first,” you hiss. “if a wolf like you even has a name.”

“i do.” his response surprises you. “michael. it’s michael. i have a human name like you do. i heard that it means ‘he who is like god.’ now tell me yours.”

you lay there for a moment, dumbfounded. you didn’t expect a monster like him to have a label like that. and less so a name as blessed as “michael.”

you hang your head. “...(y/n).”

he hums, and you flinch when his cockhead threatens to break into your hole. “it’s a pretty name. a perfect name for a perfect mate.”

you bite the inside of your mouth and properly brace yourself. he pushes his hips in slowly, his gaze fixed on where his cock connects with your pussy. you weren’t sure exactly what you were expecting, but the pain comes faster than you thought. it burns and stretches, and you cry out, stiffening and lashing out, trying to get him off of you.

“hurts…! ‘t hurts-!!” you screech. you pound and claw at his shoulders, yelling and immediately bursting into another onslaught of tears. the tears are hot and heavy as they trickle down your face, and your legs shake uncontrollably. it genuinely feels like he’s splitting you into two, and the torturous pain makes your head flash white.

michael nearly falls on top of you. your cunt is disgustingly warm and inviting, and it stretches out and envelops him. it’s hot and wet and tight, and despite your constant protests, your pussy is heavenly around his cock. you’re so small, and he knows his wolf cock is about to break you. but god—he wants to break you. if breaking you feels this good, he’ll eagerly shatter you into a million pieces so that he has the depraved honor of being the one to destroy you and strip you of your humanity.

he clenches his jaw. he couldn’t lose his mind. not like this, not when his endgame was right there. “take it. i’m going to be your mate, so you better get used to taking my dick and get used to it fast.”

you hold back a strangled sob. your tears are freeflowing, and it’s hard to breathe. his cock feels like it’s pressing straight up against your womb, and he’s not even giving you the mercy of adjusting to his size slowly. his length invades every inch of your cunt, and his ridiculous girth has you stretched out thin. you know you can’t take this. he’s actively molding your tight hole into the shape of his cock, and if he keeps himself in here any longer, you might actually go insane.

your words slur sloppily. “you’ll kill me- you’ll fuck me to death-”

his breathing is strained just from the pleasure of putting it in, but he still manages to snort at you mockingly. “you won’t die. no one’s ever died from sex.”

you wish you had the spirit to shout back at him, to put up more of a fight. but that instinct has been long extinguished at this point, and you’re nothing more than a sniveling mess as you struggle to breathe through the tightness in your chest.

“c’mon, don’t be boring now.” he truly can’t get enough of the sight. the pretty girl from the village, face stained with tears, legs spread out all for him to fuck into her pretty cunt. to put it as frankly as he can, the boy doesn’t know what he wants to do first with you.

the sweeter part of him wants to kiss away your tears, to comfort you the best he can with a low voice and whisper his undying love to you, to convince you that a life as a wolf’s wife won’t be all that bad. you’ve caught his eye for a reason, and he wouldn’t want to have you snatch away whatever dregs of humanity the hybrid wolfboy was clinging desperately too. even if everyone else regarded him to be some kind of barbaric monster, deep down, even he has a soul that yearns painfully for love. for a romantic partner that could accept him as an equal and open their heart up to him.

but maybe this other part of him is what makes him a monster.

he loves seeing you reduced to this broken mess. he enjoys it, the primal fear that’s evident on every inch of your face. the way you’re nothing more than prey in his arms, with no other choice but to let him fuck your tight pussy out on his monstruous cock, to be the direct cause of all the pain and anguish you’re going through and to enjoy it like it’s the thrill of a fresh kill… it makes the wolfish streak inside of him go wild with delight, and he wants to keep you pinned down and helpless underneath him so he can soak up that bliss a little longer.

your stomach coils up on itself when you feel him slide his hips back slowly. the strangled noise that leaves your mouth is a mix between a pained shriek and a pleasured moan. he’s really too much for you to fit inside, and your strained walls cling to his cock. you’re barely hanging on for dear life just from him penetrating you. you can’t even imagine what it would be like once he would start actually thrusting and having sex with you.

“ahhh, you’re just too cute,” he teases you. “i never knew love could feel like this… it’s so good, isn’t it? no regular human dick could even come close to what i’ll make you feel, my little wife.”

you sob as he slowly bullies his cock back into you, once more making sure that you can properly feel the torturous stretch. the pain wobbles dangerously on edging you towards pleasure, and your vision blurs over slightly as the mounting heat in your gut tightens up. it’s gross, it’s inhuman that you’re getting off on having sex with a wolf, but your own self-restraint is being tested with the small cries you’re letting out.

“ah-,” you pathetically squeak out, “ahh…! michael- michael, please- i can’t do this!”

“yes, you can,” he promptly corrects you. his thrusts are shallow, granting you the rare mercy of sparing you from being speared in half on his entire length. “look at you… you’re starting to feel good, aren’t you? i can feel everything… that little cunt of yours won’t stop tightening up around me. you’re squeezing so much! it’s like your pussy knows better than you who you’re meant to be with.”

your mind shakes. it’s all you can do to keep yourself conscious. all the stimuli are too much: the anxiety, the pleasure, the adrenaline. your thoughts are being smoothed over, all logic coming to a screeching halt as the tightness welling up in your womb is all that your body can focus on. you hate how easily his name falls out of your mouth, how easily you find it to moan, and the wolfboy eagerly devours the attention you give him.

how angelic you must look to him right now! his mate, his precious mate, moaning out his name in pleasure, no matter how terrified they are of him! he moans softly too, and he can’t help but buck his hips deeper and harder into you. your voice and all your little noises are too adorable to him, and he just wants it all.

“you like it, don’t you? yeah, i know it’s starting to feel good. give in to me. you don’t have to do anything but let me have my way.” his breath is hot and heavy and tinged with the sharp tang of blood. you cringe when he kisses at your neck and cheeks again, but with how rapidly his hips are picking up at the rhythm, your thighs tremble dangerously. “i’ll make you cum again and again… oh, you’re just so lovely…”

your cunt sucks him in greedily. feeling his cock rub against your walls and prod dangerously at your cervix makes you grow blank, and your body keeps reacting more and more to what the wolfboy is doing to you. you wonder if this is what people mean when they say they’re being fucked stupid, and if it isn’t, whatever he’s doing to you is coming horribly close.

“fuck…! fuck- no- michael- michael, please-,” you whimper out. you two both know perfectly well that your cries are from how good it feels, but you still refuse to verbalize it properly. michael smiles into the curve of your throat, and he kisses your jugular with what you can only describe as a sickly kind of affection.

“what are you asking for, my love?” he chuckles endearingly. you sob, and your toes curl into the disheveled bed when his cock slides into you just right. your vision skews its axis slightly, and you let out a sharp exhale, mouth lolling open a little. he nips at your skin with his sharp teeth to snap you back to life. “tell me properly with those human words you’re so proud of. ‘please fuck me harder, michael! make love to your wife! give me more of your cock!’”

your cheeks burn with humiliation when he ridicules you, but deep down, you don’t know if you can wholeheartedly refute him. you do want more of him. you do want him to fuck you harder. your cunt purrs in delight every time he slides in and out of your slick hole, and his cock manages to ruthlessly hit all the right places.

it’s unfair. it’s unfair how everything’s stacked against you.

you must have ignored him for too long. michael frowns disapprovingly, and a low growl vibrates in his throat. he ducks his head and bites down on your shoulder, sharp teeth digging themselves into the curves of your soft flesh. you scream out in pain, your walls clamping down on him and another flurry of torturous pleasure shreds your stomach.

“p-please fuck me harder, michael…!” you’re fully crying. your words don’t sound like your own, and you certainly don’t feel like yourself. the tears and snot smeared all over your face makes you feel like some lowlife, and you hate the way he forces you to beg for him. “make love to me… give me- give me more of your cock!”

“see?” he licks his lips, and he grins devilishly as you as he pulls away from your now-marked shoulder. “that wasn’t so bad, was it? nothing wrong with you for wanting more from your husband. i’ll gladly indulge my darling.”

a shaky scream pounds at your chest, and blinding hot pleasure overwhelms your head as he picks up his pace. your moans reach a high-pitched squeal as he fucks himself into you, his cock rapidly pulling in and out of your pulsing hole. it’s not like you make it particularly easy for him either; your disgustingly tight pussy walls cling to him and almost refuse to let him go.

does your body love his dick that much? does your cunt want to savor the feeling of him stretching it out that badly? those thoughts make kaiser swell with pride as he reaches a fast rhythm. despite how sloppily and quickly he’s ramming his whole length into you to make sure you feel every single bit of his dick, he still makes sure that each thrust has his heavy cockhead drilling right at your womb.

he prods at your deepest parts, shamelessly making sure that your womb knows it’s time to be bred. it’s time for him to fill you up with his cum, to fuck a baby into you, to force every part of your body to be tainted with him. from inside and out, from outside to in, kaiser wants to selfishly claim every part of you. that’s what good husbands do to their wives, don’t they? that’s what your folk—the human folk—did, right?

the tightness that gnaws at your core refuses to relent. your arousal runs rampant through your veins, and it feels like your guts are tying themselves into a knot. you don’t know how else to describe the heat that mounts in your core and inside your head. your body and conscience are at odds with each other. your brain rejects michael, your mouth begs for him to hold you and fuck you harder, and your hole sucks him in like it doesn’t want to let go.

“that’s my pretty wife. you have such a fucking slutty body- begging for your husband feels good, yeah? i know, i know, darling,” he drinks up your tears, his hot tongue lapping languidly at your face. you choke back another sob, and he moves to steal a kiss. his tongue invades your mouth, and your eyes gloss over. you’re overwhelmed with his presence. it smells like him, tastes like him, feels like him. you’re crying out and mewling in pleasure into his mouth, and he literally eats up every single one of your lewd noises.

his balls slap against your ass, desperate to empty themselves into you. his cock twitches and throbs inside you, making you shudder in delight. it’s a sick kind of lovemaking, if you could even call it that. your own slick dribbles down between your legs, and the lubrication only makes it easier for michael to greedily shove his cock into your fluttering cunt.

“can’t take anymore- michael, ‘m gonna lose my mind-!” you breathe out. you hate to admit it. you don’t want to tell him how stupidly close you are. you blame how monstrously huge his cock is; how else would he be destroying your body in such an inhuman way? your vision is unstable, blurring even more around your teary edges, and the heat that licks inside of you is unbearable.

michael knows it. he can feel it. the way the velvety lining of your cunt coaxes his cock right up to your cervix, the way it keeps squeezing him and writhing around his sensitive inches, the way your own voice seems to hike higher and higher. your legs tremble underneath him, and michael is thrilled to know just how far he’s successfully broken you. the shame and embarrassment that’s scribbled all over your face makes him almost uncontrollably giddy.

“are you gonna cum, darling? did my cock make you feel that good?” he laughs mockingly. his words are like thorns against your ears, yet with how roughly he’s pounding into your pussy, having mounted you like the uncivilized animal he was, you couldn’t deny it. he’s a predator through and through, and with you trapped in his reach like prey, you know all too well that he’ll be moving in for the kill soon.

the insatiable tightness inside you teeters on the brink. you’re barely holding on, each breath growing more strained than the last. michael doesn’t let up his pace, continuing to rut into you. each snap of his hips has you close, so close, so fucking close—you don’t want him to stop. you clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself to hurtle headfirst into the crash, to topple finally past the point of no return where you would irrevocably become the wolf’s.

“i’m cumming…! ah- michael- cumming- cumming…!”

heat rips through your body in half. you throw your head back, the foreign feeling consuming you whole as if you had been thrown directly into fire. your cunt clamps down on the boy’s cock, and it feels like he’s about to split you into two. your vision completely blurs, and the world rushes around your senses. it’s too much yet not enough at the same time, and you rake your nails down the wolf’s bare back with such a fervor that you must have shredded up his skin and drawn blood.

you shake and squirm and thrash underneath him, but no matter how much you writhe against his body, michael won’t let his grip on you go. he relentlessly fucks you through your orgasm, leaving you a sobbing mess as your juices squirt out of your abused hole and drip down onto the shaky bed. his cock pounds harder and harder, and he groans out as he feels your slick and pulsing walls flutter and clench around him.

“hah- that’s what i thought-,” he chuckles. you can’t breathe. you can’t think. the incessant throbbing in your stomach is still there, but it’s morphed from arousal into something a little more painful. he’s overstimulating your already overrun cunt. “your husband’s dick is that good, isn’t it? don’t worry; i’ll fuck you like this as much as you want… i’ll get you to cum over and over again.”

you dumbly shake your head. your head is foggy, and the throes of your climax don’t want to let you go. “n-o… can’t take any more- no more- don’t want any more…!”

“you’re going to take it, like the good wife you are. you don’t get a choice in this. i’m your husband,” he snarls. you shudder, whimpering in weak protest as he continues using you. it hurts, and it burns, and the coil that refuses to let up in your stomach makes you feel sick. how much longer could this monster last? it feels like he’s been having sex and using your body forever, but even after ripping an earth-shattering orgasm from you, he still hasn’t cum yet.

“it hurts- i can’t do it…!” you smack at his chest again, but you know he won’t let you go. your tears sparkle cruelly on your cheeks, and michael sighs lovingly as he laps at your face. he swings back and forth constantly between treating you like you were a mere bug to cherishing you. was this some kind of karmic revenge from the universe for thinking so lowly of your own village? the home that seemed so far away now?

“take it- take it- fuck- let me make you my proper wife…” fear floods your body when you can feel his cock twitch dangerously deep inside you, your bruised cervix contracting and sucking him in. his balls tighten and continue to slap against your ass, but with how quickly and frantic his movements are, he’s going to cum. “fill you up with my pups… we’ll be such a happy family together-”

your eyes shoot open. cold reality splashes over you as if slapping you back to your senses, even in the midst of being manhandled. “no! no, no…! don’t! please, please, michael- that’s the one thing you can’t do! don’t cum inside- i don’t want to get pregnant with your babies!”

he grits his teeth, and he presses his entire body weight on top of you, determined to keep you physically where you are. he’s determined to make sure you can’t escape from his grasp, as if you’d be able to go anywhere with how disheveled and haunted you are. it’s a good look for you, second only to the loving glances he knows you’d never spare him.

“shut up, shut up…! this is your job, this is what you’re supposed to do! this is what lovers do!” he thrusts once, twice, and when he brings his hips down one final time, your fate is sealed. his own cry dies out, buried deep inside his throat as he cums deep and hard into you. your breath lodges into your neck, leaving you with nothing but bitter defeat and the taste of uncertainty all over your mouth.

his cum spurts everywhere, and it floods your womb. it burns and goes everywhere, painting your insides a pretty shade of ivory white, and you can feel every drop of it flowing into you. it’s poison, it’s heavy, and it’s awful, yet your cunt has no choice but to take every little bit of it. you bite down on the inside of your cheek as it starts to eke out, and you force yourself to endure it. you have no choice but to; this is what survival is for you now. this is the only answer you have now.

you don’t know how you’re going to live with this. you try to console yourself by telling yourself that you had gotten over the worst, but you know that you haven’t. you never will.

“nnghg…!” a stray cry slips from your mouth when something tight and way too big for you to take invades your strained hole. a sharp pain invades and spearheads through you, and your entire body stiffens as his large knot shoves its way into your plush and stretched out pussy. his cum overwhelms your body, stretching out every inch of your battered womb. your stomach bulges just slightly, feeling stuffed to the very brim.

michael nearly collapses on top of you, keeping you folded in half and in a perfect, vulnerable breeding position. his eyes are blown open wide and glossed over in a kind of drunken stupor, yet he refuses to let you go in any capacity. it’s not like you have the physical means to anyway; you’re already so weak from having him force himself onto you, and the pain of being bred and knotted is taking everything in you to not pass out right there and then.

he reaches towards your face, cupping your tear-stained and broken expression with his large palm. you don’t know if the feeling that stirs in your gut is simply the aftershocks of sex or pity towards yourself, but seeing michael look down at you with such a triumphant yet lovestricken gaze isn’t doing your any favors. you know you have no choice but to get pregnant with his children, to watch in horror as your body turns into nothing but a host for these parasites he’s determined to fuck into you over and over, not a single squeeze of semen going to waste with the knot he’s plugged you up with.

“we’ll be perfect together,” he whispers. his words are almost like a mantra he’s brainwashing you with. you wonder who needs it more, the manipulator or the one being manipulated. everything feels like a punishment to you. just where did you go wrong? were you too ambitious for your own good? too hopeful? too willing to jump at the first opportunity for escape that came your way, not caring to see if any part of the rosy details were traps?

or maybe the worst part was that you might have done nothing wrong at all. maybe this was all a twisted machination of the universe. maybe just like what michael believed, you were destined to fall into the wolf’s grasp one way or another, to disappear from the face of society and the world as you knew it, to have him drag you off into the darkness and to become the broken but beautiful wolf’s bride that he must have dreamt of forever.

“i love you.” he kisses you, and you don’t have the strength nor the courage to say those blasted words back to him. it’s not like you could say them back sincerely either. instead you avert his gaze, turning your face towards the red scraps of your cloak that lay on the ground as if they were miniature corpses of their own, left over from a long lost war.

you hope your mother can forgive you when she realizes you won't ever come back home.

KINKTOBER 2023—le cinquième jour, le dernier jour.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk smut #michael kaiser #x reader #my writing

586 notes · View notes

agustdiv1ne · 8 months

Text

ticket to nowhere (but your heart) (m) — cyj

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers au, photographer!yeonjun, artist!reader, fluff, angst, smսt

wc: 22.3k

synopsis: twelve days. twelve days is all you have on this godforsaken train to find the spark that will save your dying art career — but you never thought that you would find it in the enigmatic stranger that you can’t seem to stop running into.

warnings: mdni!! ageless + blank blogs dni!!!, mc is bad with feelings, is alluded to have anxiety, and is written as shorter than jjun (i'm sorry to my taller friends, i love you) + the same age as him (24), this takes place in various places across the u.s. (sorry in advance), mentions of food + alcohol, vvvvv brief depiction of potential self-injury when describing a painting, beomgyu + le sserafim's sakura, chaewon, and yunjin (called jennifer here just bc i felt like it) are featured, dom!jjun, sub!mc, soft sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), light begging, multiple orgasms, protected sex (hooray!), missionary, praise

note: part of @majestyjun's yeonjun bday event!! REPOSTED bc tumblr decided to not let this show up in the tags (edit: it's now showing up!!) </3 also my longest fic to date, so that's something

*:･playlist･:*

(cross-posted to ao3 here!)

masterlist

everything in your life is bland. gray.

the food that you eat, the people that you become acquainted with, the skyscrapers above you that grasp for the sky and fail to reach it — they have all become so monotone and somber and utterly lifeless. something within you gnaws at itself, aching with pain — though the sharpness of the feeling has been blunted by the passing of time — because you used to adore the city that you call home. you used to find unrivaled beauty in the skyscrapers that spread across manhattan, in the lush green parks scattered amongst the urban landscape that would turn warm and golden as summer metamorphosed into autumn, in the people that would walk by you with their unapologetic, unique fashion and confidence. the very things you used to love have dulled in hue, washes of the vibrancy you once appreciated and took significant inspiration from.

throughout your apartment lay half-baked paintings and charcoal drawings and pieces with odd compositions from that one month where you went through a mixed media phase, staring at you with their paint-streaked eyes, mocking you. finish us, their fragmentary faces scream. they beg for you to provide them with souls, to be their maker, their creator — but not quite their god. you are not pretentious enough to go that far, to paint yourself as that self-important, that narcissistic. you are far from a god. if you were, you would be in a larger apartment, a penthouse worth millions of dollars in soho or maybe the upper east side. if you were a god, you would purchase the finest art supplies in the world, have your pieces be displayed in major galleries to be auctioned off for hundreds of thousands — no, millions of dollars by pretentious art collectors to be hung up in their gaudy mansions, their own slices of heaven. however, in reality, you fall exceptionally short of a higher being; in truth, you are a rather simple woman who had transplanted herself from her suffocating hometown to brooklyn as soon as you completed your undergraduate degree. a tiny little apartment in brooklyn, new york city, new york — an adumbration of purgatory, floating somewhere between heaven and hell. trapped, trapped, trapped. nowhere to go.

sitting on your bed, the balls of your feet pressed against the cool wooden floor, you ponder if these thoughts, this density of emotions burrowing into your stomach, are a symptom of burnout. maybe even artist’s block, though in the past you’ve often remarked that the concept doesn’t exist. you had never experienced it, so in your sorely narrow-minded view, it simply couldn’t be possible, and other artists were simply blaming their laziness on this elusive concept. what a fool you were for ever thinking that. shame hangs like a heavy weight within your chest; who are you to criticize the experiences of other artists when you know how difficult a creative’s life can be? how could you be so insolent?

a raging hypocrite, really, is what you think you must be. a blank, blurry stare scans over your space, the coolness of the floor spreading up into your toes. an easel in the corner, near one of the small windows that allows for a view of mostly red brick, a sliver of blue-brown water where the hudson and east rivers meet, and a few lower manhattan skyscrapers that tower high in the air across the watery expanse. it’s not that far from your bed, which sits on the wall opposite below a second window, the slightest bit larger than the other one. most of your apartment is taken up by supplies rather than actual decor, a jar of paintbrushes on your small, round dining table in the corner near your kitchen instead of a vase of flowers, works-in-progress on the walls rather than posters, pictures.

you live and breathe art, and your entire apartment reflects that, but the oxygen is getting thinner and thinner.

even then, you’re not quite sure how long you have felt this way — it’s not as if you woke up one day and noticed the change. it wasn’t sudden like a car accident, slamming into you one second and leaving you to cope with the aftermath the next. quite the opposite, really, more akin to the tide slowly coming to shore, washing over more of your body with each incoming wave. soothing, flowing along with each ebb and flow, pulling you further and further away from the beach until you have nowhere else to go but down.

weak fingers dig into the white comforter below you, curling into the fabric with a surging desperation — for what, you are unsure. comfort? someone to hold you? you haven’t felt the embrace of another, the warm sensation of lips pressed against your own, in an embarrassingly long time. the dating world had slipped from your hands long ago, shattering on the floor like a snow globe, your wants and hopes and desires to love and be loved soaking your lacerated feet and stinging as it enters your wounds. your mind trails to beomgyu, a fellow artist who you had met when you could afford a private studio in a warehouse one burrow over. he was fun, a sappy romantic, and he made you laugh to no end — but he ruined you. he moved across the country without warning and you’d never heard from him again, leaving you heartbroken and with questions you’d never get answers to. you wonder how he’s doing now, if san francisco is treating him well. his number is still in your phone. you should delete it. you need to delete it. you need to make dinner. you need to finish that commission. you need to do a lot of things.

you need to get out of here.

fuck, you do. the desperation surging within your veins takes the new form of a beast, clawing its way up your throat. you need to leave the city and experience new places and see new things and—

finally, you wrench yourself off of your bed after hours of sitting there. snatching your laptop from the floor, you search. you search and search and search for something that will get you out of this city, albeit temporarily. several different trips to italy — too expensive, and too far away from here. an airbnb in florida — you’ve never been a fan of humidity, and you don’t think only seeing one city will be enough to sate you. come on, come on, there has to be something.

and then you find it: twelve days on a train, across the country. stops in chicago, denver, san francisco, seattle, and even a national park for half a day before looping back through chicago and back to new york. this sounds…perfect. your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the price as you scroll down. for you, it’s expensive, so fucking expensive, but…

“you need to let go and enjoy life for once,” one of your friends told you at a party a few months ago, when you were experiencing a less incapacitating version of the burnout you currently face, when you had thought it was a mere blip in your unending motivation. of course, you hadn’t listened to jennifer and her sound (and moscato-induced) advice, opting to throw yourself further into your art and ultimately fail at creating anything worthwhile. you regret it now, because you feel stuck. terribly, utterly stuck — but this is your chance to change that.

you need this; you can make the sacrifice to your already thinning bank account, you think. let go, enjoy life. let go, enjoy life — you repeat those four words over and over again as you type in your card information, as you click the button to book the trip, as you read over the confirmation email that outlines the steps you need to take before you leave. let go, enjoy life, and you will. you will, and you will relight that dimming, nearly extinguished fire within you while you’re at it. you’ll make damn sure of it.

day one.

your heart is pounding. the rapid ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump roars in your ears like thunder as people upon people walk past, shoving against both of your shoulders as you stand in front of a board full of green and yellow and red. the sounds of voices and rolling luggage echo across the high, transparent ceilings of the station which allow for a view of the sky above. early mornings and you do not agree with each other, and today is no exception; poorly-veiled dark circles sit beneath your eyes, illuminated by the soft, warm light streaming in from above. looking down at your phone and back up at the screen again, you find that your train is thankfully on time, the bright green letters helping loosen the tightness gathered in your shoulders as you roll them back once, twice. your teeth skirt your bottom lip while you nod to yourself, then scan the spacious building for the escalator that will take you down to the correct platform.

you hate that you’re nervous. the feeling twists your stomach into knots and flushes your face, cheeks hot as you stand there and wait out the remaining minutes before you can board. it doesn’t even make sense — you should be happy to get out of town, to go places you’ve never been to before, but all you can focus on is the unease creeping up your throat and blooming sour on your tongue. perhaps this is actually excitement that you are feeling. maybe you’re reading it all wrong — jennifer was more than ecstatic when you told her of your impromptu trip, saying “this is what you need! this might be your breakthrough!”

ever since you met the her, she was always a degree more optimistic than you. looking on the bright side of things, no matter what dire circumstances lay splayed out across the dealer’s table. what’s stopping you from being the same way? several things, but at the same time, jennifer is right: you need this. your hands jitter with an odd combination of excitement and fear — maybe it’s simply the thought of solo travel that is so intimidating. yeah, it has to be. it will pass soon enough — hopefully. you roughly shove your set of headphones onto your head, slipping them over your ears. music will have to do for now, if only to prevent thoughts from racing through your head.

once you board, you learn that your quarters are…small, though that was expected. it reminds you of your studio apartment, almost; cramped, but lacking the scattered paint tubes and canvases and miscellaneous mediums that you have not laid a single finger upon in months now. the small, travel-size tubes of paint sitting in your backpack weigh your shoulders down, begging to be taken out and spread across the small, flat canvases that are tucked snugly beside them. you muffle their pleas by turning up the music streaming through your headphones. closing the door behind you, you softly hum to the current song in your ears, shoving your suitcase in the corner of the room.

once the attendant checks your ticket, you decide to take a nap — who cares if it’s early? you barely got enough sleep last night in the first place, too nervous to allow your eyes to shut. collapsing onto your bed, you pull the curtains next to it shut and allow yourself to drift off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

*:･

you awake around noon with a growling stomach. with a sigh, you rub your tired eyes and sit up, smoothing out your rumpled shirt. after a quick look on your camera to make sure none of your mascara has transferred below your eyes, you make your way to the dining car that’s not too far from your own.

it’s nice, quaint; simply decorated like the rest, with large, square windows divided by thin pieces of wood lining each side. smaller tables line the wall to your right, two seats at each, while larger, four-person tables sit to your left. you opt for a two-seater towards the middle, tunnel vision blocking out the rest of the people present. you stare out at the greenery that blurs outside the window, listening to the low rumble of the train, mindlessly thumbing the laminated menu laying on the table. while you wait for the waitress to get to your table, a light, feminine voice knocks you from your own little world.

“excuse me?” the voice asks. you flinch in response, blinking hard as you look to your left and find two women sitting at the four-seater next to you. they’re both pretty, brown-eyed with full lips curved into twin smiles. they don’t look like sisters, though — more so friends.

“yes?” you politely say, wondering what they could want with you. the shorter-haired one’s smile grows wider once you speak. she has a rounder face than the other girl, her black bangs ending above her eyes that are currently crinkled at the corners.

“are you waiting for anyone?” the other girl asks, the one with a long wolfcut and wide, hypnotizing eyes. definitely not sisters, you think, they look nothing alike.

shaking your head, you softly murmur, “i’m not.”

“would you like to join us, then?” the wide-eyed one asks, a hopeful glint shining in her eyes.

“i...i wouldn’t want to intrude,” you reply. your mouth curls into something apologetic, as if you’re the one burdening them despite them being the ones to ask you. this interaction feels weird, awkward, and a very large part of you wishes you could melt through the floor and disappear forever.

“you wouldn’t!” straight black bob chimes in, hands clasped together on top of the table as she leans towards you. cheery, excitable. “we wouldn’t mind at all, really.”

you nod with a tiny, somewhat nervous grin as you take the seat closest to you, right next to wide-eyed wolfcut. you offer them your name, unsure what else to give them. your age? your profession? your deep-seated trauma? okay, definitely not that last one.

“it’s nice to meet you,” straight black bob says, while the other chimes in with a soft hum of affirmation. “i’m chaewon.”

“and i’m sakura,” wolfcut adds with a dip of her chin.

hands placed snugly in your lap, you pick at your thumb nail. your back is stiff in the chair, and you hope they won’t notice. “it’s nice to meet you guys too. are you traveling together?”

both of them giggle, glancing at each other for a moment before swiveling their eyes back to you. for a moment, you’re confused. why was that so funny? they look to be decent friends, at least from your limited interactions with them thus far.

“we actually just met a few minutes ago,” wolfcut — no, sakura claims. oh, so they’re not friends, then. “we ran into each other— like, quite literally ran into each other.”

“it was…kinda bad,” chaewon laughs before she takes a sip of water. “my ass is still sore.”

you huff a laugh at that, all air and no sound, and the conversation continues with a light-hearted air to it. as the minutes tick by, you learn that chaewon is a graduate student taking a gap semester, while sakura owns her own makeup line, a small business that is beginning to pick up speed thanks to social media. one lives in brooklyn—

“no way,” you gasp at chaewon. “where at?”

sakura, meanwhile, resides in upper manhattan. even more information about them bombards your brain as all of you begin to eat, but you doubt you’ll remember most of it by tomorrow, even later today — it’s alright, though. the three of you have exchanged numbers (to create a group chat) and have basically promised to be travel buddies for the coming days. your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, grateful to find kind, welcoming people on this train — you’d think that jennifer would like them. the way they interact with each other is somewhat reminiscent of your and jennifer’s friendship. friends…yeah, you can see the three of you becoming good friends.

“can we see some of your art?” chaewon asks, bob shifting like a wave around her head as she shakes it. oh, yeah. you had briefly mentioned your profession, though shame barred you from sharing your reasons that led you to this train in the first place.

you cringe. “oh, well—”

“i’m sure it’s great!” she continues. “c’mon, pleaseee?”

with sparkling doe eyes and hands clasped tightly together, it’s difficult to say no — and you don’t, shaking your head a little as you pull up your instagram account. while you’re proud of the pieces you’ve posted on there, they aren’t your most emotional. those ones are saved in your camera roll, and that is where they will stay, only for your eyes (and a very few select others) to see. they coo and aw as they swipe through, your phone placed on the table between them. heat rushes to your cheeks as you begin to pick at the remnants of your lunch sitting on your plate. deep down, their kind comments cause an unusual sense of guilt to invade your heart. why couldn’t you produce shit like that now? what the hell is wrong with you?

with a polite smile, you thank them and move to excuse yourself before your pathetic sense of self-pity can consume you. they seem a bit surprised by your abrupt exit, but they also take it in stride, offering to text you later for dinner. slipping from your seat, you send them a wave before setting off towards the door from which you initially came.

*:･

you don’t know what spurred you to make a stop at your room and snatch your sketchbook from your backpack before heading to the observation car, but after a whole lot of sitting and not one speck of sketching, you kind of, sort of have started to hate yourself for that decision.

the open page in your lap is abysmally blank. no marks, no little trees or lush fields or flowers or anything that you see speeding by outside the window. your pencil has been poised against the page for the longest time, dark gray dots scattered across the page where you would press the point of the pencil to start making a mark and subsequently give up. another hour with no progress ticks by, but you still can’t make it move. move, why won’t your hand just move?

flipping it shut, you lean back in your seat with a deep sigh. you can’t force these things, you know that much, but that won’t stop you from trying — and failing — to produce something. you’d rather not dwell on that for too long, though. those thoughts are what got you here in the first place. instead, you allow your tense muscles to relax, your eyes to lose focus and blur, blobs of green and blue passing by your vision. soft murmurs from other passengers meld together into a wall of droning noise, soft and soothing.

that is, until the sound of someone settling into a seat a couple away from your own pops your little bubble like a sharp, pointed pin pressing into the skin of a balloon. blinking your vision back into focus, you take a quick glance to your right and—

holy shit, he’s beautiful. a sloping nose and pink, plush lips, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was a model of some sort with a face like that. his dark, slightly outgrown hair frames his side profile perfectly, sweeping back towards the back of his head where it begins to curl down the back of his neck. there’s this sort of dreamy, ethereal quality to his looks, like the universe took it’s sweet time creating him, lovingly placed tiny little stars in his sable, fox-like eyes and kissed his skin with the sun’s gentle rays, a light pink dusted across his cheeks — or, at least, the one cheek that you can see. bulky headphones sit snugly over his ears as he simply watches the landscapes pass by, one long leg crossed over the other. before you register the movement of your hands, your sketchbook is flipped back open to that very same blank page you’d given up on mere moments ago, fingers gripping your pencil once more. fluid like water is how your hand moves across the page, capturing the unique shape of his eyes, his soft yet defined jawline, the slope of his neck…

for the first time in months, you lose yourself in your work, yet you don’t even register this small breakthrough. peeking back up at the beautiful stranger every once in a while, you slowly carve out his likeness on the page in front of you, begin to add his surroundings and even a background, shading with light, circular strokes as you go, building up the deposit of graphite where it is needed most, defining the shape of his pouty lips and the strong cupid’s bow that connects his top lip to his nose, mapping out the flow and shape of locks of hair with dark, daring strokes, graphite pressing hard into the page. you even add some flyways for good measure. in your frenzied bout of drawing, you have hunched over in your chair, an old habit that is rearing its ugly head now that you don’t have a standing easel to work with. straightening your aching spine, you sit back and observe your sketch, wondering if you have missed any defining details—

and when you move to look up and take in his features again, he is staring right back at you.

oh.

oh, fuck.

frozen in your seat, you can’t tear your gaze away from his own, a hint of concern swirling in his irises. his eyebrows raise, eyes slightly wide as he tilts his head. the corners of his pretty lips raise, parting as if about to speak — and he does.

“are you okay?”

his deep voice snaps you out of your stupor, flinching before you quickly flip your notebook shut and sent him a tight smile paired with a nod, eyes darting around to look everywhere but him. your heart just might leap out of your chest at this rate, tear open your sternum and collide with the floor. you almost wish it would.

he’s frowning now, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “uh, are you sure—”

without another glance at him, you stand, clutch your notebook and pencil tight enough that it presses marks into your skin, and book it straight out of there with swift and featherlight steps. you don’t look back, far too embarrassed to even consider it, not stopping until you reach your room. the door is slammed shut behind you, but the nerves-induced ache in your chest won’t fade. pressing the cool backs of your hands against your fiery cheeks, you resist the urge to slap yourself. what the fuck is wrong with you? you should’ve just answered him and apologized for staring. he probably thinks you’re some creep now, with your weird little notebook and lack of verbal response — and the way you left. god, if a hole opened up and swallowed you whole, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“you are so fucking embarrassing,” you hiss, venemous words aimed straight at yourself, your head buried in your hands as you curl up on the bed. day one, day fucking one, and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of someone.

maybe you should stay in here for the rest of your trip.

day two.

“...why is it so big?”

chaewon is referring to cloud gate — or, rather, what is more popularly known as the bean — a terribly ugly, silver, oversized, bean-shaped art installation that sits in chicago’s millennium park. an art installation that you, quite frankly, despise mostly due to the artist behind the work. given that anish kapoor is an elitist prick who has shit on the art world with his wealth and hates when people call his piece the bean, you take great, overwhelming satisfaction in calling it that.

her question — paired with her furrowed eyebrows — causes you and sakura to snicker to yourselves. you’re grateful that they texted you this morning, had forced you out of your room because you actually were going to go through with your staying-in-your-room-forever plan (for today, at least). this park is your first stop of many, but you really want to get this part over with so that you don’t have to see this gargantuan, chrome bean ever again. despite its ugliness, you can admit that the slightly warped, mirrored reflection of the city that it provides is kind of interesting to look at, and it makes for some cool pictures.

(still, fuck anish kapoor. you refuse to give that man any credit.)

you end up taking a photo of you flipping it off from afar, sending it to jennifer with a smirk before helping the other two girls with some of their own photos. here, there’s no pressure to create, only to enjoy and experience what surrounds you, no matter how tourist-y it may be.

sakura slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to her, arm extended out to take a selfie. your hand raises in a peace sign at the camera, smile bright and wide like the sun above. there’s not an inkling of worry in your expression — until you see him.

the guy from yesterday, standing maybe ten feet away. he dons an unbuttoned striped shirt layered over a tank top which is tucked into baggy, dark wash jeans. a thin, black belt wraps around his waist, a small camera hanging from his neck, and his hair looks as perfect as yesterday, shiny and smooth under the unobstructed sunlight. thankfully, he hasn’t noticed you, but that doesn’t stop your smile from fading, your heart from hammering within your chest as your brain cruelly replays the events of yesterday afternoon in slow motion. you can’t face him right now. what if he comes up to you? what if he confronts you for your odd behavior in front of this crowd? these are worst case scenarios, sure, but they are potential outcomes nonetheless. as he begins to turn in your direction, you whip around, slipping from under sakura’s arm as you face the two girls.

“you guys ready to go?” you ask, masking your worry with a tight grin. don’t ask why, don’t ask why, please don’t ask why.

“yeah, sure,” chaewon nods. “i think i’ve had enough of the bean.”

“same,” sakura laughs.

“we could grab lunch, then go to the aquarium and planetarium?” you suggest, one foot beginning to tap against the concrete as you look back and forth between them. are there eyes burning into the back of your head right now? you can’t tell, but the prickling on the back of your neck is not a promising sign. they look at each other, then back to you — a phenomenon that has rapidly become a habit for them — and agree. surging forward, your hands loop around their wrists closest to you, and begin to speed walk away. far away.

“uh, girl? this is the wrong way, we’re going deeper into the park,” sakura notes, heels digging into the concrete to slow you down. she’s right, you know she’s right, but you’re not particularly keen on turning around.

with a sheepish grin, you say, “maybe we could take a walk through the park first?”

as if on cue, chaewon’s stomach emits an audible growl.

“nevermind, then.”

turning around, you find the stranger facing your way, and for some reason, he’s already looking at you. his eyebrows raise in recognition the moment you make eye contact. all of a sudden, you wish that you could shrivel up and die. despite this, you rip your gaze from his and push forward, turning to speak to sakura so that you aren’t forced to glance in his direction. mission: avoid the stranger who now haunts your life — success!

goodbye, the bean and the guy who you embarrassed yourself in front of. hello, chicago-style pizza.

*:･

you’re tired.

you’re tired and slightly more broke and your legs and feet ache to hell after the copious amount of walking you’ve done, but your day still isn’t over. no, despite the setting sun and rising moon, you still have one more activity on your itinerary — clubbing, by request of your newfound friends, though even they claim that they don’t often partake in the activity. similar to them, you’re more inclined to small get-togethers with wine, food from that thai place down the street from your apartment, and a good movie, but hey, this trip is all about experiencing new things. hell, maybe you’ll even enjoy it, who knows? at least, you’re going to try to, but the pain radiating in the soles of your feet and calves has worsened due to your high heels. the dress wrapped around your body is tight and flattering in all the right places, yet the hem rides up every few minutes as you walk.

“the pessimism isn’t cute. quit it,” you hear jennifer’s voice echo inside your head, yet another phrase she’s uttered to you in the past. fine — on the bright side, you haven’t seen that good-looking stranger since the park. bam, positivity, go you.

sakura’s arm loops around yours as you reach the club that you collectively decided on earlier. her excited squeals at the prospect of alcohol (or, rather, more alcohol, since she pregramed a bit prior to leaving the station) and dancing are enough to bring on a weak headache that spreads across your temples. ibuprofen. you desperately need ibuprofen, but vodka will do just fine too — it’s the first thing you order at the bar, a straight shot with no chaser because at this point, you don’t care. let go, enjoy life, you internalize as you toss the sharp liquor down your throat, fatigue melting away as the alcohol enters your veins.

cheers, jennifer. you still need to text her back.

one more downed shot later, and chaewon is dragging you to the dance floor. the bass pounds in your ears and vibrates the floor as the three of you sway to the upbeat songs. droplets of sweat begin to bead along your hairline, bodies packed so close together that it’s virtually impossible not to be jostled by a stray elbow or shoulder as you dance. if you were completely sober, it would be uncomfortable, but your hazy senses allow for you to overlook the sardine can that is called a club. it’s easy to lose yourself in the warm, heady air, in the way your hips bump between chaewon’s and sakura’s. inhibitions melt away — you’re free; no expectations weighing you down, nowhere to be, no one to be. only music, flashing lights, and the new, fruity drink in your hand, courtesy of sakura.

“gonna take a breather!” you yell into chaewon’s ear, the alcohol finally catching up to you. she nods, yells words you can’t make out into sakura’s ear, and both of them begin to follow you out of the crowd. you sip at your drink as you push your way through, ducking under swinging arms and avoiding splashing drinks. the crowd thins as you grow closer to the edge of the dance floor until only scattered groups of friends remain.

“you didn’t have to come with me, y’know,” you say as soon as you reach a slightly quieter part of the club, taking a seat in an empty booth. “i can handle myself.”

“it’s better to stick together. less dangerous,” sakura refutes. some of the glitter that sits above her eyes had drafted down to her cheeks, glinting as a beam of bright light travels over the lower half of her face. “you never know what could happen in a club.”

chewing at the neon pink straw in your drink, you nod, “that’s true.”

as chaewon and sakura fall into conversation, their words not quite reaching your ears, you silently scan the club. the darkness is cut by wild lasers and spotlights that whirl around and catch on the faces of countless strangers, their pearly, grinning teeth glinting and disappearing back into obscurity in a flash. you continue to nibble at your straw, vision hazy around the edges and an airy sensation in your limbs, as if you could float up to the ceiling. you look up at the multicolored lights, flashes of red and green and blue bombarding your vision, then back down towards the crowd.

and yet again, you find him in your sights.

suddenly, your vision has a crystal clear clarity to it. button-down shirt wide open to reveal his toned torso, he smoothly moves to the beat with an intoxicated smirk painted on his lips, a small glass of amber liquor in his left hand. dark, outgrown hair, plush lips, those dark, dreamy eyes — that’s him. shit, that’s definitely him.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmur, head collapsing into your arms on top of the cool wooden table. sakura jumps in her seat next to you, before scrambling to place a hand on your shoulder.

“are you okay?” she squeals near your ear, tacking on a worried call of your name when you don’t respond right away. honestly? you’re kind of not okay. you’re tired of encountering him at every turn and being reminded of your humiliating escape from him yesterday. you’re tired of him spotting you and sending you odd looks as if you’re the weirdest person he’s ever crossed paths with. you’re tired, you’re tired, you’re just so tired.

you decided to go on this trip to get away from the mundanity of your day-to-day routine, to get over your spell of artist’s block and see new things, but maybe you bit off more than you can chew if you were going to allow one random person to ruin that goal for you. a random stranger shouldn’t have this much power over you.

raising your head, you send them a half-hearted nod. “i’m fine. sorry.”

chaewon frowns, “are you about to throw up? ‘cause you look like you are.”

“you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” sakura chimes in.

sighing, you shake your head. “i think— i think i need to use the bathroom.”

as you move to get up, they do as well — though you decide not to protest this time. there’s no point, really. your legs wobble a bit as you walk, face dropping once you notice that he is near the men’s restroom now, waiting outside right across from where you aim to go. head down, you scurry past him, ignoring how his eyes widen and his knuckles pale as he grips his drink tighter. chaewon and sakura are hot on your heels as you slip into the quiet bathroom. with the music from outside now muffled, you realize your ears are ringing. reaching a sink, you turn on the faucet and splash some water onto your face. hunched over the sink, your fingers grip the edge of the counter. deep breaths, now. deep breaths. this is likely the quickest you have ever sobered up, and the sensation is rendering you dizzy.

behind you, your friends exchange concerned looks through the mirror. sakura jumps into action first, coming up behind you and placing her hands onto your shoulders. with a gentle squeeze, she murmurs, “let’s get you back to the station.”

day three.

today, the observation car is devoid of life — and so is your body after yesterday. can you overdose by taking too much ibuprofen? you’re pretty sure that you can.

last night is but a blur in your memory with few spots of clarity, but you do vividly remember panicking in the dimly lit bathroom as the girls fretted over whether you were going to vomit all over the floor or not. you hadn’t slept much once you returned to your room after exchanging drunken hugs with your friends, assuring them that you were, indeed, not going to throw up. after a few hours of restless sleep, you’d completely given up on proper rest — you have never slept all that well with alcohol in your system, so you’re not sure why you thought this time would be any different.

you take a seat far away from the one you took last time. clad in your pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, you’re grateful that no one else is here to see you at your worst: slightly hungover with dark circles the size of dinner plates. your legs fold up onto the chair so that your knees sit near your chest, your arms looping around your shins, fingers laced together. a deep sigh. a long blink. though the rest of the sky remains an inky black, the horizon morphs into a deep purple, the color of eggplant, almost. perhaps a smidge lighter.

a door opens, its hinges faintly squeaking, before subsequently clicking shut. figuring it must be someone older, you do not bother with checking who entered; most people your age aren’t up this early, especially not willingly. instead, you keep your eyes trained on the ever-changing sky, chin resting upon your knees.

footsteps near you, and you assume that they will pass, but then they don’t. rather, they stand right in front of you.

“may i sit here?”

you have heard this voice before, just two days ago. unsurprisingly, he stands a mere few feet away, clad in a black tank top and gray sweatpants, a long finger pointed towards a seat. similar to you, small dark circles sit beneath his eyes, but he somehow makes them work. once you nod, one corner of his lips twitches upward before he sits down, a singular seat separating your bodies. his gaze burns the side of your face; your arms wrap around your legs tighter, your unwavering stare pointed out the window. silence envelopes the train car, tense and suffocating. your lungs tighten, prickly thorns sprouting within the thin membranes. your bottom lip may begin to bleed if you keep chewing at it so carelessly.

he breaks it first, shatters it like glass colliding with the floor, with five words:

“i’m really hungover right now.”

your brows furrow. why is he trying to strike up a conversation with you? why do you want to answer him?

he continues before you can formulate a response, “i saw you at that club last night — you looked a little sick. are you okay?”

“peachy,” you curtly mumble, lips pursing. of course he remembers you; you did pass by him, after all, basically sprinted into the bathroom with the grace of a bull in a china shop. he hasn’t mentioned the park, but you know damn well he remembers that too.

you can sense the frown from his tone, confusion lacing the edges like delicate lace. his question is careful, slowly intonated as if he’s scared of pissing you off. “uh, did i do something wrong?”

you shake your head, not a single glance spared in his direction thus far. he hasn’t. your attitude is a direct result of your own actions, your own rampant anxieties. a pang of guilt punches you in the gut — he does not deserve your bitchiness when he, quite frankly, has done nothing but exist in relative proximity to you.

“you haven’t,” you reply, voice meek. your eyes trace over the short fibers of the plain carpet below your seat. “i’m just— i’m sorry.”

the low rumble of the train fills the air again, no further words spoken between the two of you. there’s no clear way to explain yourself further, but your apology is sincere; with a brief peek, you find him staring out the window.

“can i ask why you keep running away whenever you see me?” the query lacks an accusatory edge. rather, curiosity and interest cushion his voice. maybe…maybe he doesn’t find you that strange, after all.

and finally, after two days of avoiding his gaze, you swivel your head to face him. you find a tilted head, a single humorous, raised eyebrow. despite yourself, you begin to smile. “honestly?”

“i’d prefer honesty, yes,” he grins.

“i—” you hesitate for a moment, then continue, “i was embarrassed.” a grimace paints your face, dragging your brows down and twisting your lips. “after, y’know…”

“running away the first time?” he supplies.

your mouth flattens into a thin line, a hand moving up to scratch your cheek. “yeah, that.”

laughter reaches your ears, partially nasally. rolling your eyes, your mouth splits into a grin.

“i get it. i feel like i definitely startled you, so no hard feelings.” he pauses, starry eyes widening in what you believe is realization, “i never got your name.”

easily, you supply it, cheeks flushing with heat when he offhandedly comments that it’s pretty. if he notices your sudden flustered state, he doesn’t comment on it, and despite the warmth now slithering down your neck, you feel yourself relax back into your seat, legs leaving their curled up position to cross at the ankle in front of you. then, he offers his own. yeonjun — at long last, you have put a name to his handsome face.

out of nowhere, he asks, “have you had breakfast?”

shaking your head, you gesture to your pajama bottoms. “not yet, i was going to grab some after i changed.”

“i don’t know, i think the plaid pants are pretty fashionable,” he chuckles. you join him. “c’mon, i saw an old guy wearing boxers and a shirt in there yesterday. i’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

you giggle, “that’s kinda gross, but alright. let’s go.”

peering out the window again, you find that the sun has just peeked above the horizon, a wash of orange fading into blue, melting together like watercolor. smiling to yourself, you stand and begin to follow yeonjun towards the dining car.

*:･

you and yeonjun had gone your separate ways hours ago, but not without exchanging contact information. since then, he hasn’t stopped texting you, his talent at keeping any conversation going shining in direct contrast to your, well, lack of said talent. however, you do find yourself replying to him with ease — he makes it so easy to do so, mostly due to the fairly unorthodox topics he likes to bring up. currently, you’re talking about the animals that scare you the most. why? because that’s the nature of yeonjun’s conversation skills, you suppose.

another voice message pops up in your chat, about ten seconds long — one of his more obvious quirks. most of his messages are sent in this form, not that you mind. his voice is as pretty as the rest of him. heart-fluttering. okay, stop. you just met this guy.

(jennifer always does say that you fall too easily. maybe she’s right.)

pressing play, his voice enters your left ear via your single earbud. “no because hear me out: dolphins have fooled you into thinking they’re nice. manipulated you. they literally torture their prey— and they use puffer fishes to get high! i can’t make this shit up. my fear is justified, i swear.”

under your breath, you chuckle, an elbow leaned against the dining table. after a long nap, you had texted the girls to see if they’d like to get dinner with you. of course, they said yes, but you decided to get here a bit early to grab an open table. the car is already packed as it is.

“what’re you laughing at?” unexpectedly, sakura’s head appears over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your phone. out of habit, you lock it, your reflections staring back at you through the black screen. as she sits next to you, chaewon, takes the seat across from you, elbows placed on the table and her hands supporting her chin. she sends you a knowing smile.

“is that your boyfriend?” she prods. the question causes your mouth to fall open for a moment before you snap it shut.

“no!” you exclaim. “it’s just a friend.”

“sounds like a boyfriend,” sakura surmises, exchanging a conspiratory nod with the other girl. you release a groan, hands shielding your fiery hot face before you drag them up over your hair.

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you shoot back. “we just met today.” two days ago, actually. if you can count that.

their mouths open in tandem, shock coloring their features. is this a big deal, or something? you aren’t even dating the guy.

“you met a guy and didn’t tell us?” sakura grasps your arm with both hands, shaking the limb with a strength that shouldn’t be possible to come from her thin body. “you should’ve told us! we can be your wingwomen!”

“wingwomen?” you echo dumbly as you stare at her. wingwomen, as in, like, jennifer-style wingwomen? as in trying too hard to set you up with someone and ultimately embarrassing you in the end wingwomen? your love for jennifer knows no bounds, but she’s ruined the term for you long ago with her terrible luck. a shudder runs down your spine, and you grin nervously. “i don’t think that’s necessary.”

“of course it is! i’ve always wanted to do that for one of my friends, but they’re all taken already,” chaewon pouts, irresistible puppy dog eyes appearing. “c’mon, please?

“i doubt he’d want to date me, though? we’ve literally only talked once, so really, it’s okay.”

“once is enough,” sakura declares, suddenly tilting her body closer to yours. “tell us, is he cute? what’s his name?”

they’re obviously not going to let this go, and you have no power to really stop them.

sighing, you officially give up, “yeonjun, and yes, i do.” unfortunately.

chaewon claps her hands together, an audible smack! echoing from her palms. her smile is blinding, a supernova of pearly white teeth and pink, upturned lips. “perfect! we can work with that.”

“i already have an idea: ask him to hang out tomorrow,” sakura says, and you send her an incredulous look, glancing at chaewon for a moment to find that she’s excitedly nodding along to the idea like an excitable puppy. her round eyes sure make her resemble one.

you shake your head. “i can’t do that, it’s too forward.”

rolling her eyes, sakura tosses her hands up in the air. “too forward my ass! how do you expect to bag him?”

“i don’t!”

chaewon chimes in, an open hand reaching towards you, “alright, give us your phone. we’ll text him for you.”

“absolutely not!”

ding!

it’s comical, how all three of you pivot your wide-eyed gazes to the phone clenched in your fingers. the flash of yeonjun’s name across the screen is enough to send your table into chaos.

“open it!”

“what did he say—”

“calm down, oh my god!” you shriek, sending an apologetic look to the couple next to you when they look over. fingers fly over your keyboard until you’ve reached his contact. words, this time, no voice message. butterflies burst into your chest.

yeonjun: do you have anything planned for tmrw?

after scanning over the message herself, sakura pokes at your shoulder. “tell him you don’t.”

with a deep, heavy sigh, you do as she says.

[6:37 p.m.]: not yet, why?

“that’s too dry,” chaewon comments.

“shut up, i’m trying,” you hiss. it takes him a few minutes to respond, minutes in which you internally panic. was your text really too dry? in the meantime, you place your dinner order with a kind waiter that stops by, a hearty dish that you can drown your sorrows in the not-so-off chance that this goes terribly, terribly wrong. another ping sounds from your phone’s speakers, and time stops once you read what he sent. clocks stop ticking, you stop breathing, everything around you freezes.

yeonjun: do you wanna grab coffee in the morning then? :)

sakura sends you a sharp look. “i doubt he’d want to date me — are you seeing this right now? or do you need me to spell it out for you? this is a date, babe.”

“it’s not,” you counter weakly. you only (officially) met him today, so, “it’s really not.”

day four.

contrary to what sakura claimed, this is very much not a date — but you’re happy about it.

he keeps a respectful distance between your bodies as you walk, you pay for your own coffee, and you pull your own chair out when you go to sit down. it’s simple, it’s friendly, it’s a bit awkward, but there’s some things you have to sacrifice when making new friends. the croissant you’ve decided on is on the drier side, a little too flaky. you nibble on it anyway in a poor attempt to ignore the silence that has fallen between you once again. this is why you try to meet people through other friends; at least in those situations, you have a buffer, someone who knows you and the other person well enough that they can find connections between you without having to dig. you hate digging — you’re the worst at it, hence the stifling quiet that permeates the air now.

the café is quaint, if a bit moody thanks to the lighting. outside the window, the denver street teems with people, and you decide to survey the passing strangers rather than look at the man sitting across from you. wisps of fluffy white clouds float high above, sometimes passing over the sun. you wish you had your supplies with you — this would make for a wonderful painting.

click!

turning your head, you find yeonjun holding a camera, the lens pointed at…you? you hadn’t noticed it prior, so you are unsure where he got it from. it looks like the same one he had at the park. a bashful smile appears as soon as he places it on the table. “sorry, the lighting was perfect. can’t ever pass up a nice shot.” you study the camera for a moment, and he takes your lack of response as a sign to continue, “once i edit it, i can definitely send you a copy. do you wanna see it?”

a photographer. yeonjun is a photographer. you’re not sure why it’s taken you this long to realize. maybe because you’ve been avoiding him up until now? you think. shaking the thought away, you smile. “i’d love to see it.”

he presses a few buttons, a focused twist to his plush lips, before he’s sliding it over to your side of the table. he’s right: it was a nice shot, and while you don’t often enjoy how you look in photographs, he’s found an angle that highlights your best features as you gaze outside, a slight part to your lips and your eyes wide open, shining. the sheer amount of contrast between the dark café and your warm-lit face scratches an itch in your brain. you can see it now — the golden pigment wetting your brush before being placed on the canvas, being blended into an umber, almost black, but not quite. a splash of umber here, a hint of red there…

“is this your job?” you decide to ask.

the sheepish expression returns in full force, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. he’s proud of his work. “yeah. i’m not, like, famous or anything, but i enjoy it. my mom said that when i was a baby, they put a stethoscope, a gavel, a camera, a microphone, and a test tube in front of me, and i chose the camera, so it was basically meant to be,” he chuckles, but, realizing that you’re staring at him, he pauses for moment. crimson paints the tips of his ears; it’s a color that you’re pretty sure sits in your travel set. “sorry, was that too much?”

“not at all,” you reply softly. “that’s a lovely story, yeonjun.”

“thanks.” shyly, he bites down on his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing it. a beat of quiet passes, then he’s asking, “how about you? what do you do for work?”

for some reason, the question looms over your head like a storm cloud. it’s unavoidable and dark and heavy. a bitter taste fills your mouth, different from the aftertaste of your coffee, but you try not to let your sudden drop in mood show.

“i’m an artist, though i don’t think many people would consider me one nowadays,” you snicker, but the self-deprecating edge to your words is not lost on yeonjun.

wrinkles form in the space between his brows. “what do you mean?”

“i…” you trail off. you should tell him. you should rip the bandaid off and quit avoiding facing it for what it is. “i haven’t finished a piece in months. i feel stuck, almost? like nothing is resonating with me, if that makes sense. it’s the whole reason i went on this trip. it’s humiliating, not being able to draw a single thing without hating it— sorry, that’s definitely too much.”

“no, no, you’re fine,” and he’s sincere in his reassurances. he doesn’t look at you like you’re some sort of failure for how you feel. he doesn’t spew out a hollow apology to absolve him of the weight you’ve transferred to his shoulders, nor does he seem to mind that he’s helping you burden it. his hand reaches over the table, hesitant for a moment, before his fingers curl over yours, his warm skin against yours. you stare at his hand, but you don’t move away from his touch, allowing him to give your hand a delicate squeeze. looking back up, you sit frozen under his gaze. it warms your insides, melts the icy shards solidifying in your lungs that make it hard to breathe. “none of that makes you less of an artist. it’s something every artist goes through — hell, i’ve gone through it, and it’s okay to feel that way. it’s real and it sucks to feel like you can’t accomplish anything, but there’s nothing wrong with it. eventually, it will pass on its own, but until then, it’s not a sin to lean on others for support.”

tears almost, almost prick your eyes. however, you push them down; there’s no way you’re going to cry in public, in front of him. absolutely not. he squeezes your hand one more time, his thumb brushing over yours, before pulling away. “and if no one else will listen, i will.”

“thank you,” you croak out, blinking rapidly, taking a long sip of coffee in order to buy yourself a few precious seconds to cloak your emotions. a calm veil falls over your face soon enough, and while you hate to be the one to change the subject, you feel like you should. “do you want to go on a walk? it’s too nice out to stay in here all day.”

he doesn’t question the sudden change, humming in confirmation as he scoots his chair back. “it really is nice out. do you have any other plans?”

“not really,” you say, pushing the door open. the warm breeze caresses your face. “i’m trying to be spontaneous—”

“y/n!”

sakura and chaewon appear to your left, each carrying a couple bags that look to be stuffed with clothes. you vaguely remember them mentioning going thrifting, but you didn’t know that they’d be in the same part of the city as you. chaewon comes in for a hug, whispering into your ear, “he’s cute.”

glancing up at yeonjun, sakura feigns ignorance, “who’s this?”

thus, your friends meet the one man you’d rather keep them away from, if only to prevent their wingwomen shenanigans. you have zero clue what they have planned, but you’re sure none of it can be good.

“we were just on our way to the botanical gardens,” chaewon sings. “if you’d like to join usss.”

wordlessly, you and yeonjun communicate, only raised eyebrows and tilted chins. somehow, you understand exactly what he’s trying to convey. do you want to? do you? i don’t mind if you don’t. alright, let’s do it.

when you do arrive at the gardens, yeonjun’s fingers find your wrist, holding you back for a moment. his free hand gestures to the camera hanging around his neck. “mind being my model for the day?”

you blink. you, his model? “oh, um. i think chae and kkura are a bit more qualified—”

“no way,” he laughs. “i’m the professional here, and i want you. no one else will do.”

i want you — god, those three, simple words send a visceral shiver down your spine. a want, a need, an overwhelming desire for…you’re not even sure, but something all-consuming blooms behind your sternum like a moonflower in the night. with a coy dip of your head, you smile to yourself, allowing the feeling to surge through your veins, consume every fiber of your being.

“alright, mr. professional. lead the way.”

*:･

it’s early in the evening when you return to the station in a giddy haze, arm looped around yeonjun’s. the photo session had been a success; by the end, you were drunk on the compliments he aimed your way, on the way he treated you like glass as he directed you into a specific pose, the fleeting sensation of his fingertips pressing into your skin burned into your memory.

closing the door to your room, you press your back into it, squeal into your palms like you did when you were sixteen and harboring a silly little crush. because that’s all it is right now, really: a foolish crush on a man that you probably won’t see again after this trip. you can fantasize all you want, but in the end, that’s what it is. those invading negative thoughts get drowned out by the movie playing behind your eyelids — a replay of the day. you swear you can feel every touch of his skin against yours, every ray of sunshine that kissed your skin and gifted you its warmth. scurrying over to your bag, you locate your supplies.

and you begin to paint.

a flurry of lilacs, a blurry figure among them all, defined only by a flowing white button up and brown, wide leg trousers, black streaks of hair and nothing more. yellow daffodils and vibrant emerald sweetgrass take shape, a cerulean sky, fluffy clouds. it’s messy and you kind of hate it, but it’s something. something is on the canvas, it’s dynamic, it has character.

“okay,” you mumble, staring at the brushstrokes, going over them again and again. “okay.”

day five.

“can i draw you?”

a spur of the moment question, borne from the golden sunset gracing his cheeks, highlighting strands of his hair. the day has passed quietly today, mostly spent in your room sketching to your heart’s content. though mostly inconsequential doodles paired with terribly cheesy words of prose that even your most romantic friends would scrunch their noses at, these exercises in creating without a specific goal in mind seem to be helping. a part of that gray fog over your world has been wafted away by an invisible hand, and everything is a bit more vibrant, closer to its true hue; while nothing about your creations are particularly special or groundbreaking, going on this trip is now beginning to prove its worth.

yeonjun’s head tilts, and you shrug. “what? i need practice.”

“okay, as long as you promise to show me afterward,” he challenges, and you immediately shake your head.

“i’m only going to show it to you if it turns out well,” you decide. you think back to the painting sitting in your room, still a bit wet, the paint overworked to hell. that one is staying a secret. it’s not good enough to be known by anyone else — and certainly not by him.

“then no deal.” when you give him a pleading look, he raises his hands. “i show you my pictures, you show me what’s going on in that sketchbook, it’s only fair.”

“fine,” you hiss, fishing your sketchbook from your bag. “get comfortable, and don’t even think about moving.”

“harsh.”

with a suppressed grin, you take in the planes of his face. he’s shifted to face you, intent eyes trained on you, which makes your job harder. gulping, you raise an arm, mapping out his proportions with a thumb. the process of pressing intentional marks into the page is a slow one, exacerbated by his unwavering stare. you have to look out at the mountains every once in a while to allow oxygen back into your lungs, and even then, the action proves difficult. graphite scratching paper is backed by the low murmur of other passengers in the observation car as you work, capturing the fading light that casts shadows across his face. however, your creative juices quickly run out, likely sapped by your painting escapade that extended far into the night. the shape of his eyes isn’t quite right, and no matter how much you erase and try again, there’s always a slight detail off about it. too narrow, too round, too—

the tip of the pencil snaps, the point rolling across the page and falling onto the floor. you curse under your breath.

“is it done?” yeonjun asks, leaning forward. his hands gently take your sketchbook from your lap before you can protest, and you watch as his expression shifts from neutral to slack-jawed.

“that’s…you’re…wow,” he starts, then never finishes. he still hasn’t torn his wide eyes away from the page, flitting around as he drinks in every miniscule detail, while you pinpoint every single thing wrong with the drawing.

“it’s bad,” you deadpan. “give it back, i need to fix it.”

he frowns. you seem to make him do that a lot. “there’s nothing to fix.”

“there’s everything to fix.”

“it’s literally a carbon copy of me,” he counters. “you’re crazy.”

“says the one who can’t see the shape of his eyes right now. the lash line isn’t straight enough at the top, the nose isn’t quite right, the hair lacks form. it’s terrible.”

for the first time since you met him, yeonjun is annoyed. eyes narrowed and dark, he locks his gaze into yours, throws away the key. you can’t move while he tosses the worn sketchbook back into your lap, a hand running through his hair, locks raising with his fingers and flopping back down into his face.

“i know what it’s like to be your own worst critic,” he says, voice soft like a lullaby, standing in direct contrast to his firm expression. “but it’s one thing to be critical of your art, and another to resent it. you’re a wonderful artist, y/n. talented isn’t enough to describe you, but negativity is going to get you nowhere. it holds you back.”

he’s right — you loathe that he is, and you more so hate how he sounds just like jennifer. your nails skirts the fraying edge of the leather cover in your laps, picking at it like you would with skin, peeling cracked flakes off to reveal a soft underbelly of lighter-colored suede. wine red versus warm tan. you feel like you’re being admonished, a child who’s misbehaved. you feel small, but at the same time, you need to hear it. you’ve been coddled enough.

“i used to hate my stuff too, y’know. never thought it was ever that special, but that’s what made me underestimate myself. that’s what made me settle for less, that’s what made me lock my camera away in my closet for the longest time until i felt i was ‘ready’ to use it — but who was i to say i was ready? how do you know when you are? honestly, you don’t. you won’t ever know. all you can do is create and create and hope that you eventually make something that you’re proud of. until then, you keep trying, you figure out what’s working, what isn’t, and go from there. in the end, everything you create is a reflection of you, and that’s the beautiful thing about art. it bares your soul, it strips you down to the rawest parts of yourself that you may despise right now — but it’s still you. and don’t you think you deserve to give yourself some grace?”

his words strike a place deep within you, an ache beginning in the center of your chest and snaking out like the roots of a tree into your stomach and throat. you do deserve some grace, don’t you? you don’t spew venomous words towards your friends or strangers every day, yet you do it to yourself without a second thought. why? you bring yourself and your skills down any chance that you get. why? your art is merely an extension of yourself — is this how you forever want to feel whenever you are drawing? whenever you’re sculpting a piece? no, not at all. your head raises.

“have you ever thought about becoming a public speaker?”

he lets out an incredulous scoff, but there’s still an inkling of teasing in his tone, “is that all you got from my mini speech? i thought it was amazing. life-changing, even.”

“no,” you deny with a tight-chested laugh. “but there’s not much more to add. you’ve said it all for me.”

the passing mountains are purple now, the greenery a muted magenta. in this moment, you decide the yeonjun is an enigma; untouchable, unreachable — standing too close to his bright, technicolor world would burn your muted one to the ground. if you are icarus, then he is the sun sending you plummeting down into oblivion.

but you want to touch him, you want to burn.

you want to feel alive again.

“let me draw you again,” and maybe it won’t be your best. maybe the slope of his chin will be crooked, maybe the intrinsic sparkle in his eyes won’t be quite right, but there’s a conviction present in your tone that causes him to smile.

day six.

“are you really trying to have a dick measuring contest with the seals right now?”

san francisco’s iconic pier 39 is abustle with tourists, but you and yeonjun are currently at the very back of the pier, where seals soak in the sun on little wooden docks constructed just for them. at the moment, yeonjun is trying to out-seal the seals with loud barks and hoots, mimicking their distinctive sounds. yeonjun is still making noises, people are starting to stare, and you are beginning to want to climb over the wooden fence and jump straight into the ocean.

“yeonjun, please stop,” you plead, hands gripping the sleeve of his t-shirt, yet he doesn’t stop, honking back at the seals once they respond. you tug a bit harder. “c’mon, people are staring. the seals don’t care how loud you are, you’re not proving anything.”

“i’m proving a lot of things right now, actually,” he quips before he’s going back to making noises that are unbecoming of a human being. this feels like a cruel form of exposure therapy.

you try pulling at his sleeve again. “c’mon, yeonjun.” and again. “yeonjun!”

“okay, okay, i’ll stop,” he cackles, turning to face you. he’s close — too close to be considered platonic. his hands could come up and hold your waist right now, pull you closer into his chest. it causes you to take a step back, and it’s as if he can sense the heat radiating from your cheeks, leaning down towards you with a smirk. “you embarrassed?”

“of course i’m embarrassed,” you hiss. “how are you not?”

shaking his head, his grin grows impossibly wider. “if i buy you lunch, will you forgive me?”

pretending to think, you look off to the side, then back to him. of course you will. “maybe.”

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs as he falls into step next to you. the air is much cooler here than at your other stops, a gray blanket of fog rolling in on the horizon that cuts into the clear blue sky. he sends you a hopeful look as he asks, “y’feeling clam chowder?”

with a tiny shrug, you confess that you’ve never had it before. with a dramatic hand placed against his chest, he gasps, “you live in the northeast, and you’ve never tried it? that has to be some sort of crime.”

chowder hut is his restaurant of choice, a circular, well, hut that sits by its lonesome across from the infamous pier. it’s a place he used to go when he lived in san jose and took day trips here with his cousins, he claims. the restaurant holds a lot of fond memories for him, this whole city does. you wonder what those memories entail.

“i got you a small one in case you don’t like it,” yeonjun says as soon as he returns with your food. a tray is placed in front of you: a round sourdough loaf carved into to create a bowl, filled with cream-colored, steaming-hot chowder thick with chunks of potatoes, pieces of bacon, and, of course, clams. digging a spoon in, you take your first bite — clean, briny, slightly sweet, bursting across your taste buds like tiny little firecrackers. your eyes widen at the taste, buzzing in delight against the spoon poised to your lips. he grins. “it’s good, right?”

you hum in agreement, swallowing another spoonful. you’re crazy for never having tried this before. twenty-four years of living, and you had no idea what you were missing out on. you’ve missed out on a long of things, it seems, but you’re beginning to catch up on them with the help of yeonjun — as well as sakura and chaewon, of course. you could never forget about them.

“you’re forever going to be connected to clam chowder in my mind now, i hope you know that,” you say, tearing into the walls of the bread bowl. the remnants of the salty chowder have soaked into the bowl, mixing perfectly with the tanginess of the bread. yeah, you wouldn’t forget this in a million years; it’s too delicious to forget.

“you do that too?” he asks. you send him a questioning glance. “like, connect people to food.”

“yeah, i guess i do,” you ponder. “my mom reminds me of this one dish she always made me as a kid. my best friend reminds me of wine, since that’s what we drank when we first met. it’s also her favorite. and now you…remind me of clam chowder.”

he chuckles, “great, i’ll always be the clam chowder guy to you.”

you giggle back. “it’s not a bad title to hold. you could be, i don’t know, the terrible clam chowder guy.”

“fair enough. i’ll take it,” he declares before he shoves the last piece of his bread bowl into his mouth. his cheeks puff out, similar to a chipmunk, and you resist the urge to chuckle at the image in your head. “now that i think about it, i don’t do it with just people — a lot of my fondest memories are connected to food, too. something human about it, y’know? food is its own form of love. or, at least, i think it is.”

“no, i completely agree. there’s something special about sharing food with others — it’s kinda intimate, i guess? especially if you’re cooking for someone, those are some of the most vivid memories for me.”

nodding along with you, he’s leaning forward, elbows resting against the table. the corners of his lips quirk up. “you get it. the intimacy of it, i mean. my mom has always said that food is the best way to a person’s heart — food brings people together. it’s amazing.”

“yeah,” you beam. “it really is.”

for a moment, conversation ceases, the two of you smiling at each other, leaning forward over the table. your mouth opens to speak, but a loud caw draws your attention away from his hypnotizing eyes. you watch a seagull swoop in to harass a man that sits two tables over, his glasses skewed on his face as he tries to keep the bird from stealing his food. arms wave everywhere while the seagull screeches at him, flapping its wings on top of the man’s head. after a brief second of shock, the sight has you nearly doubling over with laughter, unflattering shrieks sounding from your throat. it takes a minute for your giggles to subside. while you wipe a tear from your lash line, you look back at him — and freeze.

he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, chin supported by his palm. his mouth curves into something serene and fond, hooded eyes scanning your face as you stare back. you’re no longer smiling, mouth parted as you wait for him to say something, anything. he doesn’t, so you move to break the intense air brewing between you.

“is…is something wrong?” with a flinch, his eyes blink rapidly for a second, coming back into focus. he sits up straighter, leaning into the back of his chair.

“i just— nevermind. sorry, spaced out there for a second,” his chin dips towards his chest before rising again, the tips of his ears flushing cherry. he looks nervous, almost. “um, if you’re up for it later, we could grab dinner at this korean restaurant i used to go to? it reminds me a lot of my parents. i think you’d like it.”

while you’d rather ask where his head is at right now, what he was going to say before he stopped himself so abruptly, you say, “i’d love that.”

*:･

he was right, you do like it.

the restaurant is cozy, a little hole-in-the-wall in the heart of the city where less tourists roam. the food is delicious, flavorful meats and fluffy rice and various veggie side dishes that you can’t stop eating. as he snaps some photos of the place, he tells you the decor reminds him of restaurants in seoul, of the mom-and-pop shops he’d frequent there. that at some point or other, some of the owners would start recognizing him when he came in and gave him extra food free of charge.

“so you lived there for a while? in korea?” you ask as you watch him some meat for the two of you to share. the action is second nature to him, each piece staying on the grill for the same amount of time, flipped only once. you bring a piece to your mouth — it’s perfectly cooked.

“i was born there, in a town near seoul,” he says through a mouthful of rice. “moved around a bit, but i lived in seoul for most of it ‘til i was eighteen. then i moved to new york for college, but dropped out after two semesters to pursue photography. it’s been six years since i moved to the states.”

“you said you lived in san jose for a while earlier.” you tilt your head at him. “when was that?”

“ah,” he starts. “i studied abroad when i was in elementary school and stayed with some family there— do you want some more meat? i can order more.”

your meat supply has dwindled down to two pieces. there’s still room in your stomach, so you nod. “sure.”

he calls over the sole server on shift, speaking to him rapidly in his native tongue. the server glances over at you for a brief second before focusing back on yeonjun. out of their entire conversation, you recognize one word: friend. it’s a term that jennifer taught you a while ago, one that has stuck with you because she now likes to jokingly call you that every now and then. an inside joke between the two of you.

when the server leaves, yeonjun is left a flustered mess. your eyebrows raise. “why’s your face so red? what’d he say?”

“nothing! it’s just from the kimchi! it’s really spicy here,” he quickly claims before he’s gulping down half a glass of water. you, quite frankly, don’t buy it for a second, but choose not to pry.

day seven.

of course, at least one thing has to go wrong on a trip like this. mechanical problems with the train has rendered everyone stuck in the golden city until tomorrow morning, at which another train will take over the rest of the trip. the station is across the bay, so amtrak has given every passenger a voucher to pay for a night’s stay at various hotels across the city — customer’s choice, no less. to be safe, you choose the one closest to the bar chaewon and sakura want to check out tonight. once you told yeonjun where you decided to stay, he used his voucher there as well. he wants to stay near you, he says, to make it easy to find each other.

today, the girls join you and yeonjun at pier 39. they partake in bread bowls, they watch yeonjun embarrass himself at the seal docks, they send you knowing looks when he pays for your food. when yeonjun finds a street performer with a dance mat and wastes no time in starting a battle against the guy, they tell you that he’s trying to impress you.

“he’s not,” you whisper to them. “that’s just how he is. i promise.”

night begins to fall, and they suggest going to a bar for dinner, more for the drinks and not the food. you accept, and in turn, so does yeonjun — though you immediately regret not thinking the decision through more. the bar is dangerous. not in an external hazard sense, but in more of a you’re scared of getting drunk and vomiting your blossoming feelings onto his shoes type of sense. you keep your drinking to a minimum, still on your first drink an hour in. next to you, however, yeonjun is starting to collapse in on himself, hunched over the counter of the bar as his third drink kicks in. a giggle bubbles up from your throat. you never pegged him to be a lightweight.

“let’s get you some water,” you gently suggest, a comforting hand on his shoulder. waving the bartender over, you ask for a glass, helping him sit up and take a sip. his chin falls onto your shoulder this time, eyes hazy as he looks up at you with a dopey smile.

“you’re really pretty, did y‘know that?” he slurs, leaning further into you as an arm wraps around your waist. his barstool screeches across the floor, shifting closer to yours. you freeze as shock fills your veins, nerve endings beneath his touch on fire. he pokes your warm cheek. “s’pretty.”

you blink. hard. “yeonjun, you’re drunk—”

“no ‘m not. ’m perfectly— ‘m perfectly fine,” the words stumble out of his pouty lips drenched in fatigue, his tone whiny and petulant, as he turns in his seat to wrap his other arm around your waist, forehead now sagging against your shoulder. your body stiffens up, tense muscles frozen in place as he continues his delirious ramblings.

“i need to go to the bathroom!” you all of sudden exclaim, attempting to pry his arms off of you. he only squeezes you tighter, whining how you can’t leave here alone. you sigh, patting his hair, “you could wait outside?”

he accepts the offer, but doesn’t remove his arm from your waist as both of you stand. despite his almost six foot tall frame, you are forced to support him as he stumbles along towards the bathrooms and pray that you don’t twist an ankle in the process. when you reach the women’s bathroom, he still doesn’t let go.

“nooo, don’t leave meeee,” he whines, pulling you back into his chest while your hand grips the door handle. calling his name, you slip your hands beneath his and grab them to pull them off of you.

“i’ll be right back, i promise,” you say once you situate him against the wall, his shoulder hunched and his head hanging down towards his chest. you give him a worried pat on his head before disappearing into the bathroom. in reality, you do not have to go. instead, you stand in front of the mirror, taking in your blown out eyes, feeling a scorching heat encase your face and spread down towards your chest. he’s drunk, you remind yourself. he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

you wash your hands once. twice. three times, allowing the cool water to run over your heated skin. you splash some on the back of your neck. calm down. calm the fuck down.

you are, indeed, not able to calm the fuck down before a flurry of knocks reverbates against the door. yeonjun’s voice follows soon after, asking if he can come in, if you’re okay. “why have you been gone for so longggg? i miss you!”

“no! don’t come in!” you yell, glad that all of the stalls are vacant. making your way back over to the exit, you wrench open the door and find him standing there, fist raised in the air as if he was going to knock again.

he blinks once. then, an impossibly wide grin splits his face. “you’re back!”

stepping forward, you allow the door to swing shut behind you. arms wrap around you once again, but this time, you stumble backwards into the wall. when you look up, his face is just above yours.

oh.

oh, fuck.

this feels like a repeat of day one all over again, you trapped under his gaze, but this lacks the distance of that day. the unfamiliarity with each other. his hands haven’t left your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh over your thin dress, while the wall presses into your back. you have nowhere to go, but maybe you’re more drunk than you initially thought, because his lips look very inviting right now. you watch his eyes trail down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. his eyelids hood his dark, hazy pupils. the muscles in his neck contract, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leans closer, an electric attraction between your lips. you tilt your head, eye fluttering shut, moving closer, closer…

“y/n! there you are!”

yeonjun jumps away from you as chaewon rushes up to you. her hands find your shoulders as she cries, “kkura twisted her ankle really bad! can you help me?”

you turn your head towards yeonjun, then back to chaewon, whose wide, rounded eyes plead you to come with her. “okay,” you say softly. “let’s go.”

yeonjun follows close behind, and all you can think of is what would have happened if chaewon didn’t show up. sakura’s ankle ends up being fine, and getting her back to her hotel room isn’t too difficult given the close proximity of the hotel.

*:･

four days. four days you have known yeonjun, but it feels like it’s been years since you met each other. that fact strikes fear into your heart, remembering that the last time that this fast burn of feelings in your heart occurred, you ended up a brokenhearted mess for months. if yeonjun is the sun, his overwhelming heat melting you down into a puddle, then beomgyu was a black hole, all-consuming and ripping pieces of you away when he abruptly up and left. you’re unsure if you can go through that again, but at the same time, yeonjun doesn’t give off the impression of a drifter who wouldn’t tell you he’s leaving until after the fact. he’s a constant, a steady fortress. reliable, enduring.

“good night,” yeonjun murmurs, both of you standing in front of your door.

“good night,” you parrot back, rocking back on your heels, but you don’t really want him to go. knowing that isn’t realistic, you settle for opening your arms up towards him. for the first time, he hugs you good night, his lithe arms wrapping around your waist while he presses a drunken kiss into the crown of your head, and a feeling of being home washes over you.

day eight.

he sits closer to you now. no longer is there a gap that separates your bodies, a full chair between the two of you. now, he sits right next to you, thigh brushing against your own. his hand sometimes finds your knee, never too high on your leg, never uncomfortable. just…there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. neither of you mention what transpired between you last night, his affectionate words, the mere centimeters that separated your lips before chaewon interrupted. nevertheless, an unspoken barrier between you has broken, its bricks torn down by the hands of intoxication — due to alcohol, but also because of each other.

the almost-kiss replays in your mind in a constant loop; the woody citrus of his cologne is still strong in your nose, the warmth radiating from his flushed cheeks a phantom against your skin. you want to talk about it. you want to rip open the memory like a pomegranate for the two of you to share, but you don’t. you don’t know what you would do if you ruined…whatever this is that you and him have going on. he’s become a sort of constant in your life that you don’t think you can live without. you like him; you can admit it now. what you feel is not just a mere attraction anymore, an artistic appreciation for his unique features. he brings out a brighter part of you, a part that has been buried deep into your soul over the years, beneath layers of grime and dirt and negative experiences that you won’t let go of. the gray film over your eyes has been wiped clean by him, him and his beautiful heart he so easily bares to others. his heart that is so full of love — love for being alive, love for others — you wonder if any of that love could ever be for you one day.

he watches you sketch, you let him snap photos of you doing so. you share a small bag of chips, greasy fingers brushing against each other during those times in which you both reach in tandem. for hours, you sit together in a silence that is no longer awkward, but soft and tender. shoulder against shoulder, skin against skin. words aren’t required, your actions speaking for themselves. you bask in it all.

day nine.

the space needle isn’t that impressive.

you’re sure it’s a much better experience when you’re at the top, but yeonjun shares a fear of heights with you, so there’s no way in hell either of you are going up there. instead, you stand beneath it, amongst an ever-moving sea of seattleites and tourists, and wait for chaewon and sakura to come back down from the tall building.

at the beginning of this trip, you’d allow for a few feet of space between your bodies, but slowly, it’s diminished to a scant few inches. you don’t really register this gradual change, as natural as it was. every once in a while, his pinky brushes against yours. neither you nor yeonjun move to do anything about it, either by pulling away or linking them together — a state of limbo that is befitting for a pair of strangers falling for each other. to make the dive into the unknown or to stay on the surface where it’s safe, that is the question.

“how much longer do you think they’ll be?” you ask, staring up at the pointed top of the tower. the sky is gray today, a bit chilly, but it’s an expected sight in washington during this time of year. “i’m getting hungry.”

yeonjun huffs a laugh, lightly elbowing your bicep. “maybe we could grab something real quick. i saw this taco truck nearby—”

“y/n? is that you?”

you’d recognize that deep timbre anywhere. the man that dropped your heart on the floor and vanished from the earth before he could watch the aftermath, the man that you never wished to see ever again.

turning around, you find beomgyu.

your phone slips from your hand, clattering against the concrete — but you can’t bring yourself to check if the screen has shattered. instead, yeonjun grabs it for you, rising with it as he anxiously asks if you’re okay. you don’t answer, too busy staring at the man now standing before you. he’s changed; his shorter hair has grown out past his ears, dyed a warm brown, though his black roots are apparent; soft pastel pullovers and light jeans have been swapped out for black slacks and a dark brown leather jacket, clothing choices more mature than when you last saw him. why is he here? you thought he lived in san francisco — you would’ve been less shocked to run into him there, but in seattle?

“i moved here a few months ago.” shit, did you say that out loud? “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i’m on a trip,” you quickly answer, no further explanation leaving your mouth.

he nods nonchalantly. you think you see his eyes flit to yeonjun for a second. “cool, cool.”

“yeah.” why won’t he walk away already? your feet are glued to the cement, jaw tense as you try not to cry. the memory of him texting you that he had left the city and things between you won’t work out come rushing back. why now? how can he show his face to you after all he’s done?

he nods again. “are you here for long?”

“just— just for today.”

“well, i’d love to catch up with you before you leave. i’ve missed you a lot. maybe we could grab dinner tonight?” his smile is soft, hopeful — manipulative, in a way.

“i’m actually pretty busy today,” you begin, but of course, you have no idea how to tell him no. “but maybe if i’m free later.”

“great!” he exclaims, hands now in his trouser pockets. he looks over at yeonjun again, the upward curve of his lips flattening. “i need to get going, but i’ll text you later. you still have my number, right?”

“i think so.”

“cool.” his smile grows excited. “see you later, then.” beomgyu turns to walk away with a confidence in his strut that he didn't have when he lived in new york. when he was dating you. how shameless can he be? soon enough, he disappears into the crowd. blinking, you wonder if that really just happened, turning back toward yeonjun. his jaw is set, eyes still staring at the point where beomgyu vanished. the gray clouds feel suffocating now. the cool air constricts your lungs. you want the cement to open up and swallow you when his hardened eyes turn to you.

“who was that?” yeonjun asks, tone casual, but there’s a…jealous? edge to his question. you’re looking into things too much — there’s no way he’s jealous right now.

“...my ex,” and it hurts you to admit it. his eyes darken as he utters a soft “oh.” you sigh, “yeah.”

he won’t look at you anymore. why won’t he? you didn’t do anything wrong. you had no control over beomgyu showing up. he purses his lips. “are you gonna meet up with him?”

your head shakes on its own, words escaping before you can think about them. “i don’t know, yeonjun.”

“okay.” biting his lip, he turns so that he faces the space needle again, stepping away from you. you feel like strangers again, an ocean of distance between you bodies. “yeah, okay.”

*:･

you don’t meet up with beomgyu.

meanwhile, yeonjun is nowhere to be found. after the beomgyu incident, the two of you waited in tense silence for your other friends to return. he then made up some lame excuse to leave, and didn’t turn back when you called his name. you haven’t seen him for the rest of the day, even when you return to the train. he won’t respond to your texts. eventually, you stop sending them; he obviously needs space for whatever reason, so you will give him it.

the terrible, painful thought of ruining everything you had with him sits in the forefront of your mind, taunting you. the girls try to distract you, showing you silly tiktoks and youtube videos and the like, but you simply offer them a half-hearted huff each time. once you explain what transpired while they were gone, however, their tune changes a bit.

“y/n, i’m going to be very honest, and i need you not to take it personally,” sakura replies. though your head lays on top of your folded arms, you signal that you are listening with a bob of your head. she continues, “your response wasn’t the best. it probably confused him, and now he doesn’t know if you’re still hung up on this guy or not. if one of his exes came up to him while with you, and he told you he didn’t know if he was going to meet up with them later or not, how would you feel?”

“shitty,” you mumble into your forearm.

“exactly. so give him space for now, and when he reaches out, explain and apologize. you owe him that much.” sakura sounds just like jennifer — they’d definitely get along.

“i know. i will.”

the waiter comes around with water, and you order a strong cocktail to go along with your dinner.

day ten.

“has he texted you back yet?” sakura asks for the thousandth time today.

when you shoot her a defeated glare, she gets her answer. no, of course he hasn’t. he hasn’t responded to you since he left. “you said to give him space.”

“yeah, but i didn’t know he’d fall off the face of the earth,” she shoots back. sighing, you tip your head back against the wall next to her bed. a lake passes outside, surrounded by tall grass and trees. small hills rise behind the blue expanse, but you don’t feel the same urge to grab your sketchbook and translate the view onto the page anymore. it’s funny, how easily one person can affect your mood, turn everything upside down with the mere lack of his presence in your life.

“he just needs time.” chaewon opens a can of soda with a pop! and takes a sip. “maybe it affected him more than we realize.”

“‘cause that makes me feel sooo much better.” sarcasm drips from your voice. “i’m such a fucking idiot.”

there’s a half-day stop in glacier national park tomorrow. will you see him, or is he going to avoid you for the rest of this trip? will you ever see him again? the emotions that swirl within you are reminiscent of how you felt before you met him. that grayness. that sinking sensation festering in your chest that claws it’s way down into your stomach and shreds it apart. you said that you wanted to burn, you wanted it to hurt, but this feels all too fast. too much.

sakura makes a noise in disagreement. “no, it shows that he cares about you. you just have to make sure you clear things up with him, and tell him that you like—”

“if you’re going to tell me that i need to confess my feelings to him, i really don’t think i can do that.”

“why?” chaewon prods. “what’s stopping you? he obviously likes you too.”

beomgyu. beomgyu is the fucking reason why. you can’t bare your heart to someone again, lest you get hurt all over again. after all that has happened, if yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate, it will confirm your worst fears — that you aren’t built to receive love, no matter how hard you try to mold yourself into a person that is deserving. dread churns in your stomach, rises into your throat like bile, acidic and fervid, as thoughts of worst case scenarios where you pour your heart only to hear “sorry, i don’t feel the same way.” you can’t do it. you can’t allow yourself to spiral again. however, you don’t divulge your reasons for holding back, remaining silent as you trace the patterns on the ceiling.

after a deep, shuddering sigh, you give them a three word explanation: “i don’t know.”

day eleven.

stepping off of the train into fresh air sharpens your dulled senses. the national park is beautiful, for lack of better words; thickets of trees spreading out in all directions as far as the see. the sun is rising over the mountains that stretch high above your head — you’re starting to enjoy this view more than the lifeless skyscrapers that await you back home. the train station looks more like a little lodge than an actual station, but you appreciate its quaint character. reddish-brown wood makes up the majority of the small-scale building. it looks like a place where people would spend the night in, with a warm, cozy fireplace in the wintertime, and wide open windows in the summer to allow the refreshing breeze to waft in.

meandering down the path behind the station into a field of tall grass littered with bunches of tiny, white flowers, you begin to reflect on everything that has happened on this trip. originally, you went on this stupid trip with the goal to find inspiration, and last night you had a very important realization: yeonjun is that something — you started drawing again because of him, you started looking on the bright side of things because of him, and most important of all, you fell for him. you didn’t just fall for him in the way an artist falls for their muse, no. you fell for him as a person. getting to know him has been one of the best parts of your trip, but now all of that has gone down the drain because yeonjun hasn’t responded to you in over twenty-four hours and you have not a clue what to do to try to make things right. if he doesn’t wish to speak to you, then that’s that. it’s over. whatever momentum this fleeting relationship had has been effectively pummeled into the dust that would blow away with even the gentlest of breezes.

you wish you could appreciate this view more. your paints sit in your backpack back in your room, out of sight so that you don’t have to think about them, nor hear their pleas to be used. although you now know why you lack the drive to paint and draw and generally create once again, no clear-cut solution to your problem comes to mind. instead, you wander through the grass towards a large, squatty boulder, climb on top of it, and plop down. your knees curl up towards your chest while your arms wrap around them, fingers tracing random patterns against your shins. fatigue solidifies in your bones, but the tranquility of the early morning the quiet tucks a blanket of peace over your body, swaddling the edges around you, cocooning you in.

you sit there, taking in the sounds and sights of nature, for hours. the chirping of birds sings a melody over the whisper of trees in the breeze. a deer leaps across the open field, disappearing into the trees, her fawn following close behind. bighorn sheep graze in the distance, their circular horns reminding you of cornucopias.

the rustle of trees and grass obscure the sound of approaching footsteps from your ears. it’s not until yeonjun begins to climb onto the boulder that you notice him. you hug your legs tighter to your body as he sits next to you, but not too close. an invisible wall separates you. he does not look remotely near your direction, his focus far out in the trees. staring at him, you wonder what to say. i’m sorry? i have feelings for you?

“i never met up with him.”

he still doesn’t spare you a glance. assuming he wants you to continue, you do. “i don’t know why i said what i said, but it was shitty of me to put you in that position, and i wanted to say that i’m sorry. i was just shocked, i guess. to see him. he ruined my perception of a lot of things, jjun.” jjun. that’s a new one. you are quite unsure where it came from, it slipped out before you could think. no matter, he’s looking at you now, and it’s your turn to look out towards the horizon. “trust, commitment, love…”

his gaze burns into your temple. you take a deep breath, fingers clenching the fabric of your jeans. “they’ve all been ruined for me. it’s hard for me to trust anyone after what he did. i’m terrified that the people i grow close to will wake up one day and leave me without a word. i’m scared that i’ll never get the closure i deserve when they do. worst of all, i’ve stopped believing that love is in the cards for me, like there has to be something wrong with me for him to have left me like that—”

“don’t. don’t you dare say that about yourself.” whipping your head around, you finally meet eyes for the first time in nearly two days. they aren't soft like they usually are when they look at you, but hardened, guarded. “there’s nothing wrong with you. you have every right to be hurt, and he’s honestly a piece of shit for doing that to you, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone that comes after him will be just like him.”

“i know, and i’m sorry. i know you’re not like him.” he doesn’t respond, and you begin to chew at the inside of your cheek. you watch an ant crawl its way across the rock beneath you. the small insect disappears over the edge.

silence. you begin to count the seconds. one, two, three, four—

“i’m sorry for not texting you back. i just needed time to think about things. a lot of things,” he starts. “i felt weird, for some reason. didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “no, i understand. i forgive you.”

important words remain unspoken, but both of you refuse to address them. instead, his hand finds yours, he links your fingers with his, and both of you peacefully watch the sheep graze across the field.

day twelve.

not everything is fixed yet.

despite being on speaking terms again, strain pulls your relationship taut. the unspoken words from yesterday hang heavy in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to give them a voice. you want to. your voice won’t work every time you try.

sitting next to yeonjun on his bed, you scroll through various forms of social media, bookmarking work that you find particularly interesting in between catching up on your friends’ posts. jennifer has been thoroughly caught up on what’s been going on after a long overdue apology for not responding to her texts. she understood, of course she did. she’s known you long enough to know how you can shut down whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed.

“i’m proud of you for telling him. i know it’s hard for you to share, honey,” she cooed to you over the phone last night. “but you need to tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”

you know that. you know damn well that once you get off this train, it may all fall apart, a budding romance distinguished by reality. there’s no security, no safety net for you to fall into if you take the leap, and while he showed you an inkling of how he felt yesterday, who’s to say he’ll feel that way tomorrow? the next day? are you willing to tear your heart open for him to consume if there’s still a chance of him throwing it away when all is said and done?

you don’t know the answer to that question. honestly, you don’t know the answer to a lot of those questions, stuck in this state of self-imposed purgatory. to rise or fall, what is the best choice? you don’t fucking know.

“is that yours?” he asks from over your shoulder, at a ceramic piece in your feed made by one of jennifer’s acquaintances. his breath snakes warmly over the expanse of your neck due to his proximity, his head so close you could turn and just kiss him—

stop it.

“oh, no. um.” you shift away from him slightly. distance. some distance feels more comfortable right now. “i don’t sculpt. i just paint, and draw.”

he makes an ahhh of understanding, leaning back onto his palms, the mattress sinking down with his weight. he’s staring at you like he expects something from you. what shall you give him? when you don’t say anything further, he does.

“can i see some of yours, then?” it’s an innocent enough request. rather than simply press on your account, your fingers move on their own until you reach your gallery. why? are you really about to bare your soul to him? you guess so, because he’s gently taking your phone from your fingers after gaining quiet permission from you.

he asks you questions as he pulls up certain pieces. the thought process behind each one, what made you do this, place that color there, how you came up with the composition, what the meaning of it all is. you try your best to explain each one. sometimes, your choices were the product of spontaneity. you thought yellow would look nice at that spot, so you put some there. her nose is crooked because it gives the piece more character. the color of the drapes in the background are blue for no particular reason other than the fact that your reference photo had blue drapes. you continue in a cycle of question, answer, question, answer, and some of your answers are more emotional than others. you remember where you were, both physically and mentally, when making all of these. you remember the ones you made when you were having a bad day, the ones where you felt like you were on the top of the world.

then, he pulls up one that you wish he didn’t. it was buried so deep into your gallery that you have no idea how he found it — your most dreaded hyperrealism piece: a woman lays on her back, hair fading into the foreboding, void-like background. her face is twisted up into an abject sadness, a deep-seated pain that even now, you have no idea how you captured so vividly. her veiny left hand is splayed next to her head, thin crimson threads tied to each finger so tight that she has begun to bleed. the strings fall limp beside her, severed from their counterparts that meander off of the canvas. more red threads loop their way around her neck, pulled taut as if to choke her — and to her throat, she holds a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, hand gripping the metal tight enough to pale her knuckles.

it’s dark. it’s terribly dark and you wish he never saw it. why did he have to see it? why did he have to choose that one? the world tilts on its axis as he stares down at the picture of your most soul-baring work, though you think it would be worse if he saw the actual painting in person.

“what’s the story behind this one?” he asks quietly. your lungs expel all air, and you’re left gaping for more. breathe, come on, you have to breathe. your inhale is shaky, shuddered. breathe. say something.

“that one…” your voice trails off into something quiet. scared. “i made it when i was in a really— really dark place mentally, um. i made it mostly because—”

he’s looking at you now, concern shining in his irises, but you push on.

“because i stopped believing in fate.”

while you could say more, you stop yourself there. you hate digging — digging into your deepest fears and emotions that you keep locked behind a wall so that you never have to feel them. a pandora’s box sits in the center of your heart, wrapped with chains to keep them imprisoned. somehow, though, you think yeonjun knows what you really want to say: you meeting each other wasn’t fate to you, but a gross series of coincidences, and when he asks if you think so, you simply nod.

“but out of everyone on this train, i met you. i got to know you — shouldn’t that mean something? can’t that be considered fate?” he presses. something akin to desperation laces his words, an urgency you’ve never heard from him.

it sure feels like fate, doesn’t it? after all of those times that you ran into him, how he found you in the observation car when it was just you in there, how your feelings have unfolded like taking apart a paper crane in the short nine days you have known each other — it feels like it should be fate, you want to admit that all of it does seem like the universe’s divine intervention. maybe you running away was really just you trying to deny your fate to meet yeonjun while on this train. maybe him finding you was fate, an apology from whatever is above for what they put you through a year and a half ago.

“i think—” you hesitate. “i think so. it’s hard for it not to when i feel like i’ve known you my entire life.”

and you sit there and he’s smiling at you like you just created the earth with your bare hands. chicago passes outside the window. the sun shines high in the sky over the high rises, glints across glass panes and into his room. all you have is one more day on this train, and most of it will be spent sleeping tonight. he’ll wait for you tomorrow, right? would he wait for you forever?

“you know, i tell most people that my name is daniel.”

tilting your head, you echo, “daniel?”

he hums as he scoots a bit closer, planting his feet on the floor next to yours and leaning forward. his knees support his elbows as he stares down at the floor. “it’s my english name. i used it when i was in college, i use it for my work, but for some reason, when i met you, my actual name, my given name, came out instead. call me silly, but i think my heart knew you’d become someone special to me. i wanted you to use my actual name — the one my parents call me. the one my closest friends call me.”

“oh.” why does your chest feel so tight right now?

he sucks his lips behind his teeth for a moment. “yeah.”

sitting there, you wonder how you should respond to that. words expelled like an exhale of air, colliding with each other in front of your eyes, unable to be unscrambled by your mind. this time, it’s you who reaches over, closing the distance between you with a hand over his. his palm flips open to meet your own, your fingers linking together like matching puzzle pieces. you take a deep breath, and squeeze.

“thank you,” you whisper. thank you for being here. thank you for helping me find myself again.

day twelve (point five).

“i’m gonna miss you guys so much!”

chaewon is basically on the verge of tears at this point, constantly blubbering how she is going to miss hanging out with you every day as she pulls you and sakura in for a hug over and over again. sakura laughs as she pulls away for the thousandth time this afternoon. “girl, it’s gonna be okay. we’re gonna meet up for coffee soon, right?”

she looks towards you, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “right. i’ll invite my friend too. she said she’d love to meet you guys.”

chaewon’s pout doesn’t vanish, but she looks a little less emotional after all of your reassurances. blinking back the remnants of her tears, she nods with a watery “okay.”

you bring her in for one more hug while sakura asks, “have you seen him yet?”

“no, i haven’t heard from him since last night.” your teeth worry your bottom lip, peeling a piece of raised skin off. the sensation stings.

her lips purse sympathetically, a hand being placed on your shoulder. “i doubt he’d leave without saying something to you, don’t worry. he has to be around here somewhere.”

“yeah, you’re probably right.” as chaewon pulls away, you check your phone again. no texts or calls yet. doubt ricochets around in your brain, but you know yeonjun; he wouldn’t do that to you.

“i’d love to wait with you, but my manufacturer is pissed i didn’t call them back yesterday, so i should get going,” sakura admits with an apologetic smile. her fingers squeeze your shoulder one time before her arm drops back to her side.

“i should go too,” chaewon sadly adds, kicked puppy eyes in full effect. “my cat is waiting for me. my friend said she was a little demon the whole time i was gone.”

“it’s okay,” you laugh, shooing them away jokingly. “you guys can go. i’ll be fine.”

with a last group hug, they grab their suitcases and head towards the hallway that connects the train station to the subway lines. sakura twirls around, walking backwards as she calls, “keep us updated! we need to know everything,”

“of course!” you yell back, grin widening. chaewon turns back too to wave, and you wave back. eventually, the crowd swallows them up, and you are left alone to wait. a few minutes pass, and you realize that this sea of people will likely make it impossible for either of you to find each other. his contact is pulled up on your phone, your thumb hovering the call button. you look around one more time—

and he’s standing right there, mere feet in front of you, in all of his glory, long hair still flopping into his face, eyes still dreamy and all-consuming. you stand there for a moment, simply staring at each other with stupid, goofy grins overtaking your faces. long legs carry him over to you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in his arms and pulled into his strong chest. you bury your head into the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“thank god,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “i thought you might have left already.”

pulling back, you fix him with an incredulous stare. “what in the world made you think that? i was waiting for you.”

his ears tint an opaque red, the raised apples of his cheeks flushed a similar hue. he’s bewitching, and despite knowing that since the very first day — the day that you drew him for the first time — there’s so much more to him than looks to you now. he’s beautiful in both body and soul, in heart and head. one hand removes itself from your middle to cup your jaw, steadying your gaze with yours. your heart pounds, knees weak like a newborn doe’s as he stares deep into your eyes. blinding are the emotions swirling in his dark irises, but it doesn’t burn anymore. it’s more like the caress of the sun in the springtime, bright yet gentle in its own right.

“this feels long overdue for me to say,” he begins, eyes closing as if to steel himself. when he opens them again, resolve has been added to the mix. “but i have feelings for you. i’ve never fallen for someone so quickly. i’ve never met someone like you, and i just— i knew, from the very day that i saw you, that we’d have something to do with each other. and then we kept running into each other, and i just thought wow, this has to be—”

“yeonjun,” you call, interrupting his ramblings. he pauses, eyes wide and anticipatory, as your hand moves up to cover his on your jaw. you can’t help the tremble in your lips as you speak. “i feel the same way.”

his lips purse, hiding a smile, before he surges forward and embraces you for a second time. the pure, unadulterated joy that the action brings you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you’re almost…sad, when he pulls away.

“can i take you out on a date?”

the question throws you off kilter, and you have to catch yourself before you fall face first into his chest. “like, right now? with our suitcases and everything?”

“i’ve done much worse,” he chuckles, ruffling his hair, only for the locks to fall back down into his eyes. “but i meant later today, maybe? around six? i have to go take care of some things i neglected before i left.”

“that sounds wonderful,” you gush. despite your best efforts in keeping your excitement to a minimum, you bounce up onto your toes for second, heels sinking back onto the floor. you swear he mumbles a quiet “cute” under his breath before he’s slipping his hand into yours.

“perfect,” he beams, before he playfully continues. “shall we be off to the subway then, my lady?”

giggling, you fall into step next to him, your arm swinging with his between you. “we shall.”

*:･

he’s right on time to pick you up, dressed casually but not too casually. a cool beige, short-sleeved button-up is tucked into a pair of straight-legged black jeans that stop at his waist. the chunky converse on his feet cause him to be a bit taller than usual. evidently, he is distracted by his phone, head ducked down as he waits for you to show up.

“yeonjun!” you call out, causing his head to snap up. once he does, you find that he’s somewhat styled his hair back — most of it has been swooped back towards his ears. a few strands fall into his face, but his forehead is fully exposed, and he looks…amazing. sometimes, you wish you were a poet instead, because then you’d have the words describe what you were feeling, what you were seeing. his jaw drops at the sight of you, dolled up in a jean skirt and frilly tank top over a thin long sleeve, your makeup soft and flattering to your features.

“hi,” he breathes, and you repeat the greeting back to him. “you look…wow.”

“thanks,” you, biting your glossy lip. as his focus flits down to where your teeth dig into the soft flesh, you shyly smile, releasing it. a shock runs through you, new and carnal and it warms your stomach when he bites down on his own lip for a split second. “um, i know we didn’t really talk about where we were going to go, but there’s a thai place down the street from here, if you wanna go there? it’s my favorite.”

“of course,” he accepts, offering his arm to you. you loop your own through, standing close to him with your fingers pressing into the crook of his elbow. “lead the way.”

now that neither of you feel the need to skirt around your feelings, silence no longer lingers between pauses in conversation — both of you are able to pick it back up with ease. you meant it when you said that you feel like you’ve known him your whole life, and it reflects in the way you banter with him without worry or care. it’s…nice, freeing, not having to think too hard about what you’re about to say. natural. everything with him feels so natural.

when both of you are sated, in both terms of food and conversation, he offers to walk you back to your apartment. the sun is beginning to set, and the sky has faded into a wash of rosy pink. the hue reflects the giddy feeling churning in your chest, rendering you light-headed and dizzy and fuck you just want to kiss him—

and he does. standing in front of your apartment building, he swoops down and captures your lips with his. slow, unhurried, his lips taste sweet like thai tea and are as soft as clouds. no one leads the other, no one moves to deepen the kiss. no, instead, you and yeonjun savor the taste of each other, the syrupy, vertiginous feeling of your first kiss together. when he pulls away, his lips have a slightly swollen quality to them, though you’re sure own look the same. you don’t want him to leave yet. you want more, you want something carnal and irrepressible that, by the way he’s looking at you, he wants too. playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, you pant against his lips. “come inside with me, please?”

soft eyes darken, and he takes your breath away once more with another kiss, hands squeezing your waist. once he separates your lips from his, he rests his forehead against yours. nerves flutter in your stomach. “okay.”

you find it terribly difficult to keep your hands off of him as you unlock your door, as it shuts behind you. for a minute, you stand there, waiting for something, anything to happen — then he’s crowding you in against your door and his lips are on your again. although there remains an air of softness, urgency fills the gaps where your lips don’t quite meet as they meld together, his tongue slipping into your mouth to curl with your own. your shoulder blades press into the cool wood of your door, the warmth of his body against your front a dizzying contrast to your scattered mind — but you want more. you want him.

when he slips a knee between your legs and knocks them apart, you let him. when he presses that knee into your core, encourages you to grind against it, you let him, you listen. whining into his mouth, you tug at his shirt, at his belt loops, his hair — anything you can get your hands on, you’re pulling at it, grinding down harder as his jeans rub your soaked panties against your aching pearl. a cry rips itself from your throat, mouth leaving as your head is thrown back against the door. “y-yeonjun—”

“patience, love. i’m gonna make you feel good,” he mumbles as he ravages your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. his hands have snuck beneath your shirt and smooth over your stomach up to the cups of your bra, squeezing the flesh over the fabric. as you raise you arms, he helps you pull your top off, the article thrown onto the floor without ceremony or care. his hands loop behind your back, fiddling with your bra clasp. “can i?”

“please,” you keen, and he wastes no time in doing so, expert fingers sliding the straps down your arms until your bra, too, lays on the floor. lips find your right nipple, enveloping the pebbled flesh in a warm wetness that causes your back to arch into him. one hand pulls you into him, while the other tweaks your other tit. his teeth graze it, and the stinging edge of painful pleasure causes you to shiver. he hums, vibrations causing you to moan his name louder, plead for him to do more. leaving your breast, his mouth kisses and laps at the skin of your stomach. down, down, down, until he drops to his knees in front of you, swiftly unzipping your skirt and pulling it off of you. lips find your thighs, biting down lightly, and you squeak, hand finding his hair and pulling. he looks up at your through his lashes, absolutely depraved and almost drooling for more. you gulp, legs almost giving out under you as you smooth your hand over his hair, pushing the strands that have fallen into his face back. “can we— can we move to the bed?”

immediately, he stands, pulling you behind him before he’s placing you onto the edge of your bed with great care. before he can fall to his knees again, you curl your shaking fingers into his shirt. “take this off? i wanna see you.”

with a huff of a chuckle, he does as you ask, revealing a toned stomach, broad shoulders, muscled arms. your tongue darts across your lips as you drink him in, causing him to smirk. “like what you see, pretty?”

“y-yes,” you stutter out, quiet and wanting and full of lecherous need. your thighs attempt to squeeze together in order to provide some relief to your pulsating core, but his legs stop them from fully closing. his fingers find your jaw, squeezing the flesh. your cheeks heat up.

“so fucking cute.” the praise sends a white hot streak through your stomach and into your center. your face is on absolute fire now, vision growing hazy around the edges as you watch him sink down between your thighs, your panties quickly discarded to reveal your center to his eyes. two fingers trace your folds before dipping beneath them to find your entrance. his eyes widen at what he finds, fingers coming back up coated in your wetness, glinting against his fingertips and knuckles in the light streaming in through your windows. “you’re so wet, baby. this all for me? a little kissing got you this needy?”

“mhm— oh,” you gasp when he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking on them lewdly as he refuses to tear his gaze from yours. he moans at your taste, hot tongue swiping up the remnants that accidentally smeared onto the corner of his lips once he removes his fingers. his smirk returns, hands sliding under your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his mouth. you sit up on your elbows to watch him kiss his way up your inner thigh, hands holding you open for him. there’s nowhere for you to hide, as he traces your folds with his tongue, dipping into your entrance and swiping up to your clit. crying out, your fingers find his hair in an ironclad grip. he groans against your pearl, your hips bucking up into his face before his arms snake around each thigh and hold you still. he alternates between circling the bud with his tongue and sucking it between his plush lips, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth as he loses himself in your taste. meanwhile, you’re already so close to the edge, you can feel your walls begin to clench around nothing, your hips jumping up as far as he allows. as he dips down to your entrance, his nose bumps against your clit, but his tongue is back in no time to continue its assault on your poor little clit. “jjun, ‘m gonna, please, ‘m gonna—”

“cum,” he mumbles against you. “cum f’me, pretty girl.”

with his permission, your head falls onto your sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your vision spots white. cries pour from your lips like honey for him to drink, but you never quite come down fully. rather, he keeps circling his tongue against your clit through your high, and as your orgasm subsides, another one already begins to build. tears prick your eyes as you plead, “jjun, no, can’t, i can’t, nonono— i can’t!”

“yes, you can,” he murmurs, removing his arm from your right thigh. his lips don’t leave your clit as you feel two fingers slip into your soaked entrance, smoothly thrusting in and out and curling up into your upper wall until he finds that soft spot inside you that has your voice shattering into shards of moans and staccato wails. he groans against you as he feels your walls clench, the pace of his fingers unforgiving as he coaxes another mind-shattering orgasm from your body. your fingers flutter around his walls, watery hiccups torn from your throat. this time, he slows down, helps you ride out your high, before he removes his fingers, licking his lips of your essence as he does. climbing onto the bed, he hovers over you, taking in your spit-slick lips and tear-lined eyes. he wipes the tears away with gentle motions, cooing when you whine. he sits there until you come back to him, lucidity shining in your eyes as you blink them open. smiling, you pull him in for a languid kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before he pulls away.

when he caresses your cheek with his thumb, asking you if you’re okay, you lean into his touch, “mhm, want you to fuck me.”

“i can do that,” he laughs, causing you to reciprocate. standing, he slips his jeans and boxers down his thighs until he’s left in nothing, hardened cock veiny and flushed an angry red. you think it’s an average length, on the thicker side, the girth causing your mouth to water. as he runs his hands up your thighs, he asks, “d’you have any condoms, love?”

while you’d rather him fuck you raw, you know it’s safer this way. you point towards your nightstand. “there.”

as he fetches one, you scoot into the middle of the bed, watching him roll it on before he returns between your thighs, pumping his cock once, twice, lining it up with your entrance. his free hand grips your waist, watching as you move your hips to try to slide him into you. smirking, he presses his hips forward, cockhead dipping past your entrance. both of you moan at the sensation. slowly, he works his cock into you, little rolls of his hips until he’s seated fully within you, hips flush against your pelvis.

“move,” you whine. “please move.” and that’s all it takes for him to swiftly pull out and slide back in again. as he thrusts into you again and again, his movements grow rougher, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot each time. moaning, you reach up towards him, forcing him to lean over you so you can kiss him again, swallowing each other’s sounds. he’s just as loud as you, praises falling naturally between his breathy moans.

“feel s’good, baby. so fuckin’ tight and wet f’me. so unreal. d’you feel good, too?” he coos against the shell of your ear, warm breath curling against your necks. your walls clench around him at his desperate sounds.

“s-so good, jjunie,” you hum, feeling your third high of the night approaching. the knot in your stomach grows tighter as his thrusts grow sloppy, chasing his high as much as you are. a thumb moves down to rub your sensitive clit, quick little circles against the bud until your limbs are locking up, quaking as you finally cum around him. a few seconds later, his high hits him as well, his hips quivering as he spills into the rubber with a loud groan.

slowly, he pulls out, ridding himself of the condom and soon returning to the bed to plop down next to you. arms pull you in close as you both pant and grin tiredly at each other, basking in the quiet that permeates the air, and he stares at you, dulcet eyes boring into yours.

“what’re you thinking about?” you decide to ask, poking the center of his sweat-beaded forehead. taking a moment to respond, he pulls you even closer so that your noses almost touch.

“it’s just— there’s this concept in korean — inyeon,” the timbre of his voice raises slightly as he switches to his native tongue, and lowers again when he switches back to english. “that, um, it means…”

his cheeks are growing the slightest bit pink, a shade that reflects the cotton candy clouds that float past your windows. squeezing his hand, you silently urge him to continue, soft gaze finding his own. a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek, his jaw, naked skin pressed against naked skin. together, whole, one.

he starts again, “there’s no direct translation, but it basically is fate. strings of fate. i truly believe the universe has connected us in some way, whether it be through some invisible red string or another force. and i know, i know what you said about fate, but i can’t stop thinking about how we found each other. there’s something beautiful about starting off as strangers and getting here. i don’t know, i’m just rambling at this point,” he chuckles, burying his nose into the pillow under his head. “i’ve just never felt this way about someone before. i’m sorry.”

with a gentle hand, you cup the side of his face, forcing him to look back at you. “don’t be sorry, that’s beautiful, and i think—” you sigh, blinking back tears that threaten to fall. “i think you’ve changed my mind about fate. i’ve also never felt this way about someone before. i feel like you know me on some level that no one else does. you just. you just get it, and i—”

you don’t think this is quite love yet, but you believe what you’re feeling within your chest, tingling all over your body, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to it. he smiles, whispers a small, soft, “i know,” and lips find lips once more. hands find hands, and you feel alive. you feel like everything that you see is now in vivid technicolor, no longer masked by a veil of gray.

and when you wake up tomorrow, you think that you’re going to start a new painting.

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daydreaming-nerd · 15 days

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Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 12

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Wow this took longer than I thought because I JUST graduated college, which has been a hard transition for me. Also in one of my grad photos I posed with ACOMAF and Fourth Wing and tagged both Sarah and Rebecca Yarros and REBECCA FUCKING DMed ME AND CONGRATULATED ME! So yeah that was insane.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Smut, mating bond being accepted, territorial Cass, angst for Rhys

Word Count: 5,535

“And this is really what you want?” Rhysand asks me for the one-millionth time.

“Yes brother,” I assure him, taking his hands in mine.

“No ornate, over the top mating ceremony? No wedding with all seven courts in attendance? Need I remind you that you are the Princess of Velaris, The Jewel of Prythian. I am the High Lord of Night, simply speak it and it is done,” Rhysand fusses.

I can’t help but laugh at his eagerness to lay the world at the feet of his little sister. He had already given me our mother’s sapphire encrusted diadem as my something blue and had the small temple decorated in faelights and night blooming jasmine. I could practically smell the sweet flowers from the other side of the double oak doors before me. If I peeked through the crack I would see my handsome mate, my cousin, Azriel, and Amren, all waiting for Rhys to walk me down the aisle.

“Rhys, I already had a larger than life wedding. I want this one to be intimate and sweet, just my family,” I assure him and I see his shoulders relax.

“I’m sorry that Autumn Court traditions didn’t allow me to walk you down the aisle last time,” he smiles, offering me his arm, which I take.

“It’s okay that was just the practice wedding,” I tease, bumping into his shoulder.

Rhys barks out a laugh, a real one, a sound I hadn’t heard from him in a long time. He looks over at me one last time, taking in my appearance before placing a kiss on the top of my head, “You look beautiful sister. Cassian is truly a very lucky male.”

I smile, smoothing my dress over one last time before the double doors open to reveal the beautiful temple and my mate turns to meet my gaze.

The soft faelights cast a warm glow throughout the temple and the smiling faces of my family meet me as Rhys leads me down the aisle. Mor looks so happy she might squeal, Amren’s face dons a small smile, the biggest one I’ve seen from her, ever. Azriel looks at me for only a moment before turning his head to Cassian, watching his brother's reaction to seeing his future wife and mate.

Cassian was dressed immaculately, in one of the many jackets that he wore to the Autumn Court balls. But I didn’t care much about how he dressed, I was more focused on his eyes, how they glassed over as I walked closer to him. Such happiness and joy that lie in them, like he had been waiting for this day for many years.

As I step up to him Rhys passes my hand to Cassian’s with a knowing glance. My general looked down upon me like I was the most precious thing he ever beheld. I squeezed his hands tighter to assure him that I was real.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, my love,” Cassian smiled before turning to the priestess.

I don’t have time to say anything before the priestess begins to speak, seemingly more eager than the rest of us.

“We gather here today to bear witness to the union of these two beings. If anyone should have any reason why these two shall not be joined please say so at once.” the priestess says.

“This is also the time when I remind everyone that I have a knife,” Cassian says under his breath, earning a laugh from all of us.

“Very well,” the priestess giggles. “Do you, y/n, youngest sister of our High Lord Rhysand and Princess of Velaris, take this male to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you shall live?” she asked me.

“I do,” I smiled seeing the love pouring from Cassian’s eyes as I slid the simple gold band on his finger. There might have been five other people in the room but I couldn’t care less. Cassian’s hands gave mine a gentle squeeze, his way of showing me how happy he was to hear me say those two little words.

“And do you, Cassian, General of the Night Courts Armies, take this female to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you shall live?” the priestess asks, looking at Cassian. He didn’t even notice her.

“Hell yeah I do,” he laughs, earning a laugh from our family once more as he places his mother’s ring on my hand.

“Princess if you would,” she said, gesturing to the small blackberry tart on the plate before her.

When I asked Cassian what he wanted as his official mating offering he didn’t hesitate to ask for a blackberry tart. I was puzzled at first until he explained that we met because of a blackberry tart. The first day he saw me, reading on the couch of the townhouse he and Azriel had come over because my mother had made us all blackberry tarts. It was after his story that I realized he had thought about this for a long time.

I picked up the small pastry off the ornate plate and offered it to Cass. He plucked it from my hands like it was made of porcelain and took a bite, berry staining his lips. I couldn’t help but reach a hand up to wipe the mess from his face.

“Congratulations you two, you are now mates as well as husband and wife,” the priestess smiled fondly, taking a step back.

“C’mere you,” Cassian smirked, pulling me into a kiss.

His mouth melded against mine, and immediately things felt…different. They were deeper, stronger. The bond between us seemed to glow even brighter. I felt Cassian dip me, in order to kiss me deeper, earning cheers from our family, especially Mor. When we came up for air I felt like my skin was on fire, the need to touch and feel all of my mate consuming my very soul. Like all moral code I had was thrown out the window. I barely felt it when we broke apart for air. The only thing bringing me back to reality was Cassian’s hazel eyes darkening.

“Rhys I’m sorry to say this, but I’m going to go fuck your sister now,” Cassian jested picking me up bridal style and walking back down the aisle.

The sound of my brother’s protest and the family’s laughter followed us as we launched skyward the cold night air whipping my dress around. The stars seemed brighter tonight as we flew over the Sidra, making a beeline for the House of Wind. It wasn’t uncommon for mating ceremonies to end so abruptly, but most of the time the couple would give their thanks to all in attendance before caving to the frenzy. Then again since when were Cassian and I a normal couple?

We landed on the terrace of the House of Wind and the second we were on solid ground Cassian kissed me, not even stopping to put me down.

“Cass put me down!” I laughed between kisses.

“Over my dead body, we're going straight to our room,” he smiled storming off towards the door.

That’s right, our room. I had moved all my things into his room just yesterday. Thankfully he didn’t have much of a wardrobe so my thousands of dresses fit perfectly.

The house thankfully opened our bedroom door for us, but it closed promptly with a slam as Cassian’s foot kicked it shut. I felt my feet finally touch the ground as greedy hands roamed my waist.

“You are truly the most beautiful bride, I am so lucky to have you,” Cassian beamed, taking in every inch of me.

“I’m far luckier to call you my mate and my husband,” I hum, kissing him again as I begin ripping the buttons of his shirt open.

“That’s right you’re my wife now,” he exclaimed, kissing me deeply. “I’ve waited so long to call you my wife y/n, you have no idea.”

I felt his hands wander to the buttons of my dress, he fumbled with a few before the thing was ripped in two, buttons ricocheting off every wall and surface in the room. I gasped as the cold air hit my bareback. I took a step back to reveal my surprise for my husband, one Mor insisted I needed tonight.

As the intricate wedding dress pooled at my feet my white lingerie was revealed. I remembered when Mor took me shopping at her favorite shop, she claimed it was nonnegotiable, and as Casssian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head I could see why.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned closing the distance between us by grabbing me by my waist. “Pinch me baby there’s no way you’re my wife,” he said, wandering his hands up and down my body setting my skin on fire.

“Why don’t you get on your knees Cass,” I whisper in his ear, knowing his second surprise is waiting for him there.

My general, and the Lord of Bloodshed, falls to his knees before me without even a protest. His eyes fell directly on the garter I was wearing on my thigh. Seemingly plain and white, but I smirked as his eyes widened once again as he saw the customization on it.

Embroidered on the garther in red thread, read one name.

‘Cassian’

“You’re going to kill me princess,” he groaned, pressing his head against my thigh.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction to the fabric around my thigh as I ran a hand through his hair, “So it’s safe to say you like it?” I ask.

“Like it? I fucking love it baby. I’m fucking you with this one tonight.” He smirks leaving open mouthed kisses on my thigh.

“Damn it that thing is scratchy,” I giggle. I wasn’t lying, the lace had been rubbing against my leg all day.

“Then allow me to take it off for you,” he said, pressing a kiss just above the lace. “Can’t have anything marring my princess’ perfect skin,” he smirked before grabbing the fabric with his teeth and pulling it down my leg.

The sight of his dark eyes locking on mine as the lace slid off my leg was enough to have my knees buckle. Thankfully his hands on my hips kept me stable as the garter slid off my foot. He chucked the thing clear across the room before standing and picking me up in one fell swoop.

I couldn’t help but giggle as he laid me ever so gently on our shared bed. Staring down at me, taking in every single inch of me.

“My beautiful, beautiful mate,” he breathed, leaning over me to press a kiss to my lips before trailing his mouth down my neck. “Beautiful, exquisite, and all fucking mine,” he groaned accentuating each word with a kiss.

“Cassian,” I breathed, feeling his mouth traveling to where I needed him most. “I need you now,” I pleaded.

“Shhh not yet wife, I want to taste you first,” he grinned placing a kiss atop my clothed core before sliding the white lace down my legs and discarding it with the garter.

A series of kisses lined my core before he parted my folds, licking a long stripe up the center of me flicking his tongue at my clit causing me to arch my back off the mattress. He took his time, swirling and suckling on every part of me. When his fingers slid into me slowly but surely it had me crying out in pleasure.

I looked down to where my husband feasted on me, his eyes staring directly into mine. He watched my every reaction to his tongue and his hands as he brought me closer and closer to the gods themselves. Those hazel eyes turned dark brown as they devoured every gasp of pleasure I let out.

“Cass I’m going to-”

“Cum baby, I want my wife to cum all over my fucking face,” he growled thrusting his fingers into me faster. The change in his voice was so drastic, so deep it had me doing just that.

I knew the fae were more primal, more needy during their mating but I had no clue it would be like this, no clue I would love it as much as I did. As I came down from my high I realized how badly I needed him unleashed, needed all him.

“Fuck you taste so fucking good mate,” he groaned licking up whatever juices I left over.

“Cass I need you,” I said with a guttural sound that didn’t even sound like me.

His eyes snapped up from my cunt to me, somehow even darker than they were moments ago. He crawled up my body, a look in his eyes that could only be described as pure male pride as he said with a smirk.

“Yeah wife? You need me?” he grinned, placing open mouthed kisses over my collarbones.

“Yes Cass, I need you. I need all of you,” I pleaded, my nails raking down his now bareback. When his shirt had come off? I didn’t know.

“I’m not myself right now y/n,” he gritted, trying to show restraint. “I’ve never needed you as badly as I do now.”

“Take me Cass, I want you unleashed,” I begged, pulling him closer to me, just needing to feel his skin brush against mine.

His pants were quickly discarded to wherever my clothes had gone and I felt his hard cock brush against my stomach. I found myself subconsciously bucking into it like my body was forcing me to. He thrusted inside me in one motion filling me to the brim and causing us both to let out unnatural sounds.

“Ah oh god’s Cassian, it feels so good!” I cried, finally feeling the relief of having him inside me.

The only response I got from Cassian I got was a low growl as he started rutting inside of me. The sensation was almost too much to take. I knew that once the mating bond was accepted sex was different. There was nothing in the world that could compare. It was part of what made the mating bond so special.

As I felt Cassian thrusting into me, and heard his moans of pleasure as my walls clenched around him I wondered if I would ever get enough of this. If I would ever be truly satisfied. No wonder they called it the frenzy, I could sleep with him inside me and I would still need more.

“Holy fuck baby you feel so good,” Cassian grunted, his face tightening in the process.

“Cassian!” I screamed, unable to remember anything but the name of my mate.

“Who’s fuckin pussy is this?” he roared, setting a brutal pace.

“Yours Cass,” I cried, feeling myself falling over the edge at his words.

My orgasm ripped through me like a tidal wave, the pleasure branding my every nerve as I felt the aftershocks all over my body. I had never felt this way before.

“Fuckkk,” Cass moaned, sitting himself inside of me as I felt his load coat my walls.

He collapsed beside me cradling me to his chest, both of us sweating and breathing heavily. My legs trembled from the aftershock of my release.

“Shit princess, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Cassian asked, tilting my chin up so he could assess my face.

“No, no I’m fine,” I assured him before collapsing on his chest again.

“I’m sorry I got a little rough there, it was-”

“The bond,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Don’t worry I feel it too.”

The heat returned to that spot between my legs and suddenly I needed to be closer to him, even though I was lying on top of him. I lifted my head to press kisses to his bare chest, my favorite activity to do.

“Y/n if you don’t stop I’m gonna-”

“I need you Cassian,” I said, cutting him off again with another kiss to his pec.

His eyes lit up in amusement as he placed my hips over his already hard cock. I started grinding on him like my body was on autopilot.

“Who am I to deny a princess?” he smirked, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“We might be here a while,” I breathed, grasping his hair to pull him closer.

“I can live with that,” he smiled.

Cassian’s POV:

As expected the mating frenzy lasted about two weeks. Hell it would’ve been longer had Rhys not sent Azriel to break up the love fest. Apparently, there was still work to be done and my presence was needed at Windhaven. Devlon had been slacking in recruiting new troops, and with a war looming, and no Autumn Court soldiers to aid us, that wasn’t going to fly.

Thankfully with a few ass kickings, Devlon finally got his shit in gear, and more Illyrians were being recruited and trained. Every day I flew up to impart my wisdom and of course make an example of a few of the older soldiers who thought they were ready for battle.

The days were long, but it only made coming home to my mate all the more sweeter. I used to come home to an empty bed and a glass of whiskey, maybe even a female if I was lucky. At least I used to think I was lucky back then. Nothing compared to seeing y/n’s smiling face as I walked through the door every day.

Sometimes she would be reading a book and I could sneak up on her and kiss her on the cheek. Other times she would sneak up on me and wrap her arms around me before telling me I was stinky and needed a bath, a bath she always happily joined me in. One that was more fucking than it was washing.

“Princess, are you almost ready?” I asked her, knocking on the bathroom door once again.

With things in the camps finally starting to run according to schedule I finally had time to train y/n as she had asked me to. I couldn’t believe that she thought I wouldn’t want to. I had never been more proud of her for wanting to give herself that freedom, that peace of mind to know that she could defend herself if need be. I was grateful to be the one to help her. So grateful in fact that I went out and bought her some Illyrian training leathers.

She nearly squealed at the sight of them, but the second she touched them her face contorted. She told me that she was scared to wear them because even though she was half Illyrian she didn’t have wings. To which I explained to her that if anyone dared say a word about it they would find their head on a pike. Not that I thought anyone in Windhaven would dare insult their general’s mate.

“Yeah I think so, are they always this tight?” she asked, throwing open the bathroom door.

I had seen my mate in lavish dresses, wedding dresses, lingerie, and nothing at all, but seeing her in Illyrian fighting leathers? It was going to be a lot harder to keep my focus than I thought.

“Cass?” she chimed, snapping her fingers to get my attention.

“Oh- um,” I stumbled. “Yes they are, they create less drag when flying and they keep your opponents from having something to grab onto,” I explain to her, unable to keep my eyes from wandering over her body.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, turning to look at herself in the mirror one last time. “I’m ready to go then.”

We made our way to a terrace giving Azriel a wave as we took flight. It might’ve been faster to winnow to Windhaven, but I didn’t mind flying with y/n in my arms one bit. Not when I spent days thinking I never would again. Not when this relationship between us was so new. I still felt like it would be ripped away from me at any given moment, Cauldron knew everything else in my life had been.

The weather in Velaris was beginning to warm up as spring was approaching, but in the Illyrian mountains there was still snow on the ground. As we neared Windhaven I felt y/n shiver and instinctively pulled her closer to me. I hadn’t told Devlon that we were coming to use the sparring ring and the practice grounds. I didn’t need to, I was the general, and more importantly y/n was their princess. Granted a princess they had never seen before, but still their superior nonetheless.

Confused faces graced every man woman and child as I touched down at the edge of camp with y/n. They had all of course heard stories of y/n, maybe even seen paintings of her, but they had never once seen her in the flesh. Even though news traveled slowly here it wasn’t hard to guess who she was, not with all the stories of her beauty. I remembered Eris recounting one…

“Eyes like a storm, skin soft as rose petals and hair like threads of silk. The Jewel of Prythian and the weakness of every male…”

As we walked through the camp I understood why y/n hated large crowds so much. I remember she once told me that walking through a ballroom felt like being a painting put on display. As we walked hand in hand I noticed that every pair of eyes that found her also found me, which set me on edge. I looked down to see her blissfully unaware like she was completely unbothered by their stares. Still, I would keep on my toes.

We approached a rogue training ring near the edge of the camp, and I felt y/n’s body language lighten as she ran over to a rack of wooden weapons picking up a sword. The look on her face was so enthusiastic I couldn’t help but smile at her.

“You’re not quite ready for that one,” I laughed watching her swing the sword around like a toy.

“Are you kidding me? Does this look ‘not ready’ to you?” She challenged, pointing the sword at me.

I cocked an eyebrow at the dull wood pointing at my chest. In one movement I grasped the end of the practice sword in one hand and pushed her down with the other. She fell to the mat with a thud, looking up at me like a toddler.

“Hey!” she protested dusting herself off as I put the fake weapon back with the rest.

“You asked me to treat you the same as I would any of my troops. Are you taking that statement back?” I challenged her.

“No I just didn’t know you were going to push me,” she huffed.

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than just push you, princess,” I laughed ruffling her hair which was in a simple braid. “If you want to wield a sword you have to be strong enough for it. Which means we're going to be working on those muscles first.”

“Okay let's do it!” she exclaimed. “Where do we start?”

“You, start by giving me three laps around camp to get warmed up,” I said sitting on a nearby rock.

“You’re not joining me?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“And miss the view of you running away in those pants? Not a chance princess.” I smirked, getting comfortable where I sat.

To my surprise, there were no further protests as she collected herself and began running around the camp. I was right about the view of my mate running in those tight Illyrian leathers, it would be a miracle if I let those things get home in one piece.

Y/n ‘s first lap around the camp was a quick one, I forgot to tell her that it wasn’t about getting the laps done quickly, it was about warming up. I supposed that learning from one’s mistakes was the best way to learn though. Once she got through her second lap she had slowed down and by the time she came back to the mat her breaths were ragged.

“By the cauldron how do you do that?” she asked out of breath.

“That was three-quarters of a mile princess, my warm-up is five miles,” I laugh standing from the rock.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head at my words. She straightens up trying her best to control her breaths.

“Now drop and give me twenty push-ups,” I said pointing to the mat. Y/n raised her eyebrows and started doing her pushups as asked.

It wasn’t until a few moments later that I became acutely aware of the presence around us. Without turning my body from where my mate did her exercises, I lifted my gaze to find women and soldiers alike staring at y/n. I tried to act as if I didn’t see them there, turning my attention to my wife once more where she stood, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Good now let’s try something else,” I said, walking over towards the rack of weapons and grabbing weighted gloves. “Put these on and let's see how you’re able to swing.”

I watched as she tied the gloves on and tried to hide my smile as the things flopped around her small hands. I could get her custom ones made later but for now, these would do. She put her hands up like she was ready to fight me and I helped her adjust her position to one that she might actually use.

“Alright now I’m going to hold out my hands and you’re going to punch in sequence, right, right, left, right. Do that over and over again.” I instruct her to hold up my bare hands.

“Aren’t I going to hurt you though?” she asked, peering from behind her gloves.

“One day you will,” I laughed. “But I promise I can handle a beginner. Now come on, lay a couple on me.”

She cocked her head to the side as if she was still questioning my toughness, which was a slight bruise to my ego. Once she did the sequence a couple of times and I didn’t so much as flinch I could feel pride floating down the bond. Like she was proud to have me as a mate.

My thoughts were interrupted as the interlopers aside us continued to ogle and whisper about us. Their numbers having doubled since the last time I looked. Y/n was completely focused on the series of punches, muttering the order under her breath. I couldn’t help but try and listen in on two females standing by us.

“Is that the princess?”

“Why would the princess be here with the general?”

“I’m not sure but she looks like a painting of y/n that I’ve seen before.”

Y/n continued her exercises until I stopped her, as I wanted to try out a different sequence. I corrected her stance once more and made sure she was holding her fists properly before she picked up on the new pattern. My eyes flitted to a group of three or four soldiers looking at us and listened to their exchange.

“Who the hell is that with the general?”

“I think it’s the princess.”

“That’s not the princess you idiot, why would she be here? Rhysand keeps her locked up tight.”

“Well, whoever she is I’m definitely taking a piece of her before I go home,”

The male who made the final comment flared his wings as if to try and get y/n’s attention.

I dropped my hands feeling a few of y/n’s lingering punches bounce off my chest before she realized what was happening.

“Hey I was doing good!” she protested, attempting to raise her weighed down hands in the air.

“Yeah that’s enough training for today,” I said tightly before sweeping her up in my arms and taking off into the air. Weighted gloves and all.

“Cass!” she shouted over the winds. “What was that about? We just started!”

“The whole camp was eye fucking you, we can train at home. I’ll bring some weights and equipment tomorrow,” I grumbled remembering the male's greedy eyes.

“You territorial Illyrian prick!” she laughed, smacking me on the chest.

“Hey cut me some slack! The mating bond is still fresh!,” I laughed and the second I said it I saw the understanding fill her eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re so handsome,” she sighed leaning her head on my shoulder.

I gave a small chuckle as we continued the short flight home. Training could start up again once we arrived at the townhouse. It would be easier to train her in private and more fun for when things got a little…well…heated.

y/n’s pov:

Today marked a day I had hoped would never come. Feyre’s wedding.

When I told my brother of the planned event he said that he was well aware of his mate's upcoming nuptials. I begged and pleaded with him to call in his bargain with her just once, just to give the female a chance to get to know him, but he refused. Even Cassian told him of the pain he felt when I married Eris. But Rhys was steadfast in letting Feyre be happy, and in the end, I let him do it, for every time I spoke her name there was a sadness in his eyes I couldn't stand to see.

“Hey,” I said quietly, stepping onto the balcony of the townhouse where Rhys stood.

Cassian sat dutifully inside waiting for his brother with a glass of whiskey. It was going to be a long night, and he had offered himself up as Rhys’ drinking buddy, an offer my brother happily took. I just wanted to speak to my brother once before Azriel took me home.

“Hey sis,” Rhys said, looking worse for wear.

As usual, his image was perfect. A perfectly tailored suit, hair set in place, a clean shave. But his eyes held all the sorrows of the world. Grief I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I realized that this is exactly how Cassian felt the day I married Eris, and in that moment my heart broke twice.

“Cassian’s inside with a couple of bottles of whiskey,” I gave him a half hearted smile wrapping an arm around him.

“That was nice of him,” Rhys grinned weakly, tugging me closer to him.

“Don’t give him too much credit he stole it from your liquor cabinet,” I laughed looking up toward my brother. I barely recognized him in this state.

“Why am I not surprised,” he said, turning toward me. “Do you and Mor have everything you need for girls' night? You have enough wine and snacks right?”

“Rhys,” I said, squeezing his hands. “You don’t always have to be so brave, you know? It’s okay to grieve. Especially with me, we promised no more walls, no more secrets.”

I saw his violet eyes begin to glass over as he took in my words. In a way I was happy he felt he could be vulnerable with me again, that he didn’t have to wear the mask with me. However, I was sad that these were the circumstances.

His arms pulled me into a tight hug and I felt his body shake ever so slightly, either in relief or in sadness. As I felt a drop on my bare shoulder I knew it was the latter and it killed me inside.

“I’m going to lose her forever. She’s my mate and I’ll never even get to hold her.” he cried, his voice breaking.

“Rhys I’m-”

“I’ll have to sit here and watch her love him for the rest of my life,” he breathed.

All I could do was hold him closer as I felt him breaking in my arms. The misery he felt echoed throughout the Illyrian mountains, and I wondered if today would be the day they finally crumbled. Before I could even try to console my brother he straightened, releasing me from his grasp and staring into the air behind me.

“What? What is it?” I asked, grasping his shoulders.

“I-It’s her. It’s Feyre.” he stumbled as if coming to a shocking realization.

“What’s wrong, is she hurt?” I panicked, willing to follow him anywhere to ensure her safety. The female wasn’t just my brother's mate, she had saved him from under the mountain, saved all of us, and saved me. I owed her my life.

“She wants to stop the wedding, she’s begging for someone to help- anyone to help.” Rhys rambled looking around him as if he was looking for some sort of sign.

“Rhys… RHYS!” I shouted finally getting his attention. “Go get her,” I pleaded with him.

Before I could get another word in he disappeared into a cloud of shadows, no doubt going to the Spring Court. Going to his mate.

To be continued…

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k-dokja · 8 months

Text

Pretty.

— Reader is a wee bit strange, Riddle has a teensy attachment issue. Female reader, has been with Riddle since their younger days. Also written like a tangent I haven’t reread the thing don’t make me

Riddle is pretty.

You remember thinking that one morning when you sit next to him in class. You can’t focus because last night you’ve been staying up late to study and now you can’t perceive anything but the formulas and how pretty Riddle is.

His eyes sharpen with focus while he scribes down on his notes. He always has such pretty handwriting, you love to have him writing letters for you because you can preserve them forever. Riddle always grumbles but he always does as you ask.

Pretty Riddle with his stray stands of hair falling down and obscuring his vision. You reach up to push them out before he can. He looks at you in surprise, not expecting you to act this fast. Then his cheeks redden, noticing your undivided attention. He hisses, “Focus on class, I’m not helping you later if you forgot the materials.”

He returns to his work after that, pointedly ignoring you. Silly Riddle, you wouldn’t ask him to break a rule for you. It would break his heart along with every other breakable thing within his distance. You wouldn’t want him to get unnecessary grievance, not when the pressure is on his shoulder as is.

You want your Riddle to stay pretty. He’s always prettier when he’s happy.

Riddle is pretty, even with his nose and eyes red.

Bundled up in autumn clothes, he looks ready for a new school year already. But he isn’t the one leaving, you are. Your parents have been mindful enough to stay back while you say your goodbyes with Riddle. It warms your heart to have such caring people around you, even if all you can see now is Riddle.

“You better call often,” he says, adjusting your scarf for what would be the sixth time, “I’ll try to visit when I can, but if I—“

“I’ll miss you.”

His eyes widen and you think he looks prettiest then. With his cheeks crimson and his eyes glassy again, he looks away from you, trying to hold back his emotions. Before you can say anything else, he hugs you close. The force of his skinny arms are strong, stronger than anyone would expect. Except for you, because you know. You have hugged Riddle many times. Never did he do it with this ferocity, but you know it is only the intensity of his feeling.

You hug him back, relishing in the feeling of him in your arms. Your pretty Riddle with his pretty scent, you won’t have neither for a while.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he chokes out.

“I’ll think of you often,” you rub soothing circles on his back and he hugs you tighter.

“And I you.”

He pulls back after a moment then looks at you. You wonder if he’s trying to commit your face to his memories and if he worries that the pictures in his phone won’t suffice. Riddle kisses your hair, softer now after the previous outburst. Maybe he worries your parents would have judgement, but that thought is thrown out when he kisses you again.

Hard and bruising, but quick enough to not draw the looks of strangers. His lips part in shock when he retreats, not expecting himself to have pulled that stunt. “My apologies, I…”

You kiss him, on the cheek this time, even if your lips crave for his again. “Let’s meet again, soon,” you silence out any of his thoughts about regret then step away from him.

Silly Riddle, he doesn’t know how pretty he is when he looks like that. He shouldn’t let shame overwhelm him. His memories of you should only be happy, you won’t have it otherwise.

Riddle is pretty, beaming at you from across the yard and brightening when he sees you.

He has promised to visit. He always keeps his promises. Your college is not that far from his and if anything, teleportation is always an option. Never mind the specifics, all that matters is that Riddle is here and he’s happy. Happier when you tackles him with a hug, he accepts you like you’re always meant to be there in his arms.

“Riddle!”

“Hi,” he says, nose buried into the crook of your next, “it’s nice to be with you again.”

“It’s nice for me too,” you cling to him and he shows no opposition to your actions.

Pretty Riddle. Hair nice and soft, he smells prettier than he has been before. You’ve missed him, even with the calls and texts. Nothing can ever replace having him with you. “You should quit Night Raven College and be here with me.”

He laughs. He doesn’t know because you smile when you proposed the idea, but you always meant it. Meant every word when you said you want to be with him forever, meant every feeling when you professed to him.

Maybe he does and he doesn’t mind. Why else would he keep you for this long?

Riddle rarely lets go of your hand for the duration of his stay. You like the proximity, but worry that he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets you go for too long. Silly Riddle, there is no one else you’d want to be with other than him. You never want to worry him and you never stay away for long enough to make him frown.

Pretty as he is then, he’s prettier when he’s happy. You always want your Riddle the best he can be.

Riddle is pretty, on his knee and staring up at you.

You can see it in his eyes, everything you wanted from Riddle and more. Riddle would do anything for you, anything and everything. All you have to do is say yes.

The ring shines a pretty ruby red, pretty like his hair but hard where it is soft. You don’t remember what you said in answer, but Riddle has never been prettier before. When he slides the ring on your finger, all you can see is him. His mouth is moving but you can’t hear the words, you feel him holding you but you can’t sense the warmth.

All that echoes in your head is that you’ll be his, fully and completely. When people speak of you, they’ll call you with his name. Where he ends will be where you begin and it is all and everything that you want from him. Even if he doesn’t promise you a wedding, you’d want your pretty Riddle.

As long as he’s yours and happy, you care for little else. But Riddle is a stickler for rules and traditions. He’d want the wedding, the cake, the dance, and the party. Preparations take long days and long hours before anything is set in stone. You’re impatient, you want to be Riddle’s.

But you won’t voice those thoughts because he looks so happy to prepare. When he smiles at you, nought else seems to matter. Long as the outcome is inevitable, you have no reason to complain.

After all, there is only one and final ending.

Riddle is pretty, pretty in white when the bells toll.

Pretty forever and pretty for you.

#riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #fics #funnier if you think of this as my usual reader of riddle #because his pov for other fic is very much my sweet darling gf who can do no wrong :)#meanwhile her head is like :) riddle :)#riddle :) pretty riddle :) silly riddle :) silly pretty riddle :)

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softestqueeen · 6 months

Text

red roses and deadly promises

pairing: Zade Meadows x fem!reader

summary: When your stalker, Zade Meadows, has to do some business out of town, someone new makes an unwelcome appearance. How will Zade react when someone tries to steal you away from him?

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! stalking, cunnilingus, blow job, face fucking, attempted rape, dom/sub, pet names, death, murder, body parts, rough sex, knife play, dirty talking, aftercare, p in v sex, breeding, creampie, stabbing

wordcount: 10.658 (lol)

a/n: I think there is not enough haunting adeline fanfiction out there, so here you go! btw I don’t know what happened I only wanted to write about 7k words…. anyways enjoy <3

It had been going on for a while.

It started out with harmless flowers paired with deadly promises. Whenever you got home there would be a bouquet of fresh red roses waiting for you. Hanging from it: a note. It wasn’t always the same, but it always went along of the lines of You’re mine, if anyone ever touches you, they’ll die, you’re so beautiful, I love watching you, etc.

The first time you received a bouquet of red roses, the note read:

You’re so beautiful, I love watching you my little mouse. Can’t wait to play with you. Don’t even try to go to the police, it will change nothing. Love, Z

You were scared shitless. You didn’t know what to do. Even though the mysterious stalker told you not to go to the police it seemed like the most logical option. You didn’t want to ask your best friend, as to not worry her too much. She already didn’t like the fact that you moved into your grandmas old “haunted” house that was literally in the middle of nowhere, so the only logical thing for you was to wait. Wait what his – you assumed it was a man - next move was or if he maybe would even stop.

But actually, quite the opposite happened. The roses came more often, even inside of the house while you were there. Sometimes they were in the kitchen when you wanted to eat breakfast or in your bathroom, which could only be accessed through your bedroom or through the window, which is almost too small for a frown man to get through. You found them in rooms you normally wouldn’t go in. Your grandmother’s old study, in the attic, behind doors that were so dusty, you had to wear a mask before entering, scared you would inhale too much of it.

And still, you could be sure in almost every room in your house was a bouquet of red roses waiting for you.

After a few weeks you suddenly felt a shift. You weren’t as scared anymore but rather felt a weird sense of comfort anytime you got something from him. You knew he wouldn’t let anybody hurt you. He protected you like no one ever did and even protected you from himself. Alone the memory of that note made wetness pool in your panties.

I wish I could come to you little mouse. I live to protect you. No man will ever lay a hand on you, be sure of it. But protecting you also means protecting you from me. I wish I could come to you and ruin you, make you my slut and my good girl. I want to be the cat that fetches you and eats you alive, little mouse, seeing the life draining out of your eyes. Every time I, watch you undress, or watch you showering, rubbing yourself with soap, letting it glide over your skin… I’m always so fucking tempted to take you right then and there, especially when I catch you touching yourself. But I will have to wait. I don’t want to ruin your innocence. Yet. I’ll see you soon little mouse. Love, Z

It was the longest note you’ve ever received. You know you shouldn’t, but you’ve read it over and over. It was not just a note, it was a letter. A love letter, a deranged and sick love letter. But a love letter, nevertheless.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you could see yourself falling for him. You knew it was oh so wrong but that just made it oh so much more appealing. A forbidden love to your stalker who you thought may love you even more.

It had been a cold autumn day, and you were very much looking forward to cuddling up with a book under a blanket, drinking warm tea and enjoying the new season from the inside. Maybe even curl up in your grandmothers old rocking chair, that brought you so much comfort.

Entering your home, you indulged in the warmth and comfort of it. You went into the kitchen, expecting another bouquet of red roses with a note hanging from one of the stems. But nothing could have prepared you for what you actually saw.

Your kitchen had a long window that went along the whole length of it and had a beautiful view of the garden and the woods behind it, that seemed to go on forever. There were curtains, but you never used them, rather enjoying the warm sunlight and how it brightened up the room.

In this situation you weren’t sure if you were grateful for the full view of the garden. Because there was a tall figure standing in the woods, but still in a way that he knew you saw him. And he was looking directly at you.

Was that Z? Was that your stalker? Is that really the man who haunted not just your nightmares but also your wet dreams?

You couldn’t see much of him, only that he must be very tall. Probably even a foot taller than you. You had to admit, you were scared. Of course, you knew that there was a real person behind Z but seeing him was definitely something else. It wasn’t just a silly game anymore it was serious now.

You were frozen on the spot and didn’t dare move. You remained in the same spot, even when you noticed that he was now moving towards you.

Again, you didn’t move a muscle but rather concentrated on the details that came now into view. He creeped closer and closer, and you could now see that he was wearing a balaclava or a scarf that covered his nose and mouth. But his eyes told you all that you needed to know.

His eyes were beautiful, even though his right eye was adorned with a massive scar. The scar didn’t take away the beauty of him though, his eye almost white and the unscared one was a beautiful and rich blue.

He came to a stop in front of the window and looked into your eyes. For a moment you were just standing there, gazing into each others’ eyes. And in this moment, you completely forgot that you were looking at your stalker for the first time. You were so lost in the eyes of the stranger you seemed to know so well.

You’ve never felt this connection with someone, though you’ve also never been stalked. Was this a sick variant of Stockholm-Syndrome? Were you going insane? Because you definitely felt like it.

He broke the stillness of the scene and put his hand against the window, looking at you in a way that made your knees go weak. You took a hesitant step forward, planning on putting your hand to his.

He looked at you expectantly, still with his hand to the glass. You reached your hand out and covered his big hand with your smaller one. At the thought of what these hands are capable of, a shiver ran down your spine.

You both waited for the other to pull away, but both of your hands remained on the window. You looked into each others’ eyes, waiting for some truth to be revealed but it remained peacefully quiet.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and he pulled away. He took out a rose from his back pocket, attached to it one of his infamous notes. He put the rose on the windowsill on the outside of the window, sent you a wink with his blue eye and then turned around and walked away, not honouring you of another glance.

The moment he disappeared into the woods, you snapped out of it and ran into the back yard. You couldn’t see him anymore, still you ran until you felt like you were about to pass out, the adrenaline slowly leaving your system.

You went back to the house and took the rose with you, deciding that you would read the note while you were waiting for the tea water to boil. You put the kettle on the stove, a light tremor in your hand.

You put the singular rose in a glass of water before taking the note out of its envelope.

I can’t wait to see you in real life and not just through the cameras. I know you’ve installed some to catch me, but I have also placed some to catch you in my trap, little mouse. Till we see each other again Love, Z

He did WHAT now?? He placed cameras in your house?! You were conflicted. You knew you couldn’t really remove them (if you even found them) because you were sure he’d just place new ones. But in a way you also felt comforted and safe because you now knew he was always watching you and keeping you safe. Yes, you were aware of how weird that sounded but for you it felt so right.

Oh boy, what did you get yourself into?

After the window incident the letters and roses slowed down a bit. If you were being honest, you were a bit nervous. Did he lose interested now that he saw you? Did he not think you were pretty enough to be with someone as handsome as him? You didn’t know what to do. Even though the flowers and notes still came, it felt different.

‘Fuck. My. Life.’, Zade Meadows thought to himself. How was he supposed to get you out of his head now that he had seen you up close. You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen and now he knew he just had to have you. He didn’t care how long it took but he was going to get you and he would never let you go again. You drove him absolutely wild. The way you looked at him, the mix of fear, intrigue and slight arousal made it hard (no pun intended) for him not to break into your house and fuck you right then and there on the kitchen floor, against the counter and on a chair with you on his lap.

Unfortunately, things were not that easy. You were so young compared to him and seemed so innocent, looking at him like a dear in headlights. He had seen the worst things the world had to offer and also committed some of the worst crimes one could imagine. He didn’t want you to find out that he was such a monster. He wanted to be a good man for you, but he also knew that that was impossible due to his mission.

Yes, he wanted to rid the world from all the pigs that were walking around, and molesting kids left and right. In the beginning the reason for it was that he just wanted the world to be a better place and that no one had to go through the things he had to go through. But now he had a new reason that was way more important to him.

He wanted to make the world a better place for you. He knew that you would be a lot safer once all these horrible people have gotten what they deserved. And he also wanted the world to be a better place for your future children. Fuck, once he had you, he wanted to start a family with you. He knew how dangerous that was due to his profession but once all these assholes have been erased, no children would come to harm anymore. And if there were new ones, he would do the same thing to them. Whatever it took to keep you and your future children safe.

What was wrong with him, why was he thinking about starting a family with you? He had never felt that way about someone. Since he saw you at that book signing, he couldn’t get you out of his fucking mind. You were intelligent, clever, and witty. He read your books over and over before he decided that he needed more than your words.

After he saw you in that kitchen and knew that you saw him too, he had to take a step back. He was coming too close to the point of no return. He knew that there was a line he couldn’t cross yet, and he was literally about to step over it. He sent you less flowers and less notes, hoping that would ease his lust.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

He was completely clueless and out of control. He felt so helpless when it came to you, even though he also knew how much control he had over you. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life: staying away from you.

The only thing he wanted to do was hold you, kiss you, fuck you, and completely ruining you. He would turn his little mouse into his perfect little slut. Into his good girl. He couldn’t wait.

Thank God, a few weeks later the letters and flowers went back to normal. He didn’t tell you in his letters – you started calling them letters because they have gotten way longer in the last few weeks – why he suddenly wrote you less, but you didn’t care now that it was back to normal.

There weren’t any other occurrences with him, and you got out of your house more. You finished a new book – ironically a mafia stalker romance novel – and were now giving signings here and there, mostly at local bookstores though. You loved interacting with your fans and to see them enjoy the books you’ve written.

You were signing books at a bookstore that was a bit further away from your town. You didn’t think much of it and were just excited about being able to talk to more of your fans. The bookshop was stuffed and the line for the book signing seemed endless. The fact that you loved to talk to your fans didn’t help that either.

After saying goodbye to yet another fan you looked up to greet the next person in line. Your mouth fell open in shock at the sight presented to you. There was your stalker, still with mask but at least he was there. You almost didn’t believe your eyes.

He mustered you with curious eyes, scanning your whole body before he looked into your eyes again. He put your (!) book on the table, one of his signature red roses used as a bookmark. You gulped before you opened the book at the marked page. You almost let out a laugh at the scene. It was the scene where the male main character confessed his love to the female main character. Afterwards followed a very unholy spicy scene. Was he suggesting something?

he took the book out of your hand, his fingers brushing yours. They were cold from what you could tell, and you had to keep yourself from taking his hands in yours and warming them. He flipped to the front page where you would normally place your signature.

But instead of an empty page there was a note.

You look so pretty, sitting there and signing your books. I’m watching you, always. No matter where you are no one will ever get to have you except from me. Thank God, there are almost no male fans of yours, I’d hate to get my hands dirty. Love, Z

He looked at you while you read the note, looking as relaced as ever while you were losing your shit. You didn’t know how to react or what to say. You didn’t have to wait long though, because he did the most unexpected thing you could have imagined.

“See you next time, little mouse.”, he whispered into your ear, having leaned slightly forward so you could feel his breath on your face. It’s a good thing you were sitting down right now, because you were sure that if you were standing your feet would have given in.

You had never heard his voice before, but now that you had you were addicted. It was deep, rich and he had said these few words with a little rasp that drove you insane. You had read about such voices in romance novels before, but you would have never deemed it possible to experience it.

You knew that this was a cliché, but he smelled so manly. His intoxicating scent a mix of tobacco, wood, and musk with a hint of leather. You knew this man was going to be the death of you.

He leaned back, took the book again and left the bookstore without looking back. The rose was still laying on the desk and you quickly put it into your bag before greeting the next fan. The rest of the signing went by in a blur because all you could think about was the voice of your mysterious stalker.

How were you supposed to keep on living a normal life knowing how his eyes looked, staring into yours, how his voice sounded like and how his breath fanned against your face so delicately. How were you supposed to life when all that you could think about was his smell and how much you would like it to cling to you and your bedsheets. After the book signing it was getting quieter again and you haven’t gotten something from him in a few days. You didn’t worry too much though, knowing he was probably strong enough to defend himself.

Upon hearing a knock on the door, you enter the hallway. You did not have to open the door, to see the package your stalker left you, as it lay on your side of the door. That was weird, he had never left you anything that was not roses. You could feel a shiver running down your spine at the thought of your stalker returning to you and entering your house without you noticing it.

As you hadn’t heard from your stalker in a few days, this was a highly anticipated package. You made a few steps towards the box and noticed a note on top of it. It read:

Well, if this isn’t my new doll. I’m definitely looking forward to playing with you, bunny. Don’t even try to hop away from me, you can’t get rid of me. I’ll see you around, but you won’t see me. Anonymous

Your blood ran cold as you realised what that message meant. You went to the kitchen, forgetting about the still unopened package. You opened one of your kitchen drawers, revealing a pile of about three dozen notes. They were all signed from your stalker with the same letter. Z

Your worst fear was now confirmed. You had a new stalker. The mysterious Anonymous did write about being excited for his ‘new doll’ and called you bunny, even though you knew Z always called you his little mouse.

You panicked. Where did Z go? Is he okay? Who is your new stalker? Who even is Z? What would happen next?

Suddenly you remembered the package that was still waiting for you to open it.

You went back to the door, nervous about what could be in it. You knelt down on the floor and slowly opened it. The box was quite big, but what lay inside wasn’t. A wave of nausea rolled over you at what lay in that box.

It was a pair of eyes.

Real, human eyes. They were beautiful, dark brown with specks of green in them, but this was not the right moment to think about these things. There was till blood on them, and their optic nerve was still hanging on them. It almost felt as if they were watching you.

You wanted to close the box again but found yourself being unable to do so. You were shocked by what you saw. Whose eyes where that?

But before you could close it, you saw another message.

Now that your lame excuse of a stalker is out of town, he sent this scumbag to do the job. But no one is worthy enough to look at you except for me. Don’t worry Zade is the next one on my list. Anonymous

You froze. Z stood for Zade? Your stalker name was Zade? You were shocked that you found it out like this. It was a beautiful name though and seemed to fit him quite well if your being honest.

Anyways, at the thought of him getting hurt, your blood ran cold. You cared more for him than you liked to admit and knowing you could do nothing to protect him made you feel useless.

Zade Meadows was currently in Washington, wrapping up some business and trying to get a few high politicians behind bars. He hated leaving you alone, but he couldn’t reveal himself to you completely yet and take you with him, so you had to stay home.

He didn’t tell you he was leaving but thought you would notice the lack of notes and roses. He couldn’t leave you completely alone though, so he sent one of his best men to look over you during his absence. René Bellucci. He made it clear that if René were to even think about you being anything more than a mission, he would take care of him himself.

The way the man gulped and nodded, Zade knew there was nothing to worry about. So, he commanded René to send him a daily report of what you were doing and if anything happened to you, he was to tell Zade immediately, no matter what time it was.

After he scared and instructed René he could attend his business trip in peace. But of course, it wouldn’t go like he planned. He was able to get all the congressmen and politicians he wanted behind bars for now, but before he could enjoy his victory, he wanted to check on you.

He took out the burner phone that was specifically for these updates and turned it on. But to his surprise there were no new notifications. The update should have come about an hour ago, so a delay was out of question.

His heartbeat picked up. He immediately called René to see what was going on, but he immediately got to his voice mail.

Something was very wrong.

He took out his secret laptop to check on the cameras he (not so) secretly installed in your house. He knew it was wrong, but so was everything he did when it came to you.

He opened the laptop and typed in the password to access the camera feed. And there you were.

He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding at seeing you safe and sound. But when he looked a bit closer, he could see how shaken you were. He immediately turned on the microphones and listened to what you were saying.

“This- This can’t be. Fuck, what am I supposed to do now? Where is he?”, he almost couldn’t hear you because you were whispering these things to yourself. His muscles were taut as he tried to find out what was wrong.

Zade currently watched you through the life feed, where he couldn’t see anything suspi- Wait, was that a package? He quickly went to the feed of your hall and zoomed in. The package was closed but it seemed like you already opened it, so he went to see what had happened in the minutes before.

He rewound the recording and saw you taking a note to the kitchen. You read it quietly to yourself, but it was still loud enough for Zade to hear it. His blood started boiling at what he heard. A new stalker? Definitely not. The celebrations for today where cancelled.

The recording kept on going and he saw you return to the package. You knelt down and opened it, revealing a pair of eyes? What the fuck? Again, he could hear your small voice reading the letter.

Oh oh.

That weren’t just any eyes. That were Renés eyes. Fuck.

How could that have happened? He should have known that such a beautiful woman wouldn’t be alone for long. Still, he always thought that he would stalk you and maybe in the long run reveal himself and claim you as his. But he wouldn’t have thought it possible that someone else was suddenly trying to take his place in such an extreme way.

Rage overcame him as he thought about this other man watching you and entering your house. He had to get to you. As fast as possible. Now.

He left his things behind, asking his assistant to pack them and take them with her when she went back the next day. He jumped in the car, roared the motor to life and drove like his life depended on it. And it did. You were his life and without you he had no reason to live.

Honestly, you were scared. You didn’t know what to do with the eyes, neither did you know what to do with the knowledge of having a new stalker.

Suddenly you heard something. It was an old house, so you often heard weird noises, but this noise didn’t come from nowhere. There was someone in your house. You were scared. You didn’t know what to do but wait for another indication of the intruder.

You heard a floorboard creaking, this time way closer to you. You took out a big kitchen knife, holding it with both hands and bracing yourself for what was to come.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your heartbeat loud in your ear. You could have fainted from the suspense. You prayed that this was Z or Zade in your house and not this new guy.

Why were you such a stalker magnet?

You didn’t know what to do. You could hear the footsteps clearer now, knowing that that meant they were coming closer. You had closed the door behind you when you re-entered the kitchen, so you couldn’t see the person behind it. But maybe that was for the better.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped behind the door. It was silent except for your heavy breaths. You could see the doorknob turning and the door being opened. You looked at the intruder in disbelief, dropping the knife in shock.

Zade had never driven this fast and reckless in his life. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that you were safe. He didn’t know what was happening right now at your house, but he would soon find out.

The fact that he didn’t know what was happening stressed him even more. He couldn’t even call René, because he was dead. He almost forgot about that. Though he was glad that the man didn’t have any family waiting for him at home. To be honest, most of the people that worked for him didn’t belong anywhere else, and he was always glad he could give them a home.

But he had to concentrate on 1) getting as fast to you as possible 2) driving carefully so he didn’t injure someone else or even himself, though he would have tried to get you even if he had been shot in the chest 3) distracting himself from the images of you getting hurt by someone other than him, that were currently going through his mind.

He was pressing down on the gas pedal as hard as he could, not caring at the people honking at him. The only thing that mattered to him right now was you.

You were still standing frozen in place in the middle of the kitchen.

You were standing face to face with a man that was definitely not Zade. He was slightly smaller, both of his eyes were dark brown, reminding you of the eyes that lay just a few meters away still in the box, but the one thing that you noticed right away was the lack of scar.

Zade had a beautiful scar that ran over his eye, giving his look a dangerous edge. But this man did not look like that at all.

And that could only mean one thing. That was your new stalker. Well, it could also be a random man who wanted to rob you, but due to the circumstances you ruled that one out.

“Well, if that isn’t my new bunny.”, the mysterious man told you, revealing a significant part of his identity. And yup, that was definitely your new stalker.

You turned around and started running. You just ran deeper into the house, but you knew it so well by now that you could find your away around it blind. After a moment you heard a second pair of footsteps echoing through the house, meaning the man was now trying to catch you.

You had dreamed of this moment before, your stalker running after you, chasing you through the halls and rooms you knew so well. But you imagined Z chasing you. You felt like you could trust Z, but you couldn’t be sure of the man currently running after you.

Your mind was going even faster than your feet, trying to find a way out of the house and into freedom, but it seemed almost impossible to achieve.

You almost didn’t hear it over the volume of your thoughts, but the second pair of feet had stopped. You did now the same, catching your breath and trying to think of your next move. You were almost at the door and if you were lucky, you could just slip out, jump in the car, and drive as fast as you could. But of course, it wasn’t that easy.

You felt a pair of hands gripping your waist pulling you back and against a hard chest. Before a scream could escape you, a hand covered your mouth.

“Gotcha, bunny!”, you could hear him whispering in your ear. You let out a scared whimper that was immediately muffled by his hand.

He grabbed your waist a bit rougher, pulling you into a small closet, that had blinds on their door, making it possible to look out of it but impossible to see inside. You had an ugly idea where this was going.

“Your little boyfriend is probably already on his way here. It feels like it didn’t take him long to figure out that I killed his little henchman.”, he told you with a grin evident in his voice, before adding, “I sent you his eyes, bunny. I hoped you liked your present. Did you like it bunny?”

You only whimpered at his question, now feeling the barrel of a gun against you instead of the hand that was gripping your waist.

The thought of Z being on his way to you and possibly saving you made your heart skip a beat. But you couldn’t trust your heart right now because it could also be out of rhythm because of the gun that was currently pointed at you.

He pulled it away for a second and kicked you in the knee. The action made you unsteady for a second but that was enough to get a hold of both of your arms and tying them together with a rope. He put his hand over your lips again before you could hear the sound of a zipper.

He pressed his hips against your ass, and you could feel something hard pressing against you that was definitely not the gun.

He leaned down to your ear again, his breath brushing unpleasantly against your skin.

“Your little boyfriend is going to come in here any moment and you’re not going to make a single noise while I rape that little pussy of yours. I’m going to pump you full of my seed, so you’ll be stuck with me forever.”, he let out a dark chuckle before pressing against you again. You could feel that he freed his dick from his pants and was now humping against your ass, that was still dressed in the jeans you wore from the day.

Like he had predicted it you could suddenly hear tires squeaking against the road and a car halting abruptly. You heard the car door opening and closing and rapid footsteps coming closer and closer.

“Be quiet for me, bunny. Let him search for you while I mark you as mine.”, he warned you before you heard banging against the door.

“Little mouse? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”, you heard a muffled voice through the door before the banging continued.

“Not a single sound.”, the man behind you reminded you.

The banging continued before it abruptly stopped. What was happening? Did he leave you now that you needed him the most? You heard him walking away and open a car door. You heard it close again and thought he would leave you alone now. Alone to fend for yourself against a man that you had no chance against.

But suddenly you heard footsteps on the front porch again. Could it be possible that he opened the trunk to get something? And really, you could hear a kind of metallic banging before the door gave in and came crashing down.

You could see someone enter and when he turned to the closet you could see his face. It was Z. He came to safe you.

Theres nothing you’d rather do than scream out and tell him where you are. He was so close, but because he could not look inside of the closet he was also so far away.

Since he came into view you had been holding your breath. You were starting to feel a little bit lightheaded, so you breathed in through your nose.

Zade stopped for a second and looked into your direction, being under the impression he heard someone breathing. He quickly turned away again, seeing nothing but the walk-in closet.

He went into the kitchen and calling out your name, but to no avail. He couldn’t find you.

You had to be home, he saw your car in the driveway and there were none of the shoes missing. He stepped on the package while he was in the hallway. Not that he was in the kitchen and saw the notes, picking them up and reading them again. He could feel the blood boiling under his skin, the urge to murder this mysterious man was growing by the second.

How fucking dare he?

He started running through the house, calling your name, frantically searching for any sign that you could be alive. He went back to the kitchen where he noticed something.

There was a knife on the floor. How did it get there. The drawer where you have taken the knife out of, was still half opened. Did the guy break into your house and you wanted to defend yourself? Now he was really fucking scared about what could have happened to you. He just hoped you were still alive. If not, his hands would be drenched with that scumbag’s blood by the end of the night.

You saw him re-enter the kitchen after he went around the house and screamed you name, sounding more desperate by the minute. Your kidnapper was still humping against you and unbeknownst to you was thinking of a way to remove your trousers without making any noise or removing his hands from you.

You were panicking, tears streaming down your face, waiting for something to happen. After Z went into the kitchen, he went quiet, which made you even more nervous. What were you supposed to do? What would happen if he would leave? What would happen if he thought you were not here anymore?

Would you get raped by a stranger and because of that maybe even get abandoned by the man you grew to love? You could feel the frustration of never really getting to know him, even though he practically knew everything about you.

You could do nothing but wait, trapped in a closet with a gun held to your body.

Suddenly you could hear a drawer being closed and steps coming closer. Zade was now standing in your hallway again, looking around. He made a tempestive step to the closet before halting abruptly. He seemed to think for a second, though his expression remained unreadable.

He made another step forward, now standing directly in front of the door. If he listened closely, he could hear your laboured breathing.

He knew you were behind that door. The only problem was that he didn’t know if you were alone. You probably weren’t but he had to think about the possible outcomes.

If you were alone, you would probably recognize him and let him take you to a safe house where you were safe until he killed that bastard that threatened him.

But if you weren’t alone, he had to get you away so he could kill that asshole. That’s unfortunately not as easy as he thought though, because he was probably not that stupid. Of course, he wasn’t intelligent either because that man messed with what’s his. You.

He had to admit, he was scared. If that man was armed, he could risk hurting you. He could of course wait until his team arrived – that he called before he drove to your house like a maniac – but that could potentially be too late.

He decided on a plan: he would open the door, if you were standing directly in front of you, he would pull you out of there, throw you to the side and attack ‘A’. If you weren’t standing directly in front of it, he would pull out the other guy, lock you into the closet and then fight ‘A’.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. What happened after, went by like a flash.

He saw that you were standing there and yanked you out by your sweater, throwing you to the side as gentle as he could. He took his knife out – he forgot he also had a gun in another pocket – and stabbed the man in front of him in the stomach.

He didn’t see that he was holding a gun, so when Zade stabbed him, a shot went lose, making you scream.

Zade pulled out the knife and his opponent collapsed to the floor.

Snapping out of it, he left the small space to look after you. He didn’t know if you screamed out of shock or if the bullet hit you.

You were standing there, white as a sheet, looking at him in horror.

“Are you alright? Did the bullet hit you?”, he asked you so fast, you almost didn’t register the question.

“No- No, it didn’t hit me.” At your words, Zade let out a sigh of relief.

He went back to the closet, taking a closer look at the man. He didn’t seem to know him, but at the sight of his small dick that was exposed he wanted to do unspeakable things to him. Did that fucking asshole really try to rape you?

Zade had to take a few deep breaths to not kill him on the spot. He was going to have his fun with him later, but now there was something more important that he had to take care of. You.

You were still standing in the hallway, shocked at what happened. You were almost raped and kidnapped, you had seen Zade without a mask for the first time because he saved you from getting raped/kidnapped. You felt like you were about to throw up and pass out.

You heard someone calling your name and saw that it was Zade who was standing in front of you, while people who you had never seen before were suddenly inside of your house.

“Let’s go to the kitchen huh, little mouse?” You could only nod, still in a kind of haze from what happened just moments before. You didn’t know how Zade could be so collected after what happened.

He sat you on the kitchen counter before telling you to stay there for a second.

“Scream if you need anything. I’m just in the next room. I’m not leaving, little mouse.”, he told you before he left you alone with your thoughts.

Zade went to his team, instructing them on what to do with the unconscious man. He was going to take care of him later. Then he told them to clean up, leave and then find out who that bastard was. He knew they wouldn’t ask questions and he had never bin this thankful for that. After they left, he went back into the kitchen.

The shock of your new stalker being dead and seeing Zade’s complete face for the first time slowly wore off. You felt a weird kind of relief at the two events, your heartbeat slowing down to somewhat normal again.

You looked into Zade’s eyes, realising that this is the first time you really saw him. Without a mask and without a filter it was just him. You could imagine him so easily, writing the letters, watching you, lusting over you. Did he even think about you that way or was it all jut a game for him? Playing this cat and mouse game with you?

You didn’t want to ask him directly though, fearing his answer. You were still sitting on the kitchen counter while he was pacing the kitchen. Neither of you said anything.

He came to a halt in front of you and stepped between your opening legs, grabbing your hands, and holding them behind your back. He was able to hold them with only one of his hands once they were behind you, so he wrapped his free hand around your throat, not pressing yet.

He just looked into your eyes for a moment, giving you the perfect opportunity to gaze into his. You saw the difference between his two eyes, but until now you never saw the mesmerizing beauty in them. His pupil was delated, and, in his eyes, you could see hunger, lust, but also the bloodlust that still lingered.

As you tried to lean forward, he tightened his hand around you neck, making it impossible for you to move. He leaned forward, almost giving you the relief, you earned for, your lips almost brushing.

“Tell me what you want, little mouse. Tell me and if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll give it to you.” You could feel every word against your lips, not even registering he waited for a reply. You direct your gaze back from his lips to his eyes.

You thought about it for a second. What did you want? Well, if was clear that you wanted him, but how? Just physically or do you want to be in a relationship with him? Both of you knew that there was a lot to talk about, but you settled on one answer for now.

“I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me, to wreck me, to ruin me. I want you to make me yours, Zade.”, you have never said something that felt so right. At saying his name, you could feel a growl against your lips.

“Please, Zade.”, you whispered against his lips, before they finally met yours.

You’ve always imagined what it felt like to kiss him, now actually doing it felt surreal. He kissed with purpose, like he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. And it felt fucking amazing. You soon found the perfect rhythm. You ached to touch him, but he still held your hands.

You tried to pull your head away from him, but to no avail. He was having a tight grip on you and at feeling your resistance only gripped tighter and deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth, earning a needy moan from you.

He pulls away to breath for a moment, thinking about his next move. Meanwhile, you had time to stammer out “Please let me touch you.”

He was looking at you, thinking about it for a moment. “Say it”, he told you, “Say my name.”

“Please Zade, let me touch you, let me feel you.”, you said before trying to lean forward again. He loosened his hold on you, letting you lean forward and start kissing his neck.

He let go of your hands and pressed himself against you, pressing his growing bulge against your clothed cunt. You let your hands roam his hard muscles and over his arms while you kept on kissing his neck. You could hear his breathing getting laboured and silent moans rolling over his lips here and there.

He quickly grew impatient with your teasing and took your face into his hands, indulging you into a passionate kiss again. Your lips moved against each other like they were made for each other, falling back into rhythm almost immediately.

But Zade knew the first time with you would definitely not happen on a kitchen counter, still he was too impatient to move the two of you to the bedroom, so he improvised.

He put his hands on your hips and picked you up like you were a bag of feathers. You quickly wrapped your hand around his neck, not breaking the kiss once during the move.

He pulled out one of the chairs and took a seat, before placing you on the kitchen table. He broke the kiss, pressing your torso down and spreading your legs so he was face to face with your pussy.

You were still wearing the clothes from before, a relaces off the shoulder jumper with a pair of mom jeans which accentuated your ass very nicely. Even though in Zade’s eyes you looked good in everything, he thought you looked even better with nothing on.

He was too impatient to properly undress you, so he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the knife from earlier.

“Remember this, little mouse?”, he asked in an almost mocking way before standing up. You gasped at the sight of the knife that had just moments ago brought a man to his knees. He leaned over you and started to cut open your clothing, grazing the cold tip of the knife against your warm skin with every slit, making goosebumps rise all over your body and wetness pooling between your thighs.

The awareness of how easy it would be for him to slice through your skin was dizzying. And he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He carefully sliced open your jumper, before moving down your body to your jeans.

He opened your fly before starting to slice down right in the middle of it, looking almost scary while doing so. You could see how he got lost in the moment. After slicing down your front, he sliced down the legs of your jeans. Your clothing was falling to the side and only your underwear remained.

He looked at you like you were the first women he ever saw in his life. You didn’t wear anything special, hell your bra and panties didn’t even match the slightest, but you still looked like the finest five course meal to him.

He just stood there for a few moments admiring you. The curve of your breasts, the valley of your stomach, the way your thighs pressed together. He knew that from this day on he was the only one who’s going to see that perfect body of yours.

He put the knife on the table for a moment to grope your breasts with both hands, giving them a good squeeze. You let out a loud moan which only seemed to spur him more on. He squeezed harder, almost crossing the line between pain and pleasure. He massaged your breasts a bit more, before putting his hands on your waist and giving your still clothed boobs a few kisses. The feeling of his hot breath against you was definitely doing something to you.

He pulled down the cups of the bra, peppering soft kisses over your now naked breasts, even leaving a few hickeys here and there. He pulled away and straightened up, taking the knife back into his hands.

He sliced open your bra before caressing your skin with the blade again. He took his time with it, waiting to see how you react to every movement of him, staying a bit longer at the places where your breath hitches or you let one of your delicious sounding moans slip. He was getting more and more aroused by the second.

After he decided he tortured enough (for now), he took the knife to your panties and sliced right through them, earning a gasp from you.

He took a seat at the table, grabbed your legs, and pulled you to the edge, before throwing them over his shoulder.

He started to kiss along your thighs, leaving the place where you needed him most untouched. He left a few hickeys along your thighs before finally coming closer to your glistening pussy. He admired you mostly in silence so far but couldn’t keep quiet anymore at the sight that you have presented him with.

“What made you so wet huh, little mouse? Was it my kisses, my caresses, my knife gliding along your skin or the sight of me killing that fucker who thought he was better than me? Tell me, be a good girl for me?”, his words aroused you even more. You couldn’t even answer him, taking too long to process his question in the haze you were in.

“Answer me when I ask you something, little mouse.”, he told you more demanding now.

“Every- Everything.”, you managed to stammer out. “Everything about you turns me on. You- fuck you make me so wet.”

“Already this dumb? I didn’t even play with that sweet little pussy yet. How are you going to react when I fuck you until you are unconscious on my cock, huh little mouse?”, he asked you in mock concern before chuckling. You could do nothing but moan at his filthy words. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, waiting to be filled by the man in front of you.

He decided to have some mercy on you and went back to your cunt. His warm breath against you let a shiver run down your spine. He placed a few wet open mouth kisses to your cunt, receiving needy moans from you.

Finally, he licked a long stripe down your pussy before caressing your clit with tight circles, making you cry out his name. His name on your lips seemed to spur him on even more, as he entered your tight hole with one of his fingers, pumping into you at a steady rhythm.

It all felt so good, almost too good. Finally having the relief, you earned for since that very first letter. He was moving against you like it was the thing he was destined to be doing. You had never felt like this with another man, and you were sure that smug bastard new that.e waHe

He slowly added another finger, making your back arch. You were coming dangerously close to the edge.

Zade could feel your pussy clenching around his fingers. He knew you needed that relief, but he wasn’t going to give it to you just yet. When he knew you were right on the edge, he pulled out his fingers and removed his head from in-between your legs. You whined at the loss, a tear rolling down your reddened cheek.

“Please, Zade. I need you. I was so close. Fuck.”, you almost sobbed out.

“You really thought I’ll just let you orgasm? I wouldn’t have thought you were that naïve, little mouse.”, he spoke to you again in a mocking voice.

You leaned up on your shaking hands to look into his eyes, when another tear rolled down your cheek. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, little mouse. You’ll get you relief and it’ll be the best orgasm you ever had.”, he assured you with a dark edge in his tone.

He gripped your waist and lifted you up, pressing your naked body against his still clothed one. You quickly wrapped your shaky legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, peppering kisses along his jawline and face.

He carried you to your bedroom. Of course, he knew exactly where it was, having placed quite a few notes there in the past. He put you on the floor, steadying your waist in case your legs wouldn’t hold you. He suddenly looked very serious. “Little mouse, do you trust me?”

He could see the hesitation in your eyes. Of course, you trusted him, especially after he almost killed someone for you. But there was still some doubt in you, especially about his feelings for you. You didn’t even realise you hadn’t answered him.

“What do you want me to do to prove to you that you can trust me? Do you want me to kneel in front of you? Because I’ll go on my fucking knees for you, if that’s what it takes, little mouse. I promise you can trust me.”

At the thought of this powerful man on his knees in front of you, you felt another flood of wetness rush between your thighs. Even though you still didn’t know how he felt about you, you felt a little more comfortable.

“Yes, Zade”, you answered him “I trust you.”

That was all it took. He removed his hands from your waist and put one of them on your shoulder, pressing you down so you were on your knees in front of him.

“Take out my cock little mouse.”, he commanded before adding, “and then put your hands behind your back.”

You immediately got to work. You opened his belt, not bothering to pull it out, letting the belt buckle hang to the side. You opened the button and then pulled down the zipper, grazing Zade’s hard dick and making him moan. You put your hand into his boxers and pulled out his rock-hard cock.

He was huge, probably about 10 inches long and thick. Your mouth watered at the thought of tasting him and feeling him inside you. That dick was definitely going to stretch you to your limits. You could see a drop of precum escaping the tip, running along his thick shaft.

You looked up at Zade who was looking at you with a hunger you had never seen at anyone.

“No need to be shy, little mouse. Be a good girl for daddy and suck my cock.”

You leaned forward, your hands behind your back, and took his tip into your mouth, gently sucking it. You could taste his sweet precum, making you moan. You swirled your tongue around his tip before slowly taking him deeper, tracing his prominent veins with your tongue.

Zade was growling above you, mesmerized by the sight of you sucking his cock. It felt so good, finally feeling you around his length after he imagined it for so long. He came so hard thinking about you in this exact position and now having you there, bobbing along his cock felt unreal.

You were going up and down on him now, struggling to take him completely. Zade thought that you had enough time to explore him now. He put his hand on the back of your head and started to fuck your face. He started off slowly but then started fucking your face like it had seriously wronged him.

You were gagging on his cock, tears streaming down your face while you could just sit there and take it. Zade’s face was twisted with please, sinful moans falling from his perfect lips. He cupped your face with his free hand, not slowing his pace. He built a steady rhythm, using your mouth and throat the way he liked.

You could feel yourself getting wetter at the sounds he was making. Knowing that you were the one bringing him so much pleasure turned you on to no end. You were moaning around his cock, making shivers run down your spine.

“You’re such a good girl for me. You take my cock so well, so pretty in front of my knees, drooling and crying. I could fuck your beautiful face forever.” His words were bringing you closer to the edge, but you resisted coming. You knew he was close to, feeling his length twitch in your mouth. You wanted to make him cum, so you started to move your head against his length, giving him everything you had.

“That’s it, little mouse. You feel so good, I’m so close. I know you want it too, want to swallow all my cum. Go on, touch that needy pussy. I want you to cum, chocking on my cock with your hands inside that cunt. Do it.”, he ordered. leaving no room for discussion. You immediately removed your hands from behind your back and started touching yourself, playing with your clit and pumping in and out of you with two fingers. It didn’t feel as good as Zade, but it was enough to send you close to the edge.

“Cum now, little mouse. Be a good girl and I’ll fill you with my cum.” His words sent you over the edge. You chocked on his cock while cumming, sending him over the edge. he spurted his cum down your throat, not halting his movements until he had stopped.

He pulled out of your mouth, admiring your face. Tears streaming down your face, smudging your mascara. Drool running down your chin, your cheeks were red. He had never seen someone who looked that beautiful. He gave you a few moments to catch your breath and waited for you to look at him again. When he saw that stunning little smile on your face, he knew he could continue.

He hoisted you up by the arms and threw you onto the bed, earning a surprised yelp from you. Your legs spread automatically for him, and he admired your glistening pussy before undressing himself. He took off his jacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled down his pants and stepped out of him.

Now that he was just in his boxers you had some time to admire him. He was built like a Greek god, taut muscles everywhere and his cock, now erect again, stood tall and reached his belly button without effort. He looked even better than you imagined.

Zade saw you starring and cockily flexed his muscles for you, turning around and showing you his muscular back, making you giggle. It was good that his back was turned to you, because your giggle made his face soften. He never thought he would hear you genuinely laugh because of him, but here you were.

He turned around again and rid himself of his boxers, before climbing on top of you, covering your body with his. He leaned down and kissed you with a passion that wasn’t there before. The kiss grew heated quite fast, and you could feel his hard cock against your thigh.

You pulled away. “Please fuck me, Zade. Ruin me, make me yours.”, you almost begged as you spread your legs further.

Zade gladly fulfilled your wish and put one of his hands next to your head for leverage and used the other one to guide his cock to your entrance.

He aligned his fat tip with your gaping hole and entered you in one swift motion. You screamed out at the feeling of him stretching you out. The moment he was fully inside of you, Zade’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing you.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust to his size but bottomed out completely before filling you up again. He started to thrust into you at a relentless paste, using you like a fuck toy.

You loved it.

Admittedly, it was a lot but it also felt so good. He fucked you hard, the hand around your neck, cutting off some of your oxygen only made it so much more pleasurable.

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, my good girl. I can feel you squeezing me every time I’m tightening my grip around that pretty neck. Is that what you wanted, little mouse when you told me to use you? To ruin you?”

“Y- Yes.”, you breathed out.

“Yes, what?”, he asked you with that cocky grin reappearing on his face. “Y- Yes, daddy.”, you answered him before letting out another moan at the way he talked to you.

“Good girl”, he praised you before tightening his grip and fucking you harder. He leaned down and kissed you breathless, tasting himself on your tongue.

You could feel his thrusts getting sloppy and the heat in your belly growing. You knew you were both close.

“P- Please.”, you stammered out. He loosened the grip on your neck for a moment. “Please what, little mouse?”

“Please cum in me, daddy. Please, I want to cum with you.”, you begged, more tears falling from your eyes.

“Such a good girl asking permission to cum. Cum with me, little mouse. I want to feel you milking my cock. I want to pump you full of my cum. Cum for me. Now.”

His words sent you over the edge. He tightened his grip around your throat, and you screamed out, your pussy clenching around his length. He came with a shout of your name but didn’t halt his movements.

You could feel him spurting thick ropes of cum into your pussy, fucking his cum deeper inside of you. He didn’t stop until the both of you had come down. He came to a halt inside of you, removing his hand from your neck, admiring the already forming bruise in the shape of his hand.

He reluctantly pulled out of you, watching his cum drip out of you. He pushed some of it back inside of you with his fingers, penetrating your already overstimulated pussy. He placed one last kiss on your clit before getting up from the bed and putting on his boxers again.

For a moment you feared that he would get dressed again and leave you alone. That he would maybe go back to just stalking you, but you relaxed again when he went to the bathroom. He reappeared with a damp cloth and body lotion.

He cleaned you up, being careful not to be too harsh on you. Then he took some of the lotion and started to massage your body. He started with your neck, where he applied some of the cream over your bruises and then worked along your body, relieving your stress. He looked concentrated as he worked his skilled hands over your body and made you feel the safest you ever had been.

After you slightly came back to yourself, he stopped massaging you and looked into your eyes with a feeling you couldn’t really place.

“Are you alight, little mouse?”, he asked.

“Yea- Yeah, I’m fine, more than fine actually.”, you answered with a hoarse voice, already feeling the effect of your rough fucking.

“If I am being honest with you, I imagined my first time fucking you a little bit different. And under of course under different circumstances.” His confession made you smile, though that smile faltered again after a moment. Zade looked at you concerned and was about to ask you if you were alright before you asked with a small voice.

“Are you going to leave me now?” The expression on your face made Zade’s heart break a little. His face grew cold again before he answered.

“I’m never going to leave you, little mouse. You’re mine now. Forever”

a/n: thank you for reading, i hope you liked it! please leave some notes: likes, reblogs and comments. feedback is always ver appreciated! please also consider supporting me on ao3 @ softestqueeen

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

#haunting adeline #hunting adeline #reader #x reader #reader insert #zade meadows #dark romance #murder #stalking #booktok #ao3 #underrated book #no y/n #love #z #z x reader

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