AriTheAufhocker

Aunty Lina who opens the door to you crying one time, after a fight she had with her husband once. You ended up on the couch together, talking over a glass of wine and forgetting about whatever plans she had for the night.

You found Lina at the club one night. You were dancing with your friends when you caught a glimpse of her at the bar, struggling to order a drink. You dismissed yourself, bouncing over to the bar and leaning over beside her.

"Red yeah?"

"Y/N," she blinks in surprise, "what- what are you doing here?"

You giggle, "buying you a drink"

Lina didn't want to ruin your night, so she sat back with the bottle you ordered and paid for. Though you laughed about it, because technically it was her money to begin with.

Lina, who watched you from afar, dancing and grinding on one of the girls you bought along. She thought you looked so graceful.

Lina whose jealousy built up ugly inside her. Not because you were with someone else, but because her husband was the only person she'd ever been with. And maybe a part of her was jealous that you were able to be with a woman... like that. 

Lina who watched you kissed her.

You saw Lina move into the bathroom once you broke away from her. You could have sworn she was crying. You excused yourself to go check.

Lina was wiping her tears away when you walked in. For a club bathroom it was pretty empty.

"Unnie?"

"Y/N," she sniffles, "are you... are you having a good night?"

"I was."

"Oh fuck... don't let me ruin your night."

You move closer and reach up, drying her tears on your finger, "Unnie, you're not ruining anything... do you need someone to talk to?"

Lina ends up confessing a lot to you that night. Sat on the sticky bathroom floor, talking about how her husband hasn't touched her in months. How her unemployment is making her feel useless. How motherhood is a beautiful gift that's been tainted by her husbands inability to help her. 

Lina who cries most when she tells you she might be bi... or gay... or into women... she wasn't really sure. She cried about never having experimented, never being able to... never even kissing a woman.

Maybe you were a little tipsy, maybe you had been thinking about her non-stop since she opened her door to you, but one way or the other, your lips found their way to Lina's and it was impossible to pull away.

That was, until you felt Lina completely still. 

You snapped away immediately.

"I'm sorry- fuck... I shouldn't have done that... you're married... you're-"

And this time, it was Lina who grabbed your neck and moved you towards her lips. And god was she a good kisser. You swear you've never tasted anyone so sweet.

Still sat on the sticky floor, you pushed her back against the tiled wall and deepened the kiss. You were desperate for more, working down her jaw and along the column of her throat. 

"Sweetheart-" she chokes out, tears still wetting her eyelashes.

"You deserve better..." You whisper against her skin, "you deserve to kiss girls..." you crane your neck up to look at her, "that's if you want to kiss them."

Her breath was heavy, and from where your head was positioned, you could nearly feel her chest against your chin.

"I want to kiss you..." she whispered, louder than she wanted but quiet like a secret. And it was. And it scared her.

Aunty Lina texted you after that night, thanking you for the kiss, but setting a boundary. It couldn't happen again. 

Aunty Lina who had her husband do the handoffs from then on. 

Aunty Lina, the woman you couldn't get out of your head. The one who drove you mad just from one kiss. You wanted to give her everything, and you wanted her to take was she needed.

You knew it wasn't exactly right of you, but you started dressing nicer to come over. Nothing scandalous, but hair and face done up, shirt a little too short and tight. Nothing that hindered your work, but enough that you caught Lina looking.

And Lina, whose legs were practically glued shut when you were around in fear that you would smell her, or see her, or know what she was thinking. 

Lina, who more than once, had laid down on her bed with fingers buried deep inside her to the thought of your lips on her neck.

Lina, who couldn't take it anymore when you rocked had spilled juice on your shirt and exchanged it for one of hers. One look of you in her clothes and she was gone.

Lina dragged you into her bedroom once the door was shut on her daughters room. She locked it, she checked the time, she tried everything to make sure her tracks would be covered before you even realised what was happening.

Before you knew it, Lina had you spread out on the bed. Your knees bracketed hers from where he knelt above you. Her hands, soft and delicate, gripped the backs of your thighs with the strength only a mother could have. 

Lina, whose mouth did years of exploring your body in under five minutes. And when she reached you where you needed her, gentle fingers prying off the layers of fabric that lay between her and your core, she breathed out. The feeling against your sensitive core sent shivers through your body.

And when Lina's lips finally reached out to touch you, you arched into her mouth instantly. 

"That's it baby..." you whispered, hand threading through her hair, "take what you need... fuck... you needed this huh? Fuck, right there pretty... use your tongue-"

Lina, who has never been more turned on in her life than right now, listening to your instruction and learning how to please you. Your pretty moans, your trembling thighs and your shaky hands all sent shockwaves through her system.

Lina felt alive for the first time in years.

Lina, who was a very quick learner. 

You had taught Lina how to finger you in her kitchen while her family set up for dinner on the back porch. A hand pressed to your mouth, learning from your reactions and expressions.

Lina, who licked herself clean and slapped your ass as she walked back outside to her family. You took a little longer to join them, but sat next to her when you did.

After the demonstration in the kitchen, it was hard to keep your hands off her. It was wrong, but Lina was right there. And her thighs, big and plump and pressed so firmly against yours like she was begging you to do something.

You only teased her, but Lina was very quickly finding out a lot about herself.

Lina who called you over one day with a surprise and you who went running.

An hour later Lina had you dumb on her strap, fucking into you hard and fast and unrelenting. She babbled on and on about the countless videos she watched to learn this for you, how she wanted you to be taken care of, how she wanted you to be quiet for once.

And boy did it work.

In minutes your mouth was hung open with silent cries of "right there, right there" slipping from your tongue and Lina who was drinking it all in.

You hadn't meant for it to slip out, but Lina stopped fucking you the moment she heard you call her mommy.

Your eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly at her and muttering apology after apology. But Lina has this darkness in her eyes, a flicker of something innate.

"Say it again," she whispered. And when you didn't answer, she fucked up into harder than before, "say it again," she gritted.

"Fuck- Mommy please-"

"Please what darling?"

"Please- fuck- please let me come on it- please mommy- please please please-"

"You're such a good girl," she stroked your hair back, eyes sparkling and staring down to yours. "Asking for permission, begging for me... is that all you're good for jagi?"

"Yes mommy- made for you- ngh- ma-made for your cock-"

"That's right," she kept fucking into you, soft and gentle and mindblowing, "such a good girl..."

And when Lina finally makes you come, it's loud and messy and filthy. 

You were Lina's little toy after that. She'd invite you over when her husband couldn't please her, or when she was bored and especially when she was horny.

Yo worked around her schedule. School drop offs and her husband's business meetings. 

Lina considered herself the luckiest woman alive to have you as her little plaything, and you were so happy to be the vessel in which she gets what she wants. 

You worshipped Lina. Her soft body from carrying her children, her pretty eyes that melted for you and glazed over when you licked her how she liked.

You had grown more attached to her than you thought. Lina was just so... there... she would have you dumb on her strap one moment and washing your hair the next.

You picked up a little duck that sat on the side of the bath and giggled. Lina's fingers massaged into your scalp as she worked in the shampoo.

She laughed too, and you swear the heavens opened up.

"That's Yongbokkies favourite..."

"I know," you reminisced, "she refused to get in the bath the other day until I found it... why was it under her pillow?"

Lina chuckled, silence filling the bathroom for a moment. 

"You're good with her."

"She's a good kid."

"No I meant," she turns you so you're looking at her, "she adores you."

You laugh, "yeah cause I give her treats before bed."

Lina didn't laugh this time, instead fixing you with a gaze of contentment.

"It's different... you're... you're more than just her babysitter..."

"Lina..." 

Lina kisses you soft and sweet that night. Nothing like the first kiss you shared or the ones she gives you when you're crying on her cock. No. This one is a promise of more. And it destroys you.

It destroys Lina the next time you show up at her house, dressed in oversized clothes and face bare. It destroys her because you're so pretty, and you refuse to look at her. 

When Lina tried to pull you into the bathroom after her daughter was down for 'a shower', you pulled your hand back with an excuse about the time and needing to be at college early.

When Lina called you let it ring out, when she texted you left her on read. You made her desperate and waiting. Until she couldn't stand it anymore.

You thought you were hearing things when you walked back in from your day at college. Lina's voice drifting in from the living room, mixing with your mothers in polite laughter and ill intentions. 

Lina pulled you aside when your mother went to refill the tea. Her smirk told you everything you needed to know. You dragged her into the small bathroom, cramped and close and whispering to her.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you... we haven't fu-"

You cover her mouth with yours, "my mother is right outside."

You could feel Lina smiling beneath your hand, her own reaching out to grab you and pull you closer.

"What did I do baby?" She whispered, lowering your hand from her mouth, "What do I have to do to get you in my bed again huh?"

"Divorce your husband." You let out. No shame, no hesitation. 

Lina's face went pale.

You sent her a text later that said you couldn't be her daughters babysitter anymore.

Lina cried silently that night.

The next time you saw Lina was months later. She was at that same club you first kissed her in. She was leant over the sink in the bathroom, touching up her lipstick as you walked in.

"L-Lina-" you gasped.

"Hi jagi," she smirked. She placed her hand on the sink and for some god forsaken reason you turned to look. No ring.

You look back up to Lina, and her smile is deadly. Intoxicating and alluring. 

And when she spoke, you swear you heard your heard sing.

"How about a dance jagiya?"

“No. Nuh uh. Nope. HELL NAH. Nope.”

You’re about to rip your hair out from how boring your night is progressing, but you don’t feel like going out either. Who has the energy to frickin commute just to ogle hot guys downtown in 3 degrees Celsius? You can still ogle them from the comfort of your own bed, while pantless for that matter, in case something strikes your fancy juuust right.

Thus the swipe galore on the app reserved to entertain you on nights like this.

You have no intention of inviting someone over or meeting them out. All you seek is a bit of an ego boost over your hottest body shots, a bit of sexting to get the juices literally flowing, and the second you finish, adios motherfucker. The first few matches are predictably a bust. No one even has the courtesy of building up to it anymore, straight up cannonballing into “Nudes?” 

But amidst the ocean of dick pics and gymbro thirst traps, an eccentric profile stands out like a sore thumb with a dumpling picture as the avatar.

googlehwangouts (26) just trying my luck

“Pfft, loser,” you snort to yourself. 

You click on the profile to check him out, and the only thing missing is the literal word “DESPERATION” slapped in there somewhere. Either this guy is a legit virgin, or someone out there is trolling people in the name of a “social experiment”. HOWEVER…

Loser or not, the dude’s personal gallery also stands out, but it’s a different kind of standout. A really striking one, which is a bit sus. 

You swipe right and send him a message.

me no way these pics are yours poser googlehwangouts ?? hello to you too why would i put someone else on my profile me google catfishing hwangouts googlehwangouts wait are you saying people might use my pics? youre not gonna do that are you??? thats very mean

“OH MY GOD, IS THIS GUY FOR REAL?” you yell to yourself in your bedroom, appalled at the answers you’re receiving. That’s too corny to be fake, but also way too clueless to be real.

me ofc not tell u what if you snap a pic of yourself rn i’ll believe it’s you googlehwangouts [img_0320.jpeg]

NAH.

This has to be a troll. Now you’re even more conflicted because Hangouts guy matches the pictures perfectly, and he is FUCKING GORGEOUS even in Netflix-and-Chill couture. Reclining on his bed, one arm tucked under his nape, he looks insanely tempting, and you’re supposed to believe no one’s bouncing on it all day every day, like…?

THIS man is trying his luck?

googlehwangouts your turn

There is a decision to be made here now. 

You’re really not in the mood to entertain a troll, but on the off chance that he’s legit, this is a golden opportunity. A super cute, hot as fuck, desperate-for-action guy might be waiting for you on the other side, ready to get his brain fried. Despite your better judgement, your curiosity wins the race against logic by the narrowest of margins, and you find yourself snapping a picture of your pussy, making sure the lighting captures enough gloss. Then you hit Send and eagerly await his reaction.

And lo and behold…

googlehwangouts hahahahaireallywannafuckyouhahahaha

You’re dying laughing because in your head, he is ACTUALLY kicking his feet in his bed and hahahaing right now. You can’t believe the direction your night is taking, but you have to see this in person.

me wanna meet up?

Well, at least you had all the intention to until technology suddenly decided to go, “Bitch, sit your ass down.”

Error: Can’t connect.

Oh no.

You try sending the message again and again, but it won’t go through. You click on his profile, but it doesn’t open. You quit the app and log back in as a Hail Mary, and at long fucking last—

The chat is completely gone.

OH NO.

“The guy’s name... What was the guy’s name?!” you frantically ask yourself as if the app has a search feature, on the verge of angry tears. “Well, thank you internet for ruining yet another fucking Saturday!!!”

Overall, 12/10 night, huh? 

On the frustration scale, that is.

Struggling noises are coming out of you as you walk into the library with a shelf’s worth of books, questioning how come a digital version for every book in existence is still not yet available. The stack in your arms is so high that you can’t even see two centimeters ahead, and you try your best to map your route from memory.

“Alright, Gerda. Here are your overdue books back, so please stop spamming my inbox,” you slam the miniature Pisa tower on the counter. “How much do I owe?”

“$22.50.”

NAH.

No, it’s not the egregious amount of late fees you have to pay; it’s who you’re going to pay it to that parts your lips open, and you briefly consider the possibility of thesis-prep-induced psychosis. The same big glasses, the same chain necklace, the same full lips are right there before you, and the name tag says Hwang Hyunjin.

It’s fucking Hangouts guy!

Are you drooling? You’re probably drooling. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, not sarcastically at all.

YEAH THE LACK OF MY PUSSY??? is almost what you blurt out, but thankfully, your “functional society member” autopilot activates just at the right time to save you from a lifetime of embarrassment. 

“HUH? No, not at all,” you shake your head and reach for your wallet. 

As he processes the payment, you start examining him, maybe a bit too intensely, getting slightly mad at his out-of-this-world looks. Who the absolute FUCK looks like this? WHY is he “just trying his luck” in horny corners of the internet? Sure, he has a much more wholesome aura to him compared to the raging frat bros dominating the campus, but if he asks right now, you’ll still probably be down to suck his dick, like, is he not aware of how gorgeous he is?  

When he gives you your receipt, your hands touch for the briefest moment, and you kinda get your answer. 

He instantly turns beet red. 

Fact tally—this guy is ridiculously hot, extremely shy, desperate enough to lurk on hookup apps for some action, but with a fucking dumpling picture instead of his million-dollar face, which makes him look like a badly made fake profile…

JACK—FUCKING—POT!

“Just so you know, the app glitched the other night. I didn’t quit the conversation,” you knowingly tell him in a hushed tone. “Do you still really wanna fuck me, Hwangouts?” 

Oh, it’s confirmation galore when his face changes like he’s witnessing a brutal car crash. There is absolutely no room for doubt that you were talking to him the other night, and he’s so fucking cute that you have to exert massive effort to suppress the cuteness aggression noises that’s otherwise going to come out of you. 

The pornhub in your mind is hyperactive, already putting him in all kinds of scenarios, all ending with you blowing his mind. He definitely has star student potential for pussy eating tutoring, so eager, so ready to please. Oh, he’d be so cute cumming all over his fist. Does he blush after he cums, too? Is he the clingy-after-sex kind? Because you’d so kiss those cheeks and let him climb you like a koala bear and just hhhhnnngghhhh…

“Hyunjin, can you come to the back for a second?!” Gerda calls out to him, effectively shattering your horny delusions.

“This isn’t over,” you whisper to him with a crooked smile, and while leaving his chair, Hyunjin almost topples over himself, unable to peel his eyes off of you like he’s in a trance.

When you leave the circulation desk that day, your Hyunsession officially kicks off. 

Sure, you could just directly ask him out, and if his general demeanor is any indication, he’ll say yes in a heartbeat, but where’s the fun in that? Changing a touch-starved man’s life is not something to be rushed; you fully intend to savor every single moment of this experience. 

No more overdue books for you. You’re at the library every day.

You set up camp there under the guise of doing thesis work, whereas all you do is watch Hwangouts do smart shit like it’s your bespoke red flag porn. The last you checked, you didn’t have a nerd fetish or anything, but this dumpling has definitely given you one, and you don’t really understand what it exactly is. Yes, he’s really cute, but that’s not the part that gives you Victorian levels of hysteria. It’s when he tutors people, says big words, and does quick math that a tear runs down your thighs for some reason.

Part of your daily routine is checking out different books regardless of how relevant they are to your research, as well as Hyunjin from head to toe. You always make sure your hands touch when you take the books from him, and watching him turn into a ripe tomato every time without fail pushes you closer and closer to losing your shit entirely. But you don’t talk. You never initiate a conversation. 

It’s called edging, okay?

You just smile at him during your brief interactions, watching him swallow thickly as if you’re reciting the steamiest smut into his ear, and if he could look you in the eye, he would know. There are things he definitely notices, though, but only because they aren’t anywhere near your face. 

The cute bras you wear, for example. 

He thinks he’s being subtle peeking at your cleavage every time you lean into the desk, but he’s so not subtle, always shifting in his place to seemingly fix something under that counter, or suddenly sweating when he meets your eyes like he’s busted stealing. Well, because he is. 

He steals so many glances that it’s at kleptomaniac levels at this point. 

The thing is, when you drop stuff in his line of sight, or when you let slip tiny moans while heaving deep sighs, it’s all deliberate. You do it on purpose, fully aware of what kind of an effect it will have on him. Whereas Hyunjin is doing something, and you’re almost positive he doesn’t even make the connection in his head.

Motherfucker has no idea what that lollipop he constantly has in his mouth is doing to you, and one fateful night, you naturally fucking snap.

“Hi.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a good five seconds as he determines if he’s hallucinating the sound of your voice. When you softly chuckle at his aghast expression, he concludes that he has died and that his assigned angel is on welcome duty.

Wild assumption that he would end up in heaven when he constantly motorboats the cute bra girl in his head, but you get the idea.

“H–Hi,” he responds almost with no sound.

“There is a book I want on the 13th floor, but I can’t reach it,” you put your elbows on the desk and lean in. “Can you help me?”

He can’t fucking help it, okay?! They are right there in his face, perfectly framed for that matter, and as an incorrigible art whore, he’s conditioned to appreciate fine work.

“Sure,” he stands up to his feet, making sure he ties his flannel shirt around his waist first. 

He follows you to the elevator, and the ride upstairs is so suffocatingly silent that you can almost hear yourself squeal. Obviously, there is a reason you’ve picked this floor. One, it’s emptier than what his balls will be like quite soon, and two, there is a shelf here that is of great strategic importance. 

HQ306.7.

“There,” you point at the top shelf.

Hyunjin pulls the book for you, and of course checks what you are so interested in so close to midnight in the Sexual Relations section. He furiously blushes when he sees the title reads Kama Sutra: The Complete Collection. 

“Here,” he hands you the book while looking at his shoes. “It’s a great read.”

You have to bite inside your cheeks not to burst out laughing. Of course he has read it, fucking munchkin, why are you even surprised?

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask out of nowhere, paying zero mind to making a smooth segue, and Hyunjin damn near catches on fire. 

“W–WHY? Why— I’m— Ask— My— Why?”

HE’S SO CUTE WHAT THE FUCK?!

“I was just curious if you had someone to practice this with,” you nonchalantly shrug, expertly contradicting your violent inner meltdown. “It’s kinda insane to me that your dick still hasn’t eroded from getting so much head.”

It’s a fascinating phenomenon. You just stare at his cock, and it gets hard. Well, hard might not be the correct word because those jeans are about to go bye-bye.  

And the way his eyes go out of focus, he’s clearly imagining it!

“I… don’t,” he finally answers in a small voice.

If he keeps being this sweet, you’re gonna sink your teeth into him. You’re gonna lick him to depletion like the lollipops he loves so much. You’re gonna gobble him up in one bite. He needs to cut it out immediately!

“So you’re telling me,” you take one step towards him, voice one octave lower, and ghost your hand over his crotch, “there’s no one to suck this every night?”

His eyes widen like you’ve just committed an unspeakable abomination, and that much is enough answer for you. You take one more step, getting close enough to him to feel the seizure-worthy fever he exudes, and his eyes close on their own.

“N–No,” he responds in an exhale. 

“How long can you last if I sit on it?”

“I… can’t…”

“Or would you cum as soon as I touch you?”

“Please…”

“Or maybe you’re so pathetic,” you gently push him against the shelf, your hand sneaking around his throat, “that I can make you cum just with my words.”

“You’re s–so mean. Fuck…”

“Then are you this hard for me?” you whisper against his lips. “It turns you on, doesn’t it?”

He can’t talk. He barely remembers how to breathe when you unzip him. Those few seconds feel like hours to both of you, but it’s so satisfying in some sick, twisted way. You’re a bit confused when you wrap your fingers around him, but when you take his cock out, you’re full-on dumbfounded.

Because what in the fucking Chernobyl?!

“You’re huge!” your jaw inadvertently drops.

“R–Really?” he looks at you in confusion.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” you protest, all exasperated. “Have you not seen any porn at all?”

“I mostly watch pussy closeups,” he replies, genuinely not understanding why you’re reacting like this.

“Pussy closeups,” you repeat, chuckling to yourself. “That’s just so you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your lips are so sexy, I think I’m gonna die if I don’t feel them on my pussy,” you swipe your thumb on his bottom lip and drag it down.

It comes as a very pleasant surprise when Hyunjin takes your finger in his mouth and sucks on it. You take his hand and put it under your skirt. He shivers for the briefest moment, but then he suddenly… 

…turns into something.

He quickly pulls you in and switches places with you, trapping you between the shelf and himself. You wait for him to kiss you, but it never comes. You watch him kneel before you instead. He drags your panties down, looking up at you with gigantic eyes, and you fervently nod in response to encourage him. He lets out a comically heavy exhale, in disbelief that he’s actually facing a very real pussy like he’s hypnotized. 

“Kiss it,” you order him quietly.

He holds onto your hips for support, then buries his face in your cunt. You told him to kiss to mean a tender peck, but when he starts making out with your clit unprompted, you make a mental note to call the psych ward to make a reservation. 

Turns out, video training is real, and all those pussy closeups are coming in very handy right now.

“Oh my—god, Hyunjin…” you throw your head back, getting weaker and weaker in the knees.

You hold his head in place and start riding his face, and he just surrenders to you to let you use him however you want. He’s so obedient, so dangerously obedient that possessiveness suddenly rears its ugly head within you. You’ve claimed him. He’s yours now. If anyone wants a Hyunjin, they need to fucking go find their own because this smart cookie is you-parking-only from now on.

You spread your lips more, and he immediately latches onto your clit, happily humming as he sucks on it. You’re about to go crazy, completely melting in his mouth. Your eyes flutter close on their own with how lost you are in ecstasy, but out of nowhere, he squeezes your hips like he’s trying to say, “Look at me. Pay attention to me.”

He wants you to watch him. 

Of course. Of course you’ll look at him. You’ll look at his impossibly gorgeous face. You’ll look into those soft brown eyes. You’ll look right at the spot his tongue connects to your core and licks your sanity out of you.

You’ll look right into his soul when he makes you cum. 

“Good?” he asks through a loud slurp. “Am I doing good?”

“You’re doing fucking incredible,” you sigh, running your fingers through his silky locks.

His happy eating doesn’t last long. The fervent licks come to an abrupt halt, and he looks like he’s in mild pain.

“What’s wrong?” you furrow your brows with concern.

“If I keep doing it… I’m gonna cum,” he confesses.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Just… a few seconds,” he rests his head on your thighs. “Until I calm down.”

But you don’t let him calm down. You tap his shoulders instead and pull him up. You caress his face. You kiss his lips. But when you touch his cock, he jolts like he’s been electrocuted.

“You don't understand,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m really gonna—”

“Cum, I know,” you reassuringly smile at him. “If you promise to clean up your mess, you can do it inside me.”

You turn around and arch your ass for him, and that something he has turned into reaches its final form. You can swear you’ve heard a little growl come out of him. All he does is press his tip against your sodden entrance, but he’s already breathing heavily behind you. He takes forever to fully sink into you, extremely vigilant not to do any sudden moves, because otherwise…

All that carefulness, yet you still feel like you’re being split open.

His thrusts are so languid, but the sound of his skin against yours is insane. Your moans in his ears are insane. The sheer feeling of being inside you is insane.

Hyunjin’s going clinically insane, and he won’t be able to hold back anymore, no matter how much he resolves to.

He swiftly turns you around and pushes you against the shelf, wrapping one leg around his waist. He immediately aligns himself with you again, but this time he slides in with so much force that you see white.

“S–So full… God, don’t stop,” you claw his shoulders. “Fuck me dumb.”

“Ngh, kiss…” he whines.

He can’t even last until he receives his very wet kiss from you. Just two swirls of your tongue around his, and he completely falls apart. His soul leaves his body as he keeps moaning into your mouth, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. His frantic thrusts eventually come to a halt, and he looks utterly beat, yet he’s so cute that you wanna just cuddle him right there on the floor.

But as if he’s shot himself with an overdose of adrenaline, he suddenly perks up and drops to his knees, picking up where he’s left off like a starved animal. He holds onto your hips again and sticks his tongue out, making you rub your pussy on the slippery surface.

Definitely a move copped from the closeups.

“Oh, fuck… Fuck, yes, like that. Like that, oh my god HYUNJIN!!!”

Oh, he looks so proud as he watches you dismantle into your atoms; that’s the most sinister smile you’ve ever seen a man flash. You burst into a laughter fit with how hard you’ve cum, and he can’t help but laugh along with you. He looks beautiful when he smiles. Once both your feet touch the ground, however, he’s being a gentleman for no reason at all, putting your pants back up and fixing your hair, something you’re not used to at all. You suddenly get this urge to kiss him. You kiss him long and deep. You kiss him until you sweep him off his feet again.

You taste fucking fantastic on his tongue.

“Can I get your number?” you request, voice super fucked out.

“M–MINE?” 

“I mean…” you look around, “I don’t see anyone else here.”

Poor baby, that must be the most violent post-nut clarity he’s experiencing, and it makes you giggle just to think about it. He saves his number on your phone, and as soon as you get it back, you snap a picture of your still-throbbing pussy and send it to him. 

“There. That can be my contact picture,” you put the phone away. “What time are you getting out?”

“Midnight,” he answers, averting his eyes from you as if he wasn’t the one decimating you just ten seconds ago.

“Wanna come over?” you play with his collar.

“For… For what?” he asks, but you can’t hold back the excess endearment anymore and burst into hearty laughter.

“So I can sit on your face when I suck your dick,” you smirk at him.

“Can I… do things to it again?” he keeps intently examining the floor, still unable to hold your gaze. “With my mouth and stuff…”

“Yes, you can,” you gently bite his lips and pull him into a deep kiss. 

You wait for him outside as he gets a little scolding from Gerda right before closing. It hasn’t even been thirty three seconds, yet as soon as you leave the library, you get a text from Hyunjin.

HUNGouts sorry i came in 33 seconds i love u 

“Pfft, loser,” you snort to yourself with gigantic hearts shooting out of your eyes.

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Hyunjin whine for a kiss.

Inspo below. Cute, right?

「© 2026, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄: 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄

You can tempt fate, but you cannot beat it. Whatever is set in stone, you have to fulfill it. You can repent, but it means nothing. The debt of anguish must still be paid. You can tempt fate, but you can’t defeat it. Whatever is set in stone, you have to fulfill it. The same torment rewinds to punish a stray vow. Unless you can turn the stone into ashes somehow... Ice stuns fire. Fire swallows ice. Frost soothes pyre. Blaze lulls rime. And higher above desire Lays our paradise. Everywhere your light touches is home to me.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. 

He walks into his cavernous living room barefoot, stepping on the pages of sheet music scattered all over the floor. The name of the room is just a figure of speech; even though some decorator has put serious effort into this cathedralesque space, it has not been lived in.

His castle of darkness is not meant for entertaining guests.

The misty night framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows doesn’t let much streetlight in, but he has no desire to illuminate his den anyway. He sits on the piano bench, puts one arm over the open fallboard, and rests his forehead on it. His slender fingers make love to the keys, delicately playing a glum tune that has been living in his head for as long as he can remember. It’s reminiscent of Moonlight Sonata but with no moonlight in it.

The soft keystrokes wake up the miniature phoenix sleeping by the fireplace. She flies across the room and perches on his shoulder, gently rubbing her head on his stone-cold cheek. The longer he plays, the more perfectly symmetrical snow crystals form on the keys with cracking sounds. It’s always fernlike stellar dendrites, and each needle pierces his heart, spilling his longing for something obscure all over his insides. 

He relishes that pain. He thrives on it.

It makes him feel alive. 

He doesn’t feel much, nor does he want to. That detachment is the finger that pulls the trigger with no hesitation. It’s the thumb that wipes the blood splatter on his face. It’s what makes him walk away from dead bodies with outrageous nonchalance as if all he did was break a glass. He has committed lifetimes’ worth of sins to be found guilty, but he feels no guilt whatsoever.

He lives to be feared above all else. It’s the only thing that satiates his appetite for destruction.

“The car is ready, sir.”

He turns to the man backlit by the entryway lights and nods, then pets the phoenix’s head to say goodbye. The fiery bird is the only thing that makes him feel… something. He puts on his combat boots, grabs his leather jacket resting on the Chesterfield sofa, and heads out.

The ride to his destination is silent spare some jazzy instrumental playing in a tolerable volume. He watches the neon lights pass by from his tinted window, a murder of crows flying circles in his head. Every minute he’s awake, he’s playing chess with invisible opponents, and he has to calculate all the way to the endgame, not just two moves ahead like a fucking amateur. 

He’s had enough of busybodies, especially an exceptionally nosy law enforcer constantly trying to get all up in his business. She just doesn’t know when to give up. She thinks she’s all that, but he thinks he’s all this. Sure, he can make her think she’s onto him, that she can throw him behind bars any day now. He has some needs, too, you know. Even a man who spits on the world he owns needs to be entertained sometimes.

Everything bores him to tears.

She is not your ordinary agent, he knows that. She is all that. Criminally beautiful even though she runs something called Criminal Resonance Intervention Team. Quite intelligent; it hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park to dodge her. A fellow Sigma gene holder, but most likely clueless about the actual extent of her power. There is no way the people she blindly pledged her stupid allegiance to told her the truth. It’s not like she can find out she is an Outlier on her own anyway.

But he knows. He knows everything. 

That’s why he wants her.

He finds it cute that her core is fire when his is ice. It’s like the universe wants them to slash each other’s throats while doing a bad impression of star-crossed lovers. 

He doesn’t believe in hogwash like destiny. 

When the car comes to a stop, he loads his gun for good measure and gets out. Life’s volume is so mute in this part of town that his steps on wet concrete sound louder than bombs going off. Next to the rusty door of what looks like an abandoned hangar is a brick column. He slides the third brick from the bottom and a holographic retina scanner appears before him. The authenticator decides he is not a stranger whose eyes should be pierced with neurotoxin needles and authorizes his entry. There is only darkness inside. He walks down the stairs towards the only light at the bottom of the chasmal space and meets three men in surgical attire working under sickly fluorescent lights. 

“It’s ready, Boss,” one of them greets him with childlike enthusiasm.

There is a reason why one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. He collects suspended doctors like a dragon hoards gold. He looks at the corpse on the table bearing his identical features all the way to the freckles on his body.

“Nice work. I should give you all a raise,” he smirks in contentment. “When you wrap up here, serve it to our friends from the press at our agreed-upon time.”

As he climbs the stairs to the ground floor, he issues three payment orders of a million each. His chauffeur is waiting outside holding a bottle of hand sanitizer for him. He dispenses two pumps and coats his ruthless hands with invisible gloves, then gets into the car.

“Did you feed the bird?”

“Yes, sir. Everything is in place,” the man in the crisp suit confirms and starts the obscenely expensive car. “She thinks she is meeting Callum in person.”

He flashes a sensuously devilish smile as his contentment doubles. 

They head to a vantage point that reveals what a beautiful slut Verona City is. He gets turned on while gazing at her sometimes. If he could fuck her, he most certainly would. Maybe even take her as his mistress. He finishes two glasses of scotch while he patiently waits. When the alarm on his phone goes off at exactly 2:23 a.m., he takes out something that looks like a car remote from his pocket. The small device has a minuscule orb that contains glowing blue plasma and a whimsical button under it that says ‘Bye Bye’.

“I haven’t said happy birthday to you yet, have I?” he speaks to the man in the driver’s seat, the apology in his voice a genuine knockoff. “Make a wish.”

He rolls down the car window, sticks his hand out, and presses the button. One of the warehouses on the West Side turns to dust with a deafening roar. He watches the explosion in the distance like he’s watching fireworks, not as cheap but certainly tenfold more entertaining.

Even a man who is sick in the head needs to be entertained sometimes. 

“Let’s head home,” he closes the window and looks at his chauffeur in the rearview mirror. “I’m fucking starving.”

The car starts again, and they take the scenic route back to the base. He makes a quick stop on the way to pick up cassia seeds for Ember. As soon as he makes it home, the bird smells her favorite treats all the way from the fireplace and flies like a bullet to greet him by the door. 

Instead of his dinner table, however, he heads to his piano, sits on the bench, puts one arm over the open fallboard, and rests his forehead on it. His slender fingers make love to the keys, delicately playing a glum tune that has been living in his head for as long as he can remember.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

He has never once claimed he was sane.

𝐒𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐀

Third night in a row… 

It’s the middle of a very harsh winter, but it feels like someone is pouring molten lava all over you. These hot flashes you’re getting every month only seem to deteriorate. You can’t breathe. You can’t sleep. Every healer that steps foot into the palace claims they have the remedy, but nothing works. You are so restless, you are about to claw yourself out of your skin.

You have heard the rumors like everyone else, of course, but your father deems it a fool’s tale. There is no such thing as healing springs. You are not to leave the grounds under any circumstances, especially when you do not have any control over your blaze. You are strictly ordered to just rest and wait for this desert storm to pass. Sleep on it. Take baths maybe.

You are about to die laughing.

How about you bring spices with you instead of lavender petals while you are at it? It would certainly do a much better job of bringing out the flavor of the stew you will turn into, since the water starts boiling the second you dip your toes in.

You’ve had enough.

You wait until midnight to make sure the meddlers are asleep. Once the murmur in the marble hallways comes to a standstill, you gently wake up the phoenix sleeping with her head under her wing by your bed.

“We have to be really quiet, Cyra,” you offer her a veiled apology. “We won’t be long, I promise.”

The fiery bird rubs her head on your cheek, then flies to the balcony by your side. She perches on your back and sinks her claws into your cloak, swiftly taking you away to Skotia Woods. The darkness of midnight safely shrouds you, and the cold wind blowing at such heights is already so soothing that you can only imagine the relief you will finally get when you arrive at your destination. Your heart races in your chest as if you are running to a lover you have been longing for all your life.

Cyra makes her descent into the heart of the dense forest and lets go of you a few feet away from the lake, perching on a rock nearby to keep watch. As soon as your bare feet touch the pure white snow, you can feel your soul healing. You slowly walk towards the frozen body of water, your eyes closed, relishing the comfort of the rime melting under your steps. 

Once you make it to the edge of the lake, you strip. It’s perfectly dark everywhere else, but the moonlight shines bright, ricocheting off the solid white surface to place heart-fluttering kisses all over your naked body. The ice begins to crack with each step you take. Steam starts to rise as you move further into the water. When you reach a point that’s deep enough, you submerge yourself fully, entrusting your misery to the cold, hoping it keeps it and never ever gives it back to you. It’s blurry when you open your eyes underwater. There is nothing much to see anyway. Darkness reigns supreme here, too, but you can still make out the whites of the ice further ahead. 

You resurface and comb your hair back with your fingers. The harsh wind howls in the distance. It must be below zero; you can see your breath in the air, but it feels like a balmy spring day to you. You smile in delight when you look around. The path you have paved under the water is perfectly visible on the surface, drawing a nonsensical abstract shape. You start laughing. You are genuinely laughing for the first time in a very long time with the joy of a child making snow angels on the ground. You swim some more, paying no regard to the time, bathing yourself in the moonlight as much as the healing waters of the small hot spring you have unintentionally carved in the ice.

When you are sufficiently rejuvenated, you walk out of the water. Ghosting your palms on your body, you dry yourself and put your clothes back on.

“You really shouldn’t venture so recklessly.”

The low voice manifesting out of thin air gives you a terrible start, and your heart sinks with sheer terror. Cyra shrieks and flies towards you, opening her gigantic wings to the sides to shield you. You are more scared that something will happen to her. If the approaching shadow is what you think it is, there is no way she can survive a strike.

“Down, Cyra,” you whisper your command to the bird. “Do not move.” 

A pair of Alexandrite eyes glows in the dark like a kaleidoscope, part blue, part violet, part aqua in hue. You try to keep a composed façade, but your heaving chest betrays how unnerved you are. No rumors. No legends. Most certainly not a fool’s tale.

The Ice Lycan is as real as the healing springs and is now prowling towards you.

“Stay back, beast!” you muster all your courage to come off as intimidating as you can. “Show some respect for your princess!” 

“Tsk, but where are your manners?” he taunts, words falling off his lips like rolls of velvet.

The closer he approaches, the more prominent his figure becomes. He stands tall like he has unyielding pride for a spine. His arms are burly like he has built this very forest with his bare hands. He quietly growls like he is sick and tired of being starved. 

The shadow steps into the moonlight and transforms into flesh and blood. Your heart falls out of your chest.

You have never beheld such beauty in your life.

It’s the kind of beauty that hides inside the most weathered boulders. Coarse at first. Badly beaten. Most will take one look and then walk away because it’s just a stone. It’s nothing special. It’s everywhere. But if you can be patient enough, if you are adamant to crack that rock…

The Alexandrites it carries in its bosom will mesmerize the life out of you.

“You are on my land, and you expect me to bow down to you?” he leans into your face threateningly.

“Your land?” you scoff, in disbelief at the audacity. “Everywhere is my land!”

“Why, please grace me with the tales of your triumphs to conquer this land, princess. How much blood did you spill? How many tears did you shed?” he places his hand on your face, descending to your chin beguilingly softly, then harshly lifting it to force you to look into his eyes. “Did you at least break some sweat?”

You are stunned, frozen in your place, but it has nothing to do with his subzero touch. You get lost in those eyes. The fractals dancing in them hypnotize you. You can see every detail quite clearly from such proximity. The subtle cracks on his skin, the stray snowflakes clinging to him…

Your vision starts to blur for some reason.

He feels confused; you are supposed to be petrified, not look at him like he is the only thing you have ever wanted from this life. You are even more confused; his frigid existence not only brings your heat back but also makes it ten times worse. You don’t even realize how heavy your breathing becomes when your gaze lands on his lips, tempting you like all seven sins morphed into one. You want him. You want him.

You want him.

Your world is shaken to its core when you hold his face and close the distance between you completely. The glacial sensation engorges the quiet fire burning within you like a rising tide, but somehow pacifies it at the same time. The thin layer of ice coating his skin starts to crack at the corners of his lips. Your fingertips go numb and begin to stiffen, slowly taking on a light blue tint. 

You feel a thump in your chest, but it’s by no means metaphorical. 

He pushes you away and presses his fingers on his lips, eyes widened in shock. His bare torso looks like it’s suddenly drenched in sweat, little drops freezing as they trickle down his magnificent body. He waves his hand in the air in panic, palm facing the ground, and the sword-like icicles manifesting from the hasty line he draws between you all point at you threateningly.

“Take your songbird with you and do not come back here!” he roars and disappears into the darkness.

Your heart should break, but instead, it sings. A smile creeps up your lips. You have always been told these lunar beasts are as vicious as they come, but you aren’t as sure anymore.

You have never seen something as endearing as a flustered Lycan before.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘

“Good morning! Today’s date is September 25, Friday, 2054, and it’s -2 degrees Celsius outside. Your outfit recommendations are ready in your closet if you wish to go out today. Your breakfast is—”

“Geez, Xandra, you’re worse than the Chief!” you groan at the voice of the faceless digital assistant, salty as fuck for waking you up from a bombastic dream. 

As soon as the word ‘breakfast’ is pronounced, a white cloud bolts into your bedroom as the final destination of his parkour route, jumps on your bed, and licks all over your face.

“Yes, okay, breakfast time, Samoyay!” you break into a giggle fit. “Good morning to you, too, baby boy.” 

While baby boy describes his mannerisms perfectly, it paints a very misleading picture of the gigantic Samoyed that smiles all the time like he’s constantly excited about something. As you refill his bowl in the kitchen, your phone rings, a remarkably odd occurrence for 6:30 a.m in the morning.

“Did you see me in your dream last night?” you answer Minho’s call.

“Get your ass in here,” he urgently cuts to the chase in a dismal voice. “Now.”

At the bureau, the entire CRIT crew has its eyes on the big screens decorating the walls of the watchfloor. The breaking news is about an explosion that has taken place on the West Side, citing multiple casualties. The arson is suspected to target Duskfall’s notorious leader Zephyr, real name unknown, who has been pronounced dead on the scene.

“We are two seconds away from storming that base and it’s razed to the ground with him in it?” you loudly scoff. “Not buying it.”

“Congratulations on unlocking a brand-new paranoia achievement, Captain,” Minho retorts.

“How did they even identify the body?” you point at the screen like you want to pick a fight with it. “We have jillion different visuals all claiming it’s him, plus all the verbal accounts we’ve collected to date vastly differ from one another.”

“The coroner’s team ran the DNA samples from the scene and got a hit in the evidence database,” he explains. “They confirmed the death.”

“For all I know, the coroner works for him. I expect everything from that motherfucker,” you cross your arms over your chest. 

“Put the tinfoil hat away. You need to accept that our prime suspect is gone,” he implores you to see a microscopic amount of reason. “It’s over.”

“It’s over when I say it’s over, Minho.”

“I don’t think it works that way, Agent.” 

The Chief’s voice echoes behind you, stern but somewhat resigned. When all else fails, you always look to him to reassure yourself that it’s only turbulence, but when even a seasoned commander like him looks that defeated, it’s about 97% confirmed that the plane is going to crash.

“Patrol fleets did a pulse check. All his known affiliates went into hiding,” he debriefs the team. “Until there is at least Level 2 activity resurfacing on our radar, this case is now classified as cold. Effective immediately.”

“But sir—!”

“Let it go, Agent. It’s time to move on to other things that can actually yield results. We wasted enough time,” he gently taps your shoulder. “Dismissed.”

You don’t want to accept it. It can’t end like this!

Your every waking minute has been dedicated to this energy smuggling case for god knows how long now. With every extraction operation you have busted, with every base you have raided, you have been closing in on your faceless target inch by inch. Indeed, the distance between two things will never close if one of them jumps two steps further every time the other comes only one step closer, but for you, that’s never been a reason to just give up. Because giving up means you are turning Verona City into an all-you-can-eat buffet for Duskfall. Giving up means no Sigma gene holder is safe from being randomly kidnapped on the way to work one day. Giving up means even stronger weapons of mass destruction will be built harvesting their core energy.

Countless hours, terabytes of data, hundreds of victims, comrades dead along the way…

It cannot be wiped out with a half-assed ‘Because I said so.’

Once the crowd starts dispersing, you get closer to Minho and nudge him to walk towards the break room.

“I’m still going tonight,” you whisper to him after making sure no one is in the vicinity to eavesdrop. “My guy is meeting me there.”

“Captain…”

“I just know it in my gut that Zephyr is still alive, Minho,” you start arguing your case. “Callum says I will definitely find what I’m looking for at this event, and he knows who I’ve been fucking bloodlusting after.”

“You keep calling him he for convenience’s sake, but you don’t even know who this silent informant is,” he begins his own opening remarks. “How do you even know this is legit?”

“Because every piece of intel he has ever provided us checked out,” you answer feverishly. “Did you forget we cleaned up most of the West Side thanks to him?”

“Yes, but that was then. The winds have shifted since,” Minho assumes his role of logic’s advocate as usual. “If Chief hears you’re disobeying a direct order, you will get suspended!”

“Which is why he won’t,” you emphasize, eyes threateningly widened like saucers. “I’d much rather ask for forgiveness than permission, and I’m just letting my partner know on the off chance that something happens.”

“At least let me come with you.”

“No, that will draw unnecessary attention. I only have one ticket anyway,” you firmly refuse. “Are you still my ride or die?” 

He’s exasperated. There is no point in trying to talk you out of it since it’s nothing but a futile attempt with your stubbornness. 

“If it looks like things are gonna go south, do not do anything dumb,” he urges you, more like a brother than a subordinate. You squeeze his shoulders with a triumphant smile on your face.

Yes, it’s a risk. It’s a stupidly big risk, but you’re willing to take it.

Because you have nothing to lose anymore.

𝐒𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐀

Oh, it’s a miracle. 

The news of the princess waking up with no embers on her skin reaches His Majesty first thing in the morning, and the latest healer that just happened to be in the palace receives his weight in gold as a reward. You have no intention of telling your father that he is being scammed because you cannot risk divulging that you are indeed frequenting a certain spring mentioned in some fool’s tale.

You have been visiting the woods every night to bathe, but it’s not just to soothe your blaze. A small, unwavering hope in your heart longs to see the Alexandrite eyes again. You want to feel his frost on your skin again. You want to tell him if he feels lonely all by himself among the evergreen trees, you can keep him company. But he never shows up. 

Your hope is dying like a candle in the snow. 

As you prepare to leave on the fifth night, a deep howl reverberates throughout Skotia Woods. It’s not a bone-chilling omen of danger; it wrenches your heart the way it sounds like a lament over something that will never come back. It’s dead silent except for the echoes still resonating within you, and you are trying to figure out which direction is home to that sound.

Before you can take three steps, a leviathanic cotton ball appears through the trees. It has to be a cotton ball; you have never seen a wolf this big and white as snow. It looks more like an oversized dog. Cyra flies towards it in alarm, but her shrieks are quick to subside when she hears whimpering. She lands and hops alongside the beautiful beast as it limps closer and stops at your feet to smell you. Cyra sadly chirps, showing you the red stains on the dog’s back legs.

“Oh, you poor thing, what happened to you?” you kneel, eyes filled with worry. “It’s alright. It won’t hurt in a bit, okay?”

You sit in the snow and tenderly embrace the gentle giant in your lap. It looks twice your size when you are at eye level. You close your eyes. A warm breeze blows from your palm as you ghost your hand over the bleeding wound, and vibrant pink strings of light swirl around the leg. Moments later, the whimpering stops, and you are attacked with affectionate licks all over your face. 

“What did I tell you last time? Are you trying to fall prey?!”

Your giggle fit instantly stops like a sword has fallen on it, but your heart chirps as loudly as Cyra does at sunsets. The Alexandrite eyes are looking at you again. Then they look at the dog. Then its legs.

They take a full aqua hue when they land on the blood stains.

“What did you do to him?” he lunges at you, coarse hand holding your throat in a tight grip. “What did you DO?!”

“I–I didn’t do anything, I swear! He was hurt! I w–wanted to soothe the pain!” 

The cotton ball acts faster than Cyra and bites the Lycan’s ankle to throw him off, then gets in front of you and aggressively growls at him. Your cough softens as you rub your throat. His heavy breathing calms down. As he caresses the dog’s thick fur, an icy blue light appears, covering it in a coat of ice so thin that it’s invisible if the moonlight doesn’t directly reflect on it. 

He suddenly gets up and leaves with rushed steps. The cotton ball takes one look at you, then follows suit. You hurriedly get on your feet and start tailing them.

“What is your name?” you ask as you try to catch up to him.

“Stop following me.”

“I just want to know your name.”

“Do you intend to call out to me at nightfall?” he derisively spits. “I do not grant death wishes. Leave.”

“Why do you have to be so rude?!”

“A myriad of apologies. Did my beastly ways upset the princess?”

“Why are you staying away from me?” your voice rises. “I’m harmless. I won’t hurt you.”

“But I will hurt you.”

“Just… LOOK AT ME!!!”

He turns around so fast you almost bump into him. His chest is heaving, nostrils flared, jaw clenched tight like he’s forcing restraint. It doesn’t scare you. His eyes still glow aqua, but not as brightly anymore. You approach closer. Slowly. Throwing caution to the wind. You don’t know why you naively think he’s not going to do anything to you. Maybe he will, and you will die in this forest tonight, and no one will ever find your body. But you don’t care.

You just don’t care.

You reach for his face and put your hand on his cheek again. It feels like the finest porcelain under your touch. You are terrified you will somehow damage it.

“How are you this beautiful?” you admire him, hypnotized by his sheer existence. “I just want to gaze at you for hours.”

The softening of his features is imperceptible to the naked eye. As your hand descends from his cheek to his neck, his heart races just like the way it does when he’s running wild in this forest, but this feeling is brand new. He doesn’t like it. He feels tickled inside. His spine starts to sweat.

You are quite literally melting him. 

“Kritzephyr.”

You don’t understand what he’s trying to say. Your eyes narrow when this seemingly unknown tongue caresses your ears. 

“My name,” he averts his gaze from you, brows still creased. “It’s Kritzephyr.”

“Kriz…tophr?” you tilt your head trying to pronounce the strange word.

Your failed attempt at replication amuses him. The crack in his stoic façade is so subtle that you will miss it if you don’t own a magnifying glass.

“Sure,” he suppresses the chuckle growing in his throat. 

“Can we sit here together?” you point at the lake to your right.

He nods as he stares at his feet. The cotton ball chases Cyra like she’s a butterfly, and she taunts him by floating over his head. You both sit on a rock, just watching them in silence. This is the first time you witness his smile, and it’s nothing less than glorious. Your heart beats harder when you notice he has dimples embellishing the curls of his lips. He doesn’t look at you, but he can tell you are looking at him. His pinky moves just enough to touch yours. You intertwine your finger with his like you’re making a promise.

Behind the trees, a pair of poison ivy irises gleam as they watch the two silhouettes sitting side by side. The more she wants to throw up jealousy, the brighter they glow with homicidal rage.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘

“Altipotens.”

If Chief were to see you in your disguise, he would probably bid you a fun evening rather than confiscating your gun on the spot since it looks like you’re about to attend some nepo baby’s ostentatious wedding. The hosts have packaged the event as a fundraiser, but their choice of venue is remarkably bizarre for something that’s supposed to be for public benefit. There are no lights oozing out of the derelict building you are standing in front of to indicate any sort of human activity inside.

Worst case scenario, you will commit your first arson in self-defense and flee the scene.

The Judas window on the iron door slides close when you utter your bespoke code, and the door opens. You are greeted by five people in security uniforms and Venetian masks covering their entire faces, a perfect addition to the already strong off-the-wall vibe, and they scan you for any devices or weapons you may possess as you are strictly not allowed to carry any on you. One of them gives the green light, and the door to the right of the dark space unlocks on its own. Jazz progressions immediately flow into the darkness you are standing in and hold your hand to come play.

Your itinerary is pretty much by the book so far. Wear an ice blue dress: check. Find the correct location: check. Go through security detail: check. Don’t die in the meantime: in progress.

You approach the bar and sit on the only stool available, squeezing yourself between two sharply dressed people. Now all you have to do is wait for Callum to spot you.

“Anything to drink, miss?”

“Any sauvignon you have is fine. Thank you.”

As you look around the room, impatiently tapping your fingers on the counter, a shadow is cast on the dapper bartender’s features. He subtly presses a button before him, then reaches for a wine glass.

“She meant guacamole,” the stoic voice of the man sitting to your left corrects. “Excuse the improper fundraiser decorum. She is a virgin.”

The bartender dips his head in acknowledgment, but his eyes cling to suspicion as he leaves. You don’t know if it’s to prepare this strange order or not. Your head turns towards your savior. He has an almost-finished glass of scotch before him.

“If you think a bartender wants to take your drink order in a place like this, you’re asking to get killed,” he softly whispers, then finally turns to his right to meet your gaze.

The second you lock eyes with the pair of Alexandrites behind the Phantomesque mask covering half his face, a strange feeling sets in. You would remember if you knew anyone with such distinct gemstones for irises, yet it’s so strangely familiar that it’s driving you crazy you can’t place where you know him from. He reaches for your face and leans into your ear, warm breath starting an ice cold blizzard on your skin.

“Don’t say anything stupid and follow my lead,” he whispers with a gentle kiss on your earlobe.

“First time someone is with you, sir,” a man in a crisp suit greets with a synthetically polite smile.

“That would be because I’m not usually the biggest fan of human interaction,” your barmate responds with a languid turn of his stool. “She is obviously my guest.”

“May I see her insignia?”

He breaks into a smile. It’s a smile of tranquil lunacy. It’s the kind of smile that signals a rapidly depleting supply of patience, and there is no telling what may happen if it’s completely bankrupt.

“I will pretend I didn’t just hear this for your sake,” the nameless Phantom pulls you close from your waist with aqua hellfire blazing in his eyes. “Certain parts of my lady’s body are for my eyes only, and I will be required to gouge yours if you perceive her.”

The suit man swallows. He pretends he has asserted sufficient authority to follow code.

“My most profound apologies,” he nods in remorse wrapped in equal parts respect and terror, then leaves.

When the suit man walks out of your field of vision, the relief spreads in your veins so fast that it gives you a headrush. Your shoulders droop as you catch your breath.

“I… really appreciate it,” you offer your gratitude.

“You’re welcome, but I can’t say I reciprocate the sentiment. I’m a little sick and tired of constantly moving because of you.” He waits for a couple of seconds before he lowers his voice to a seductively discreet volume. “Agent.”

His endlessly entertained smile feels like the most derogatory insult that can touch any pair of lips. It jumpstarts your synapses. Your breath stutters in your throat, and something hot starts spreading in your chest.

The legend of the underworld stands right before you.

“It’s you.” You work up the courage to utter the name you have only heard in hushed whispers. “You are Zephyr, aren’t you?”

“Extreme pleasure to meet you in person,” he inserts a chivalrous filter in his voice, still acting like the intents and purposes of the night are entertainment-related. “I don’t mean to be crass, but you are so much more pleasant to look at up close.”

“I fucking knew it!”

Your impulses take full control of you, and tremendously miscalculating what would be the correct time and place to blast a scorchstorm on your mortal enemy’s face, you raise your hand. At least you want to. All he does is move his gaze from your lips to your hand, and in the zeptoseconds that lapsed between the two destinations, you lose the ability to move. He stares at your hand like he is no longer amused. He stares like he is disappointed. Like he is offended.

He stares like he is bored.

“Don’t make a scene. You will be dead before you can say freeze,” he turns to his drink again and conjures ice cubes in his glass with a circle he draws in the air. He chortles to himself when he realizes the unintended pun he made. “The irony would be almost as cute as you, though.”

“Unfreeze my hands, fucking monster,” you quietly spit through your clenched teeth.

“Some jobs make you a monster, some jobs you have to be a monster to do,” he takes a lackadaisical sip and relishes the chilly bitterness on his tongue before it burns his throat. “Whichever you think I am is wrong, by the way.”

He twists his stool in your direction, and one look at your hands melts your invisible shackles. You can move your hands again, but barely; it feels too hot and too cold at the same time like a frostbite. Like you’ve been standing in a snowstorm for hours.

“Let’s skip the foreplay. I’m getting turned on,” he heaves an impatient sigh. “I will give you something way bigger so you’ll get off my dick.”

“There’s nothing bigger than you!”

“Why, thank you for noticing,” he grins, all but humble. “Feel free to ride me to death, but I meant metaphorically.” 

You’re caught so off guard, your mind goes fully blank. He takes the opportunity to segue into more serious matters.

“Dynamo Inc. in exchange for an already dead man,” he rips off his seductor dimples as he makes his offer. “I’ll tell you what they’re bidding on tonight and what they intend to do with it over the next five years.”

If you could find your voice, you would yell a deafening “WHAT?!” like you do when you are astounded at the choices made by the characters of your favorite shows. You can’t believe their affiliates are roaming this shady as hell place right this moment. 

Dubbed ‘pioneers of human life betterment’ with those Xandra assistants they invented, Dynamo has created a ‘respectable’ front for themselves as energy tech giants, and that tremendous success came with an absolute market monopoly they can abuse. Even though there is still no conclusive evidence on it, it’s a known fact that their corruption goes deeper than the sewers of Verona City, and the talk behind closed doors has it that Duskfall is just a measly subcontractor serving the gargantuan scope of Dynamo’s activities.

No matter how much you suck at mental math, this probability problem holds grave importance, and you have to solve it fast. 

Hard fact: He is not actually giving you Dynamo—just the information that can tank one of their hundreds of possible operations, which apparently has a five-year plan.

Harder fact: There isn’t a single person that embodies Dynamo as a whole, which means they can always grow back an arm that’s cut off. The absence of the man that finishes the job, on the other hand, will inevitably expose a lot of operational vulnerabilities until they can replace him.

The hardest fact: Zephyr is a solid yes whereas Dynamo is a doubtful maybe. He is standing right in front of you right now.

Ergo, close but no cigar.

“No,” you firmly reject. “I want you.”

“Baby, believe me I want you, too, but there are too many people here,” he licks his lips as he drags one finger from your shoulder down your bare arm. His soft voice suddenly turns ruthlessly stern, painting a clearer picture of the actual status of his mental stability. “You should think of this as payback for the informant services you’ve been using for free for so long.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

FUCK! 

You should have known better. You shouldn’t have naively believed in the vigilante spirit of the civilians wanting to fight for their city. You should have known that you were being played for a majestic fool.

“You’re Callum?!”

“In the flesh,” he triumphantly smiles, knowing full well he just checked the mate, and tucks your hair behind your ear. “If word got out who your source was all along, one might think… I don’t know, you are colluding or something. We wouldn’t want the honorable captain of CRIT to get a corrupt rep now, would we?”

“We didn’t ask you to provide intel for us.”

“But you also never bothered to ask for the price. You’ve racked up quite the debt, beautiful.”

He gets off his stool and stands tall before you, wrapping one hand around your waist like a snake as he lifts your chin with the other. He gazes at your beauty with eyes glowing a ferocious violet, utterly mesmerized. You should feel angrier than whatever it is you are feeling right now. He looks at you like he wants you both to get the fuck outta there and have your naked showdown in an obscenely expensive bedroom somewhere, ravishing each other all night long.

And a granular piece of you wants to let him.

“You really should pay attention to who you’re getting in bed with before you get your cunt licked. I’ll gladly do it either way, but it’s you who will black out when you can’t take it anymore,” he throws your biggest failure to date with the suavity of an overpriced homme fatal, each word whispered against your lips like sweet nothings as if you’re in between his sheets. “It’s time to pay the piper now.”

“And if I refuse?”

He pulls you closer, and something sharp and pointy presses right under your left ribcage. You can’t tell what it is, but it feels too cold to be a mere blade. It’s somehow dry and wet at the same time. 

“I don’t think you have that luxury,” he places the softest kiss on the tip of your nose. “Please don’t make me do it before we kiss even once.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing within the realm of impossible.” The poking feeling subsides as he pleasantly smiles at you as though you just agreed to a dinner invitation. He nods towards a large matte black door in the distance, the very same one the suit man walked through not too long ago. “We’re gonna go into that room, and you’re gonna put your horrendous acting skills to good use for me.”

“As what?”

“I already insinuated something to cover your pretty ass, and everybody inside is probably already talking about it,” he brushes your face with the back of his fingers. “You will act the part of either my mistress or my queen. Your call.”

It isn’t excitement, you’re sure of it, but you still don’t know what caused something to thump that hard in your chest when he said queen.

“I’d still like to keep whatever remains of my dignity, thank you very much.”

“My queen, it is,” he finally peels himself off you. You shiver when he takes a step back. He extends his hand, launching his dimples at you without any servings of smugness for once. “Do we have a deal?”

As if you have a choice. Exhaling out of your nose in frustration, you shake his hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours and places a chivalrous kiss on your hand as he stares into your soul. You can’t tell for how long he’s lingered there, but it feels like minutes, nor can you look away from his hypnotizing Alexandrites, now gleaming in a shade of warm purple. Much closer to a cozy pink than a faded blue.

You could swear you heard a cracking sound when he removed his lips from your skin this time. 

𝐒𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐀

“Why do you never come out during the day?”

Snowdrops are in full bloom in Skotia Woods. It’s much colder than usual tonight, but the thin layer of scorch that outlines your body helps you keep warm. You are unwittingly radiating a pink hue around you. Cyra and the cotton ball you now named Chion are playing as usual as Kritzephyr sharpens his dagger. You wonder why he feels the need to carry a blade when he has several of those for teeth already.

“How do you know I don’t?” 

You falter when he responds with a question in that blizzard voice of his. He steals a glance when you’re not looking, and the corners of his lips curl ever so slightly. 

So you come to the forest looking for him when the sun is out, too, huh?

“I sleep through the day now,” you pierce the silence again, a somewhat bashful smile creeping up your lips as you glue your eyes on the small fire you set before you.

“Why?”

“So that I can wake up at night.”

“But why?”

Isn’t it obvious? It should be obvious, but he insists. It embarrasses you when he does. You feel like you are overstepping even though you are the owner of everything the light touches. 

“No… reason,” your voice wanes into a whisper.

He has been alone for as long as he can remember and liked it that way. Never in a million years did he think there would come a day he would enjoy someone’s company. He likes asking you questions he knows the answers to. He likes being liked by you. 

Maybe a bit too much.

“It is not wise,” he sternly declares as he turns the other side of the blade. “The forest is crawling with all kinds of beasts.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“By blasting little matches from your hands?”

Oh, you see red. It makes you so mad that you unleash that fury by sending a raging fire on a mass of ice floating on the river. It doesn’t melt; it immediately sublimates.

“That was unnecessary,” he looks at the hot vapor floating in the air with blank eyes.

“What does it take with you?!” you jump to your feet in exasperation. “I have done nothing to you! Why are you so cold to me?”

“Are you really asking that to me?” he retorts, voice as calm as a winter night, and points to his left to remind you of the white blanket covering the entire forest. There is nothing but ice as far as the eye can see.

“If you didn’t want me here, you would tell me to go,” you pout with the stubbornness of a child.

“I did. Many times,” he corrects. “You don’t seem to understand what it means.”

“Do you… really not want me here?”

He looks up at you and witnesses your sorrowful eyes. The glow around you has turned into a faded pastel. Fuck, he has gone too far. He panics really really bad and feels his chest tightening. He wants to ask you to burn him alive as punishment. No. No. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. 

“It’s… n–nice,” he stammers, “wh–when you are here.”

You smile at him so brightly that he can feel his spine sweating again. Your heart takes flight. You rush to his side and sit right next to him, one hand gently caressing his face. He melts a little more when he feels you on his skin.

“What are you so afraid of, my ice king?”

He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. He wants the world to stop. He wishes he could be something else other than the monster he is. He can’t even look you in the eye as much as he wants to.

“Of… scaring you,” he quietly replies.

“You mean when you change?”

He musters a little courage and aims his Alexandrites at your gaze. His brows are furrowed. They are furrowed so often that there are permanent creases on his forehead.

It still doesn’t take anything away from his beauty. 

“Do you know what happens when my kind falls in love, princess?” he continues without waiting for an actual answer. “It’s very ugly.”

The glow around you suddenly turns hot pink when he says fall in love. You wonder whether that question means what you think it means. You have heard things about Lycans being… devoted creatures, but that’s about it. 

“But how can something as pure as the snow be ugly?” you ask him with genuine curiosity.

He squeezes his eyes like he’s in pain, then abruptly stands up to leave.

“You won’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” you grab onto his wrist.

“No.”

“Tell me!”

He turns around and kneels to be at eye level with you. From that up close, he looks like a predator about to devour you in one bite, eyes glowing a ferocious violet. He looks enraged. He looks wild.

He looks hungry.

“I will forsake everything that’s not you. I will know no such thing as a moral compass, and I will be solely ruled by my instincts. Anything and anyone that dares to take you away from me will perish. My devotion to you will be my sole guide in everything I do, and every full moon, I will love you so vehemently that you will gasp for air. Will you still want to be my crystal bride THEN?!”

You lean forward and take his lips within yours with no hesitation. He doesn’t push you away this time. His is a passion so clandestine, and the frost it’s buried under is the only thing that can calm your blaze. It doesn’t matter that he is a beast; it’s still as pure as the snow surrounding you. His kiss is a soothing touch on your lips. Your kiss is a cozy embrace on his. It feels like the exact thing the other needs.

…has needed since lifetimes ago.

“Yes,” you delicately hold his face in your hands. “As long as you have room for me in your heart, I will always want to be your bride for an eternity.”

He holds you tight in his embrace, feeling your heat on his fingertips. As he tastes your lips deeper, your heat comes back, fueling his. There are voices in his head, whispering abominable things to him. His breathing escalates. He is scared of himself because he can feel how violent he is getting inside.

He forces himself to stop even though it’s not even the last thing he wants.

“Do you not… want me?” you look at him with the saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

“There is nothing I want more,” he holds your hands tightly. “Not in this life, not in any other, but just…”

You are willing to completely devote yourself to him, but you can’t understand why he is so apprehensive. It’s not naive to think he’s not going to willingly hurt you. Maybe he will, but even if he does, you know it will not be because he wants to inflict pain on you. Even if he does, pain from his hands will still taste so sweet, you know it. 

You just know it.

“You are my snowdrop,” his face falls with shame. “How can I ever do this to you?” 

Your sorrow subsides, and a smile blooms on your lips again. Your heart swells with your adoration for him.

“You are not doing anything to me,” you touch his face. “I want to belong to you. I already belong to you; I just want to seal it. 

“I don’t wish for you to… see me like that,” he divulges his biggest fear. “I don’t want you to be scared of me. It will kill me if you abandon me with myself again.”

You lift his chin and make him face you. His beautiful eyes are glowing a faded blue. You press your hand on his chest, hoping against hope that you could absorb some of his burden.

“There is nothing that can make me walk away from you,” you reassure him. “Even you couldn’t.”

A small drop of relief burns his chest. He kisses your hands with gentleness that does not match his frame.

“In three nights’ time, it will be new moon,” he hesitantly speaks. “If you… still want me then…”

“I will always want you.” 

He can’t help himself and steals a kiss from you again. It rapidly escalates. You force yourself to stop this time because otherwise you won’t be able to keep your hands off of him. You know you belong here with him, but if your ice king wishes for it to be on a new moon night, you shall respect it.

You shall be his under the sheets of the night.

“In three nights’ time, I shall take you as my bride,” he kisses your forehead and sees you off. “Come back to me safely, my queen.”

He watches the fiery bird whisking away the owner of his heart until it becomes another gleaming star in the sky. As he touches his still ablaze lips to feel you once again, he notices there are remains of a smile there. He feels excited. He feels nervous.

“Good evening, my lord,” a raven-haired woman approaches closer. “Went for a walk in the moonlight, did we?” 

And when he hears that voice, he feels furious.

His smile immediately perishes. He doesn’t acknowledge her and walks away with firm steps.

“Didn’t you forget a little something during your little… confession?” she chirps, following right behind him. “Like how you are supposed to take me as your bride?”

“I told you this many times,” he responds without looking at her. “No such thing will happen.”

“I am your fate, my lord. No one can go against it.”

“Only fools would believe in your voodoo called fate,” he suddenly turns around and threateningly points at her. “And even if it existed, you sure as heavens would not be in mine.”

She is not intimidated in the slightest. She contently chuckles like a lunatic instead. He attempts to leave, but with a snap of a finger, poison ivies from both sides of the path hold hands and block his way. 

“This is your friendly warning. I strongly urge you to come to your senses and untether yourself from the princess when there is still time, or I will not be as nice next time,” she warns. “I will destroy everything you hold dear.”

Snowdrops are in full bloom in Skotia Woods, but when she stares at them with that much envy in her eyes, they turn charcoal black and wither in an instant.

“Starting with her,” she places a kiss on his bare shoulder and walks away with a sinister smile.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘

“Stop looking so nervous. We are here to shop,” your forced plus one hisses under his breath, his arm linked with yours. “You’re my queen. Act like it.”

You start walking among the tables hosting different casino games, the kind of cash that can save a small country thrown around like measly tips. It’s unclear what fund is being raised for what cause here since nothing about blood money says philanthropy.

“Your little trick at the bar,” you speak softly not to raise suspicion, watching dice roll and cards flip all around. “Your core is ice?”

“If you have to ask, I will start second-guessing my estimation of your intelligence,” he responds with a smirk.

“Is it considered cannibalism if you eat ice cream?” 

“Very amusing,” he turns his head to you. “Quit your job and come be my personal entertainer instead. I’ll pay you bank.”

“You’re a Sigma gene holder, too,” you grimace, not hearing him. “How can you even live with yourself?”

“You’d be surprised what you can live with, beautiful. Nothing is ever what it seems,” he heaves an indifferent sigh, detaching himself from you once he notices a table in the distance. “Wait for me here.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do by myself?!” you shriek.

“Just check out the merchandise,” he fixes his cuffs. “If you like something, put it on my tab.”

“Can’t I just come with you?”

“Entrance is by invitation only, and not even being my mistress entitles you to admittance.”

“Your mistress?” you repeat in the language of ‘I beg your fucking pardon?’

“What? You’re still my queen,” he smiles with mirth in his eyes. “Do you see anyone around wearing wedding rings? People come here to misbehave.” 

He pulls you close by your waist, catching you off guard, but as soon as the distance between you becomes almost nonexistent, his face falls. The smug grin evaporates. He looks like he’s getting mad at something, and you can see his eyes are slowly turning violet again.

She is yours. Take her.  

A shiver slides down his spine.

He has never felt anything like this before in his life. A hot flash envelops him like a straitjacket, immobilizing all his faculties of reason, and he suddenly feels very antsy. His chest is tightening, his heart rate is escalating, and his teeth are itching. He wonders if he’s on the verge of a heart attack because if he is, he really needs to get his priorities straight—all he can think about is creaming your pussy so thick that it gushes out of you.

Then you kiss him out of nowhere like an intrusive thought, and his knees almost give way.

An intense wave of déjà vu washes over you. His taste, the shape of his lips, the texture of his skin, everything is so maddeningly familiar as if you’ve been kissing each other for decades already, and it drives you crazy that you don’t know from where. It’s just a kiss, but you can feel something long dormant within you has just been set alight. You just can’t be sure if there was a sign inside that said Do not awaken.

When you look at each other again, his eyes somehow turn into shooting stars—they flash luminous violet for the briefest moment, but the gleam instantly dies out. 

“Do not mingle. I don’t like anybody touching what’s mine, and I’m not in the mood to off someone,” he speaks into your lips in a hushed tone. “It’s hard to find a body shop that doesn’t ask questions at this hour.”

He then walks away, and something finally releases you from its death grip. You can breathe normally again, though slightly dazed like you just woke up. You pat your cheeks to snap out of it and channel your attention to the room instead, scanning the tables for any familiar faces. 

“Good evening.”

To your left stands a man. He wears a cologne crafted to make people smell like gentlemen, but it isn’t enough to mask the stench of his sleaziness. 

“Good evening,” you greet him nevertheless. 

“You seemed so lonely from afar,” he approaches closer. “Can I offer my company to the beautiful lady?”

“Oh, I’m with…”

You don’t know anything about this man! Do people know he’s Zephyr? Does he go by another name? You don’t want to divulge something you’re not supposed to and make people even more suspicious. You would prefer it if you stayed in one piece tonight.

But you’re horribly blanking. 

“…a date,” you eventually finish your sentence.

“Some date, huh?” he rests his hand on your bare shoulder. “I wouldn’t let a beauty like you off my arm for one second.”

You stare daggers at the fingers calloused from counting so much money, giving this entitled slime a three-second grace period to fucking remove it. You’re trying your best not to make a scene here, but if it comes to that, you’re not above killing a man just with your thumb. 

“Do you want me to handcuff you to myself, baby? Because I’ll do it,” a maniacal voice graces your ears.

His blizzard arrives before Zephyr does. He appears out of thin air and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as if to shield you. He pierces a hole into the slime’s forehead with his radioactive aqua eyes, bright enough to blind half the room, yet he has such a pleasant smile on his face. So damn pleasant that it’s fucking terrifying. 

“Good evening, Markus. Did you have a death wish?” he politely asks. 

“M–Mr. Bang,” the slime stutters, clearly about to faint. He then bows so deep, his forehead almost touches the tip of his toes. “I apologize, sir. I–I didn’t know you had a guest with you.”

“Guest doesn’t quite cover our bond,” he turns to you and gently kisses your neck. “Wouldn’t you say, my queen?”

He is yours. Make him kneel. 

His lips make contact with your skin, and you hear words reverberate inside your head. You don’t know why, but you believe it. In that moment, you believe you are his queen. Your heart has already started doing weird somersaults when he’s close by, but the more you are around each other, the stronger your body seems to be responding. 

When you remain silent, he lightly squeezes your side for you to come to your senses and react.

“Stop embarrassing me in public,” you touch behind your ear and giggle bashfully.

He knows it’s fake, but it still sounds like music to his ears. He holds your hand and brings it to his nose, the hot flash blasting on his face at full force again. His eyes close on their own. He doesn’t know why either, but he finds himself inhaling your scent from your wrist and softly kissing it, looking damn near blackout drunk. Or maybe he’s been drunk this entire time. 

On what, the jury’s still out on that.

“Keep this seat warm for me, will you? Your man has a little… business to take care of,” he emphasizes, holding your chin. “Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back before your drink arrives.”

He’ll be away just for a few minutes, but he still kisses your lips goodbye like he’s going to war, and your heart tries to break free from your throat. You get whiplash when the butterfly-adjacent feelings quickly turn to stone-cold terror as Markus gets dragged to what seems like a supply closet in the distance. It’s so loud that nobody even bothers to look in that direction when the door slams close.

“Which hand did you touch her with?” Zephyr asks with eerie tranquility. 

“Sir, please…”

“Which… hand?”

Markus raises his right. Zephyr grabs the work gloves resting on a shelf nearby and shoves them in the slime’s mouth. His face contorts in pure rage, and there’s no telling what he’s about to do to this man. 

But all of a sudden, he stops as if invisible fingers pull him back from his collar. 

“What am I doing?” he shakes his head like he’s just coming to his senses. His features soften, he smiles, and reaches for a handshake. “Just promise me that you won’t do it again, okay?”

Markus fervently nods and takes the hand that will absolve him. As soon as the ice-cold fingers wrap around his, however, his entire arm freezes solid, little snowflakes forming on his skin with subtle crackling sounds. It feels so fucking heavy that he’s about to fall to his side. He can’t move.

“But you did touch my queen, though.”

Zephyr twists the arm as hard as he can, and it breaks with a loud crack like he’s walking on ice wearing lava shoes. Markus’ eyes immediately well up with tears, his ear-piercing scream a mere whimper because of the suppressor he’s chewing on.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” his punisher smiles like all is well and leaves. 

When he walks back into the loud room, Zephyr spots you grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. He smiles again, but this time it’s by no means saccharine. Come to think of it, this might be the only thing from tonight that was genuine. 

Well, along with that other thing that happened when he kissed you.

“Aw, you care about me,” he coos while reaching for the extra flute in your hand. 

“Bang,” you repeat what you’ve heard a few moments ago. “What’s your first name? Click?”

“Trying to be funny?” 

“Not trying, I’ve been told I’m very amusing,” you imitate him. 

“You are,” he acknowledges, clinking his glass with yours. “My offer stands. Just one hour a night with me, and I’ll change your life.”

“I’m not your actual mistress,” you deadpan. You’re not sure you even want to hear the answer, but your morbid curiosity puts a gun to your head to ask him, “You didn’t do something to him, did you?”

“Doesn’t concern you since he will soon be a dead man,” he casually answers.

“What? Why?!”

“Because no one touches what’s mine,” he leans into your face, “and certainly not my queen.”

“I’m not your queen!” 

“Aren’t you, though?”

He rests a finger on your collarbone and slowly drags it towards your cleavage where the pendant of a snowflake necklace rests. 

“Such good taste,” he admires. “You should know, nothing turns me on more than blind loyalty.” 

“How the fuck is wearing a necklace pledging my allegiance to you?” you cock a brow.

“Everything ice touches is mine, snowdrop,” he firmly declares. 

You shudder from head to toe when you hear that name.

No one has ever called you that before. You’re not sure you’ve even seen snowdrops in your life. Then…

Then why?

“Dance with me,” he holds your hand and pulls you to a secluded corner. 

He doesn’t ask. He tells and he does. For such a crass man, he holds you unusually tenderly. A strange feeling fills you up when you look into his eyes. They are so distinct; no way there is another pair like this in the universe, let alone in Verona City. Which is why it’s even more uncanny that you feel like… 

…you know him. 

You don’t know why you feel the need to wrap your arms around him tighter, but you do. For the first time the entire night, you see him get the tiniest bit flustered, and it surprises you.

“You’re not really the big bad wolf you make yourself out to be, are you?” you chuckle.

“Sure,” he suppresses the laughter growing in his throat. 

He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t know you, not personally at least. This is the very first time you have interacted in person, yet it still ticks him off to homicidal levels when he notices the mark on your neck.

“Wasn’t aware you were already running with the wolves,” he clenches his jaw. “I’m a very jealous man, just so you know.”

“Look who’s trying to outfunny me,” you scoff.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I’m known to cause bloody scenes,” he responds flatly, “but you already know that.”

“I don’t know what your sick mind is imagining, but that’s a birthmark,” you inform him.

He doesn’t believe it. It looks too distinct to be a birthmark. He wonders if he can remove it if he stares at it long enough. He wonders when you would be available for a dermatology appointment.

His thumb caresses the mark, and you suddenly wince like someone has pinched you. A frame of a frozen lake flashes before his eyes in one-tenth of a second. 

She is yours. Take her.  

He looks at your lips. You look at his. The violet shooting stars appear again, but they don’t immediately die this time. Your hands move on their own and slide down his broad chest. His hands move on their own and slide down your back. One of them stops at your hips, but the other continues until it reaches your inner thighs. You suddenly forget what you’re supposed to do, where you are, who you are… 

All you know is that you want him deliriously.

He is yours. Devour him.

“Christopher,” he says out of nowhere.

You don’t understand what that has to do with anything. Your eyes narrow when this unfamiliar name caresses your ears. 

“My name,” he repeats, not even blinking as he breathes heavily. “It’s Christopher.”

Christopher. Chris.

This is the very first time you’ve heard it, but somehow a part of you still wants to say “I know”. You look around to see if there is a clock nearby so you can declare the time of death for Zephyr. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask him. “It can and will be used against you.”

Chris never sweats, but he can feel the drops forming on his spine. He can feel the scorching heat you are exuding, pulling him in, swallowing him whole, threatening to melt him to depletion. But he doesn’t care. 

Even a man who has seen everything including death needs to be entertained sometimes. 

“Because I wanna hear you moan it,” he answers and crashes into your lips headfirst.

You grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close until your back hits against a wall. That tight space you are squeezed in between a locked door and an out-of-order slot machine is not exactly interchangeable with a room. You are indecently groping each other in a room full of people. Any passerby can see what you’re doing if they squint into the darkness, but you don’t care. This isn’t a sudden itch you have to scratch. This isn’t a whim you are luxuriating in. 

This feels like a survival need that has to be met right now, otherwise you will fucking die.

As he lets you undo his belt, Chris runs his hand up your thigh. He slides your underwear to the side and teases your dampened folds. You are wet, but you can’t take him like this. Without him getting you to beg for mercy. Without him working you to the brink of passing out. Without him making you flow a river of slick.

Slick.

SLICK.

He sees red.

She is yours. Take her.  

GOD he should have just grabbed your hand and fucked right off to an obscenely expensive bedroom somewhere, but he’ll make do with what he has. 

He harshly rips your underwear and drops to his knees, sliding your dress up to your hips. Fuck, you look so tight. Oh, you look like he could gobble you up in one bite. Like he could swallow you whole.

He puts your pussy in his mouth, and that’s exactly what he does.

He is yours. 

His hands are wrapped around your thighs, firmly keeping you in place, but you feel like an earthquake is happening. You don’t understand how this is even possible. He just licks, but licks deep. He licks like a dedicated servant serves the master he’s crazily in love with, so intense that you’re screaming at the top of your lungs like you’re getting triple penetrated. It’s intense, but you still push his head deeper into your cunt, trying to beg for your release. You would if you could form a single sentence. All that comes out of your mouth is incoherent sounds of pleasure. And guttural moans of his name. 

Chris is about to lose it. 

The more his tongue flicks on your swollen clit, the hungrier he gets. The more he pushes you to the edge, the more your legs shake. It’s alright. He just needs you to be ready for him. He needs your walls all engorged. He needs you to drown him in your slick.

Slick.

SLICK.

“CHRIS!!!”

The more you seize with inhuman amounts of pleasure, the more he feels an inhuman kick between his legs. 

You dig your fingers into his shoulders and pull him up, then latch yourself to his lips. The more you swirl your tongue around his to taste yourself, the more you feel the rasp of the growl in his throat. You finally free him and palm his girth, but something feels odd enough to make you stop and stare. 

He’s… big. Inhumanely so.

It caresses his colossal ego that your jaw drops at his size, but your frantic movements come to such a sudden halt that he looks down, appalled at what he’s seeing himself. He is almost twice as big as he knows himself to be, and what leaks from his slit does not look like precum. You look at each other again. Your eyes are questioning. His neon violets are impatient.

“Spit on it,” he firmly orders. 

He says the words, and something drips down your thighs as though on command. It’s so much that you think you’ve soiled yourself for a moment. It’s thicker than water, but not as thick as blood. Colorless, but not at all odorless. Smells sweeter than a flower’s nectar, in fact.

It’s as if you’ve rented your mind and soul to someone else. You no longer feel like yourself. 

A deranged smile blooms on your lips as you stare at him. You collect all the spit in your mouth, let it slowly drip on his soaked tip, and as soon as it makes contact with his skin, your back hits the wall again. It hurts a little bit, but it hurts good. Your smile devolves into maniacal laughter that does not belong to you. 

So do your words.

“Devour me,” you demand with narrowed eyes.

And that’s exactly what he does.

You don’t remember ever feeling this wet. It’s so slippery that he slides right in despite his inhuman size, and he seems to be growing even bigger inside. The obscene squelch of his thrusts is the only thing you can hear. It hurts, but it feels so right. You feel like you’re about to burst with how full he makes you feel, but it feels so right. You might die right fucking now, but it feels so right that you’re on cloud nine.

“Chris…”

“Louder. No one’s gonna hear,” he pants into your mouth. “Now be a good girl and take it.”

“Chris.”

“Take it.”

“Chris!”

“Take it!!!”

Something explodes inside you with such pressure that it feels like a bomb has gone off, your thighs drenched with the cum gushing out of you. As the euphoric haze starts to clear, you feel disoriented like you’re coming down from a bad trip, and a sharp headache pierces your head. The awareness of what you’ve just done knocks on the door of your consciousness, but the commotion that you haven’t even noticed has erupted in the room doesn’t let you process any of that. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, sanity barely there. 

“We’re leaving,” Chris grabs your hand and bolts towards the exit. 

You remember there were maybe fifty people in here, but it’s as if the population has somehow tripled. Chris tries to push through the crowd as fast as he can, but there are so many people trying to make a break for it that they push through you, the torrent of bodies separating you in an instant.

“CHRIS?!”

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

“CHR—!”

The loud explosion temporarily deafens you. Darkness swallows your vision as the ringing in your ear subsides. The last thing you remember from your consciousness is a painful howl,  but it’s not a bone-chilling omen of danger.

It sounds like a lament over something that will never come back.

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*a/n: End of Vol. I. Don't freak out; this story only has two volumes.

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「© 2025-26, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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Contents:

The first glimpse

The aftermath and the persistent pursuit

Pang of guilt, aka fucking fish cakes

Dark grey, like the storm

Soft smiles and tea leaves...

To be written...

Quotev link AO3 link

Playlist for this baddie:

Please give this story some love, it is my first tumblr story. Every like and reblog is welcomed and appreciated.