dead dove friendly

you were too tired to care the first time you saw him.

it was past seven, and everything outside grew darker as the sun set. the train coach smelled faintly of damp coats and old air conditioning. you’d just finished your last class of the week, eyes dry from staring at slides for hours, your shoulders aching under the weight of your tote... all you wanted was to lean against the cool glass and zone out until your stop. that’s when you noticed him.

a tall guy, maybe early twenties... your age. leaning casually against the wall near the far doors. black hoodie, plain jeans, one hand loosely hooked into his pocket. his face was unfairly sharp for someone you’d see on public transport. hair falling into his eyes, cheekbones high, the kind of bone structure you’d expect from a campus heartthrob or some underground model. a handsome stranger. that was all you thought. your stop came, and you forgot about him.

but the next time you boarded, there he was again. same coach. same spot. same hoodie.

you thought it was a coincidence. you even caught yourself glancing over once or twice, just to check. he didn’t smile, didn’t look away when your eyes met, just watched you with an unreadable focus. it wasn’t the kind of stare that tried to be polite or quick. it lingered, like he was cataloging you piece by piece.

the following night, you noticed the little things. how he didnt have a bag with him, despite it being late enough that most people were heading home from either work or school. the way he boarded from the same door you did, no matter which station you got on from. the way he stood far enough to never touch you, yet close enough that you could hear the faint shift of fabric whenever he adjusted his stance.

when you stepped onto the train again the next day, your chest tightened. different hoodie this time, dark grey instead of black, but he stood in the same posture, eyes flicking to you like he’d been waiting. you told yourself you were imagining it. big city. busy nights. people overlapped all the time.

and yet… there was that moment, when the train rattled through a tunnel and you caught his reflection in the window beside you. he wasn’t pretending to look elsewhere. he wasn’t pretending at all. his gaze stayed on you... unblinking.

another night came, the pattern repeated. you were already tense before you even saw him. the station platform was unusually quiet, just the hum of the escalator and the faint echoes of footsteps. you told yourself not to check. don’t look for him. don’t give yourself more reasons to feel paranoid. but when the train doors slid open, there he was. same seat, same demeanor. watching you step in like it was routine. you sat two rows down, pulling your bag onto your lap, pretending to scroll through your phone. your eyes stayed fixed on the screen, but you could feel it. the prickling awareness of being seen.

then you heard it. at first you thought it was the hiss of the train brakes or the mumble of someone’s music bleeding from their headphones. but no… his voice was low, soft, almost too quiet to catch.

“…pretty… so tired tonight…”

your stomach dropped. was he talking to you? you looked up, and his gaze didn’t waver. lips moving faintly, his tone just above the clatter of the tracks.

“…mm… wanna see you… closer…”

you couldn’t be sure. maybe it wasn’t meant for you. maybe he was on a call. but his hands were empty, no phone, no earbuds. just that soft, muttered thread of words. like he wasn’t speaking to you exactly, but to himself… about you.

you tried really hard to ignore him let yourself sink further into the seat, body heavy with exhaustion, but then a lady stepped in. pregnant. her hands resting protectively over her rounded belly. the sight made guilt stab through your chest. you hated how your first thought was selfish, how badly you wanted to stay sitting, how the ache in your legs begged you not to move. it felt mean, wrong, but you couldn’t ignore it. with a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself up, every muscle protesting. you forced a small smile at her as you passed, then made your way near the door, planting yourself against it for support.

you only closed your eyes for a few minutes when you realized the mystery guy got closer. you didn’t notice until you felt the warmth of someone behind you and the faint rustle of his jacket when the train swayed. he didn’t touch you, not really… but when you glanced over your shoulder, his head tilted the slightest bit, like he’d been leaning just enough to catch the scent of your shampoo.

your gaze should’ve snapped away, but it didn’t. it dipped lower, catching the unmistakable shape of his hand pressed flat against himself. he wasn’t hiding it. his palm cupped the heavy outline straining beneath the dark fabric of his sweatpants, fingers flexing like he couldn’t stop himself. the movement was deliberate… up, down, squeezing along the bulge of his cock like he was testing how hard he’d gotten just from standing this close to you. you saw the way his knuckles tightened, how his hips twitched forward almost subtly, dragging his length against his own hand.

that was when you noticed it. looped to his belt, half hidden under his hoodie. a faded lanyard, the kind given out by campuses. the ID card inside was scratched, edges cloudy, but the print was still legible. Anton Lee.

the name stuck in your head, sharp as a splinter. anton. not just a stranger anymore.

heat rose in your face, a sick, crawling kind of awareness rooting you in place. around you, the train rattled, people shifted, no one noticed. but you saw it. you saw the way his jaw clenched, a thin breath shuddering from his chest as he ground his palm down slow, like he was savoring it. then, he mouthed something. you couldn’t hear it over the chatter, but you could read it.

don’t get off alone.

it sent a chill down your spine. his voice was quiet, but the intent was clear. your instincts screamed for you to run, to escape his intoxicating presence. you didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to acknowledge what lay beneath the surface of this interaction.

your stop came. people filtered out around you, and you didn’t look back. until you reached the escalator.

you heard his footsteps. steady and matching yours. you took the long way out of the station, looping past the convenience store instead of going straight home. he didn’t close the distance, didn’t say a word... just trailed at that perfect distance, far enough to vanish at a glance, near enough to follow without looking like he was.

when you finally reached your street, you dared a glance over your shoulder. he was there. hands in pockets. watching you. and this time, when you unlocked your door, you swore you saw the corner of his mouth lift.

your body shivered and your hair was still frizzy from the gentle drizzle of rain. it had been days since you last saw anton, and as you boarded the train, you were too busy wiping your glasses to notice him. exhaustion from a late lecture weighed heavily on you. it wasn’t until the train jolted into motion that you felt that familiar itch at the back of your neck. you didn’t need to look, you already know. his reflection in the window confirmed your suspicion, same sharp jawline, same stillness, and that steady gaze that held yours even when you caught it.

the ride was quiet. just the squeal of the tracks, a cough from someone three rows away, and his whispers again. not constant and never obvious. just small bursts, like thoughts escaping before he could swallow them back.

“…mm… wearing that again…”

“…wet hair… pretty…”

you tried to tune him out, eyes glued to the scrolling station names. you told yourself not to flinch when the train rocked and his arm brushed yours. when your stop came, you moved fast, slipping into the crowd, hoping the rain would be enough to make him stay behind.

it wasn’t.

you caught the sound first. the unhurried taps of his shoes on wet pavement behind you. he walked slow, not rushing and that made your skin crawl even more. you took the usual route home, but halfway down the narrow side street, your umbrella got caught on a low hanging branch. cursing yourself, you stopped for a split second to free it, and it was long enough for him to close the distance. when you straightened, he was there. not touching, not blocking the way. just close enough that you could feel the faint heat of him against the cool rain. his eyes dragged slowly over your face, down your shoulders, then back up again.

“you always walk this way...” anton said finally. not a question. just an observation. his voice was quiet, low enough that you had to lean in without meaning to. the corner of his mouth curled, the same creepy smile you’d seen the other night.

“you don’t look scared...”

“i’m not.” you lied.

he chuckled under his breath, tilting his head like he was studying something rare. then, softer, almost to himself. “…bet you’d look so pretty pressed against that wall.”

you felt your heart pulsing in your throat. the wall he meant was right there, rough brick and half hidden from the streetlights. before you could move, his hand brushed your wrist. not gripping, just a fleeting touch, like he was testing how far you’d let him go. when you didn’t pull away fast enough, his fingers slid higher, curling loosely around your forearm as he guided you backward, step by step, until your shoulders met the damp brick.

the rain pattered harder, masking the sound of his breathing. you didn’t want to show him how scared you were, but you can’t control the tears from leaving your eyes. at this point, you’re helpless. he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his words against your cheek when he murmured.

“been thinking about you, every night on that train… how soft you’d be if i just…” his hand skimmed your hip. not groping. just slow traces that made your stomach knot.

“you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

the rain clung to your clothes, making the fabric heavy, clingy, almost see through under the weak streetlight. anton’s gaze was fixed on the way your shirt stuck to your chest, his breath slowing like he was trying to savor every inch. his fingers tightened just enough on your hip to make you feel the pressure through the damp fabric.

“god, you’re so fucking small up close...” he muttered, almost like it wasn’t meant for you to hear. his other hand came up, brushing the hair from your cheek, then lingering, his thumb dragging along your jaw. his lips ghosting yours, the hot breath fanning your face made you want to throw up.

“you’ve been walking past me for days, and you didn’t even notice...” he whispered, his voice rough.

“you think i don’t know exactly what time your classes end? what seat you take on the train?”

the words made you tense, but his body was warm, the wall behind you cold, and his hand… now sliding down, under your shirt. it made your stopped breathing. he touches were careful, like he’d been imagining this in detail long before tonight. his palm smoothed over your stomach before dipping lower, fingers pressing against the heat between your legs through your skirt.

“mm… so warm. if i split you open right now, you’d leak all over yourself...” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to watch your face.

the press of his fingertips grew firmer, pushing and poking sharply on your sensitive nub until you felt the heat coil low in your belly despite yourself hating it. his breathing hitched when you shifted against him, like the smallest reaction from you fed something in him. without warning, he stepped in closer. chest to yours, his knee sliding between your legs, nudging them apart just enough for him to slip his hand underneath. cold air rushed in before his fingers found you again, this time against bare skin.

“…fuck—so soft.” he hissed, curling his fingers, spreading you open just slightly. “been thinking about how you’d struggle to take me, squeezing me like a stupid girl” two fingers dipped lower, brushing where you were already slick from the mix of adrenaline and something you didn’t want to name.

“yeah just like that… let me feel you…”

he leaned in, his mouth at your ear, voice low and shaky now. “if you don’t stop me, i’m not stopping either.” the hand between your legs didn’t leave, even when you squirmed against the wall in a nervous half step. anton’s voice was low, almost soothing, like he was talking you into something instead of forcing it.

“that’s it… just relax for me, pretty.” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against your clit with the pads of his fingers, making the slick sounds between you embarrassingly loud in the quiet alley. “i told you… i’ve been waiting. you don’t have to think, just feel me.”

you barely had a moment to breathe before he pulled his fingers away, only to fumble at his belt. the quiet clink of the buckle felt deafening. your felt like your chest about to explode, back pressed harder into the wall like maybe if you tried hard enough, it could save you from him, but your body stayed where it was… like you were pinned by something invisible. anton didn’t look away from your face when he freed himself, his cock heavy and flushed in the cold night air. he stroked himself once, slow, the sound of his palm wet from you.

“look at you..” he whispered, almost a laugh in his tone. “already messy for me.”

he grabbed your thigh, lifting it slightly, pressing forward until the head of his cock nudged between your folds. anton didn’t even bother to take your panty off, just pulled it to the side and started shoving himself in you. you wanted to scream but nothing came out. the heat and the stretch were torture, your fingers instinctively clutching at the front of his shirt.

“shhh...” he soothed, his mouth brushing your temple. “let me in… you’re so tight, pretty… fuck—”

he pushed deeper, slow but relentless, until he was fully seated inside you, the wet sound of him filling you making his breath stutter. his hips pressed flush against yours, his hand still gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. the way he started kissing your neck like it was full of love... oh, you wished the thunder would strike you dead. you hated how it made you feel.

“god… i knew you’d fit me...” he breathed, eyes half lidded, lips brushing your ear. “knew you’d take me all the way in like a good doll.”

his thrusts started shallow, grinding deep into you with each push, his other hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you still. every time you made a small sound, he groaned, like your noises were enabling him.

“that’s right… just let me fuck my pretty passenger…” his words were broken by sharp exhales as his pace grew harder. “you’ve been walking past me for days, and all i could think about was this...” his hips slammed forward, abusing your cervix. you swear you weren’t able to breathe for a few seconds. he chuckled softly, the sound dark and almost affectionate.

“mine now… all mine, pretty thing.”

the pace turned rougher, the slap of his hips echoing in the narrow space, his breath coming out in short, desperate bursts. you barely realized his hand had slid between you again until his thumb pressed against your clit, forcing you to gasp as a wave of involuntary pleasure hit you.

“come on, doll… come with me.” he groaned, and your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. heat coiling, snapping, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you clenched around him.

anton’s thrusts turned brutal, chasing his own high even when your pleas were loud in his ears. he spilled into you without warning, the sensation was overwhelming you could feel your consciousness starting to leave you. he stayed buried inside you, his breath hot and rough against your neck, one hand still gripping the back of your head like he wasn’t ready to let go.

when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t gentle. the sudden emptiness made you stumble, and his hand caught your jaw, forcing your eyes up to his. the warmth you saw in his eyes from moments ago was gone. his expression was dead, the dark gleam in his eyes making the cold night felt harsher against your skin.