໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

“Psst. Hey.”

You don’t hear her the first time. Hissing your name under her breath a second time, Jennie grabs your arm as you walk past with a fresh bucket of ice, pulling you towards the nearest side station.

“Hey! That guy's in your section again.”

You freeze and set the bucket down behind the counter, watching her tilt her head towards the back corner of the restaurant. It’s hard to resist the urge to turn around and stare, but you manage to look nonchalant as you glance over your shoulder, pretending to scan the room. Sure enough, there he is: menu sitting untouched beside his plate, hands folded atop the table, and staring right at you.

Feeling your cheeks begin to burn, you quickly turn back around and busy yourself fidgeting with a stack of rolled-up napkins. You haven’t even talked to him yet, and somehow he still manages to fluster you. Suddenly you’re grateful that your coworker intercepted you, relieved to have at least a few more seconds to pretend to be focused while you have a chance to collect yourself.

“Have you gotten his number yet, girl? Or at least his name? Because I don't think he's gonna stop coming until you do.”

“No,” you tell her sheepishly, risking a discreet glance over your shoulder at him. Still staring. “I could’ve looked at his card when he signed the check, I guess. But that feels kinda invasive. He didn’t offer, so I didn’t ask.” 

She narrows her eyes playfully at you in disapproval. “Oh, come on, he’s been making ‘fuck-me’ eyes at you for weeks. That counts as him offering!” She shifts her weight, her lips pursed into a thin line like she’s thinking hard. “If you don’t wanna ask, then just… write your phone number on the back of his receipt or something. That would be—”

“—Unprofessional,” you finish for her. With a rag you wipe the condensation from the ice bucket, throwing out a glare at her when she huffs at your refusal. “He probably just likes the booth seats. Some people are weird like that, I don't know. I don’t even know if he’s available, either. That’s the more important question here.”

She gives you a doubtful look. “He shows up alone, every Wednesday night, and asks to be seated at the same table. You’re telling me you seriously think it’s because he likes the furniture? Why do you really think that is?”

“Then it’s the privacy, probably.” You shrug and move past her, dumping out the bucket and refilling it with fresh ice. “It’s the farthest away from the bar. Maybe he doesn’t like the noise.”

“Noise?” She scoffs and puts her free hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised as she goes silent for a few seconds. Even at the peak hours of the night there’s little more than a light chatter in the air, mixing with quiet jazz music playing from the building’s speakers. It’s a bullshit reason and you know it. But you aren’t going to give in to her pestering, and she must be able to sense that because she finally sighs and wipes her hand on her waist apron. “Fine. Whatever. But you can’t avoid him forever. Clearly he’s gonna keep showing up to see you.”

You give her a scowl, but she’s right. You totally are avoiding him, but realistically, what does she expect you to do? Ask him to fuck you on the table in the middle of your shift?

She hands you a chilled bottle of champagne, wiping the neck before draping the hand towel over the side of your bucket. Even she’s started to recognize his routine, ready with the bottle of Dom Perignon that he always asks for ahead of his meal, before anyone’s even taken his order yet. “Quit stalling and go over there, before he leaves us a bad review. He could be an undercover food critic or something, and then Joshua would really kill us.”

The threat of your boss throwing a fit over negative publicity is too real, so you glare at her one last time before inhaling a deep breath. You smooth down your apron and grab a folding stand for his drink. When you turn to start toward his table he’s still staring, but he perks up ever so slightly when he recognizes you starting to head in his direction.

As usual, you greet him with a smile and begin setting up the bottle, slicing open the foil and twisting the cage at the top of the champagne bottle to loosen it. And as usual, he sits back and watches, quiet and observant to your every move in a way that makes you more anxious than any other customer you’ve served.

“Hi— er, good evening. I apologize for the wait. We’ve been a little… slammed tonight.”

It would be impossible for him not to notice the fact that half the tables are empty, but to your relief he doesn’t mention it. There’s only one other party in your section right now, and they’ve been chatting over post-dinner coffee for nearly an hour. Compared to the nights when Rêverie is fully booked, your shift has been practically dead.

“That’s alright.” His voice is smooth, a hint of a low drawl to it that always makes you think of syrup for some reason: sweet and thick, with just the right amount of warmth. This man has the kind of voice that people fall asleep to. “I’m a patient guy.”

You try your best to ignore the tension between you, but it continues to build as he orders: a Steak au Poivre with the salad of the day. Something about the way the French names roll easily from his lips just does it for you, apparently. It takes all your energy to focus on keeping a straight face and not doing something to embarrass yourself.

Just as you start to walk away to relay his order to the kitchen, you hear your name in that familiar voice and you freeze, whipping around to face him. He’s sitting up straighter, leaned over the table to get a better view. He gestures to the nametag on your apron, repeating it once more as you look down at it in confusion. “Am I saying that right?”

Warmth burns in the tips of your ears. Why are you suddenly so shy? But deep down you know exactly why, and it’s no use trying to pretend you don’t. It’s because your name sounds so good on his tongue, long and leisurely and sexy. It’s a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing him say again, and again and again and—

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Great. I’ve been here so many times, I figured I should at least know your name by now.” He smiles and gives a small nod, relaxing back into his seat. There’s a mischievous look in his eye, a mix of coy and confident. “I’m Jeonghan.”

For a moment you let his name roll around in your head, attaching itself to your memory. As much as you hate to admit that Jennie was right, it feels good to finally have a name to go with the face that’s been haunting your workplace for weeks.

For the rest of the evening, something in the air feels different. Your glances across the room at his table are met with self-satisfied grins from him, always catching your eye and holding contact for a few seconds longer than he should. You find any excuse to linger at his table, refilling his water glass or bringing him another basket of bread so you can talk with him a little more. You can almost hear your manager Joshua’s voice in your head, scolding you for spending so much time with a customer instead of leaving them alone to enjoy their meal, but Jeonghan clearly doesn’t seem to mind.

“Why don’t you sit and have some champagne? There’s still half a bottle left,” he asks you at one point, patting the booth next to him with a smirk. “Plenty of room here for two.”

You sigh, putting your hand on your hip with a teasing smile, though the idea doesn’t sound as terrible to you as it probably should. “I’m working, Jeonghan. They’d fire me.”

“Fine,” he pouts, though he doesn’t press any further. You’ve begun to notice that while he loves to joke around, there’s a fine line he won’t cross when it comes to being serious. He pushes your buttons, but never to do any actual harm. Still, he winks at you as you grab an empty plate from his table to make yourself look busy. “Next week, then? I might need your opinion on the menu.”

“I’ll still be working next week, too,” you say with a roll of your eyes, but even that doesn’t dissuade him.

“Perfect. Then I’ll see you next week, same time, same place.”

Jeonghan stays far later than he usually does, picking at his food so he has more excuses to talk to you whenever you make your rounds to check on your tables. After a while the late crowd begins to filter in, and reluctantly he takes the hint, signing the check and leaving a much larger tip than he should, nearly equal to the cost of his meal. 

As much as you’d like him to stay and chat all night, there’s other reservations and Joshua would definitely throw a fit if any customers were kept waiting. There are only a few upscale restaurants in town besides Rêverie, and its reputation makes it difficult to get in. Reservations are so sought-after that they have to be booked at least a month in advance. Which means that either Jeonghan has connections that are important enough to pull some strings and get him a table every week, or he’s been booking them himself all this time. Either way, you have to give him a little bit of credit; his dedication is impressive.

When he walks out the door, coat slung over one arm as he waves goodbye, there’s a little nagging feeling in your chest that starts to build. You push it away and try your best to refocus on work, but before you know it, once the emptiness has settled over the night as you finish out your shift, you realize what that feeling is. You miss him. And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

The following Wednesday passes with another fairly quiet shift, so tonight you’re standing at the side station watching as Jeonghan walks through the doors, sneaking glances at him as he follows the hostess to his regular seat. This time you don’t procrastinate, moving away from your spot to take out a chilled bottle of his usual champagne and a fresh bucket of ice.

You try not to stare as you work, quickly setting up everything you need for his evening, but it’s hard not to let your eyes wander in his direction. He’s in a different suit tonight, a three-piece with a sleek vest underneath that makes his dark colored tie stand out.

As soon as he sits down he pulls out his phone, typing quickly before setting it face-down on top of the table. Taking it as your cue, you grab everything and head over to the booth, surprising yourself with how eager you are. It’s been nice, having something at work to look forward to, now that you aren’t denying how fond you’ve grown of Jeonghan.

You unfold the stand and place the bucket on it, positioning a towel as you prepare to uncork it, but he quickly waves his hand in the air to stop you.

“Oh, not tonight. Sorry,” he says. You frown a little from being surprised, but it’s nothing to worry about. Sometimes people want to switch up their routines. But he goes on, shifting in his seat. “I’m expecting company. But you can put everything on my card like usual.”

You freeze, trying not to show how taken aback you are. Company? It’s been nearly two months of this, of him showing up like clockwork every week, but you can’t expect him to not have friends to go out with. Or maybe a business dinner for work. Your ego is a little wounded from not being able to anticipate the change in his habits, but there’s definitely an explanation. Don’t jump to conclusions, you tell yourself.

“Right. My apologies. I shouldn’t have…” You trail off, but quickly cover it with a cough and bring back the friendly smile on your face. “Would you like me to come back when you’re ready to order, then, or should I grab drinks for the table while you wait?”

“We’ll wait to order together,” Jeonghan says assuredly. His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up and types something out quickly, not looking up at you again.

You stand there awkwardly for another few seconds before you finally nod and fold the ice bucket stand back up. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll go grab another place setting for you.”

Feeling more reluctant than before, you take the bottle back to the counter, fumbling to quickly collect an extra set of napkins and silverware along with a second menu. You know you shouldn’t have assumed, even if the customer is a regular like Jeonghan, but you still can’t help feeling blindsided. He isn’t acting any different, but something about tonight still feels strangely off.

You’re even more sure of that when you turn around again to start making your way back to his table. A few steps ahead of you, there’s a woman striding towards him: tall, elegant, her hair pulled up into a loose bun with small black strands framing her face like waves. You can’t help but stare; it feels like everything’s happening in slow motion, shell-shocked as you watch her duck down close to him to say something in his ear before she takes her seat across from him. You stand still for a moment, unable to move as he flashes her a wide grin and leans back in his seat. His body language is much more open now, one arm laid over the back of the booth with his legs splayed beneath the table, wide and casual.

It shouldn’t hurt so much—it shouldn’t hurt you at all—but it does. Weeks of shameless flirting, and for what? Was he just staking out restaurants for good date night spots all this time, waiting to find the right place to take his partner? Does that count as cheating, and should you let her know the way he’s been eyeing you up and down for the past couple months has been anything but professional?

You hesitate for just a moment longer as they talk animatedly, and eventually you have to swallow your pride and go interrupt them with the list of tonight’s specials. “Good evening. We’re happy to have you at Rêverie tonight. Can I get you both started with some drinks?”

Your usual monologue comes out stilted and cold, the same way you’ve rehearsed for what feels like hundreds of times every shift. In your peripheral you almost think you see Jeonghan narrow his eyes in a frown, but you keep your gaze directed at his guest so it’s hard to tell for sure. It’s easier to focus on her than to try to meet his eyes, still feeling embarrassed.

If he does notice it, though, then his partner does not, because she replies quickly and easily, ordering plain sparkling water with a friendly smile. Jeonghan does the same, but unlike every other night he’s been here, his voice similarly comes out flatter than normal, using as few words as possible.

After taking their orders and sulking back to your station, you resolve to avoid that end of the restaurant for the rest of the night. You don’t want to risk overhearing their conversation and whatever romantic bullshit they’re probably talking about. You’ve served enough couples in your time working in fine dining to know that they’re the worst type of customers. People think no one notices what they’re getting up to, but the staff are always aware. Whether it’s a first date, an anniversary, a birthday, or some other stupid occasion, no one is ever discreet about what they’re doing.

To make it even worse, your favorite coworkers aren’t here tonight. God, you really wish Jennie was working. She wouldn’t mind running interference for you. She’d understand better than anyone, now that you have a real reason to pretend Jeonghan doesn’t exist.

By the time he and his “date” leave for the night, you’ve made up your mind. No matter how flirty he is, no matter how much chemistry you have with him, from now on you’re going to act like he means nothing to you. It’s for the best, honestly. You should have known better than to get involved with a customer, and this was the warning you needed to get your priorities straight. As nice as he was, whatever was going on between you and Jeonghan is over, starting now.

Most days you look forward to the weekend and the well-needed time off that it offers, but this time you spend most of it anxiously awaiting the coming days. It’s not like you’ve ever particularly loved coming to work, but there’s a newfound sense of dread now that you know you might have to talk to Jeonghan again. At one point in time, the idea of seeing him almost would have excited you, but not anymore. Not after last week’s embarrassment.

When you get to Rêverie on Wednesday for your shift, you try to get lost in your work, making way more trips back to the kitchen than necessary. You know you’re lingering too much and probably getting in the way of the chef team, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from watching the clock, counting down the hours.

Still, nothing you do stops Jeonghan from arriving at his usual time and requesting to be seated at his usual table. Across the room you can see him arguing with the maître d', a new hire that’s barely finished her training, who timidly tries to explain that she isn’t allowed to do that. You haven’t had very many conversations with Mina yet, but you’ve gotta hand it to her, she’s been dedicated to the house rules. It’s just too bad that there isn’t any rule against customers making requests, no matter how annoying they are.

Before you can do anything to help her out Jennie appears at her side, empty tray in hand, and whispers something in her ear before pointing to the booth in your section. She nods, bowing slightly to Jeonghan and reluctantly leading him to the back corner of the restaurant.

Damn. And you’d almost thought that you might get out of this unscathed after all.

He’s alone again, but it’s hard to tell just from a first glance whether he’s expecting company again or not. You’re tempted to feign sick and beg Jennie to take over your section for the rest of the night, but you couldn’t do that to her. She’s busy enough with the tables in her own section. And besides, she’d just end up convincing you to go talk to him anyway, and you’re not in the mood for another pep-talk.

Mentally preparing yourself, you leave the bottle behind this time as you make your best attempt to walk over to his table with your head held high. The rejection from last week still stings a little, and you’re not eager to repeat the encounter by bringing along something unwanted for a second time.

As usual he greets you with a smile, and as usual your stomach fills with butterflies, despite your best efforts to push them down. This little crush on him you’ve developed clearly isn’t going to lead anywhere, you remind yourself. After so many weeks of seeing each other it’s hard to ignore the instinct to crack jokes, flirting at every opportunity, but the air feels different now. You just need to accept that you read the situation wrong, you made a mistake, and it’s time to move on. It’s better to be professional, anyway. Flirting too much with a customer is dangerous in the long run. It’s not worth losing your job over him.

Before you can even think about starting your customer service script, Jeonghan speaks right away, leaving you no room to skirt around the issue. “Why are you ignoring me?”

His voice is smooth like you’re used to, that low sound from deep in his throat that always makes you feel special for some reason, like he’s talking to you and only you. Chewing on your lip, you have to remind yourself that that’s not true. It never was.

In a split second, you have to decide whether to play along with your faux-friendly waiter voice or confront him, but the importance of keeping your job prevents you from doing the latter. Making a scene in public is the last thing you need, on top of everything else. Instead, you internally give yourself permission to be as passive aggressive as you want to him. You’re fairly good at letting it roll right off your back, but working in this industry sometimes you need more than a friendly smile and a good attitude. No, this is the attitude you usually save for rude, entitled, spoiled, rich, bratty assho— well, er, difficult customers. Either way, right now Jeonghan is being one of those “difficult customers”.

So you plaster on an even brighter, even faker smile and stand up straight, your hands folded formally behind your back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. Shall we start with drinks, or are we still waiting for the rest of our party to arrive?” That last line is spiteful and comes out more snarky than you mean it to, but you can’t lie that it doesn’t feel good to say, not after the roller coaster of emotions he’s put you through.

“Right.” Jeonghan sighs and nods once, as if he finally understands. At least he has the decency to look a little wounded at your words, but you know by now that it’s an act. “I guess I deserved that.”

He pauses for a second like he’s debating his next words. “No,” he answers finally, tilting his head back to look up at you. God, those eyes. Your stomach flips at the sight of his bashful face, faintly hidden behind his thin, wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m here alone. Last week…” he lets out another long sigh as he pauses. Does he think it’s amusing to have to explain this to you? You want to slap him right across his gorgeous, perfect face.

“That was my boss. She’s retiring. Last week—Wednesday—was her last day, and I’m taking over her position at the company. So we had dinner to celebrate.” He glances down at the table, and if you didn’t know any better you might almost think he was being sheepish. “And she’s happily married, by the way. To her wife. Not me.”

“Oh.”

After a few seconds of silence you realize how dumb you sound, standing there taking in this news. Come on! All you have to say for yourself is ‘oh’? But his explanation actually makes sense, and his honesty catches you so off guard that you can’t think of any other reply.

If he’s humored by your reaction, he doesn’t show it. In fact, the next words out of his mouth are the last thing you’re expecting to hear. “Look, I get how it probably seemed, and that’s my fault. I wasn’t planning on taking her here, but she’d never been and she’d heard me rave about the food so many times before, so…” Jeonghan exhales, nostrils flaring a little bit as he trails off. “I’m sorry. I mean it. I wasn’t trying to give you the wrong impression.”

“And what impression is that?” FInally getting control of your tongue again, you fold your arms over your chest as you stare down at him. A small part of you is proud of yourself, for managing to recover and string together a coherent reply. But deep down, his apology is appreciated. It’s not every day that a man in your life accepts blame, especially when he’s the one who’s been leading you on.

“The impression that I’m not single. And not wondering if you are, too.”

You nearly choke, struggling to process what he’s just said. The worst part is the sincerity in his gaze as he looks at you, how he meets your eyes and doesn’t back down, as if challenging you to keep denying your feelings for him. It’s the most forward he’s ever been in all the times he’s come here, a buildup of weeks of flirtation and shy back-and-forth. The confidence with which he finally acknowledges it, out loud and explicit, gives you a rush you’ve never felt before.

He just continues to sit there staring up at you, waiting expectantly, and suddenly you realize you’ve been silent for way too long. What do you even say to follow up to that? 

Afraid of getting too far ahead of yourself, you shift your weight, arms still crossed defensively. “So then what’s the reason you keep coming here so often? The food, or me?”

“Both.” He smirks, pleased with his answer when you pretend to frown at him. “But mostly you. There’s any number of fancy places I could throw money away at in this city, but there’s only one that has you.”

And just like that, you feel yourself melting. It’s a cheesy, overused line, but somehow coming from his mouth it works. It should be studied, the way his voice makes you feel like the most important person in the room.

“Fine. I’ll bite. What is it you want? Besides annoying me every Wednesday night.”

“Well, first of all, I’d like to order my dinner. Still a paying customer, after all.” There’s that grin again, the one that makes you want to strangle him to death and then kiss him afterward. “But I wanna see you after your shift tonight, if you’d let me. Maybe go somewhere. Dessert’s on me.”

You sigh, checking your wristwatch. “I don’t get off for another… three and a half hours. You aren’t really gonna wait here that long, are you?”

“I’d wait forever for you, beautiful. Told you I was a patient guy.”

You pretend to make a gagging sound, but he only grins at your reaction. You have to admit, he’s kind of endearing. “We have other customers, you know. You’re taking up space.”

“I’ll leave a nice tip, don’t worry,” he chuckles, not a bit offended. “Maybe I’ll demand to see the manager so I can tell them how good the service was. Do you think that’d win me some points?”

“Alright, alright! I’ll decide whether I’m feeling up to it or not once I get off. I’ve been here all day already. That’s all I’m gonna promise.”

Jeonghan flashes a smug smile as he crosses his arms, a casual gesture, but it emphasizes the broadness of his shoulders. “I’ll take what I can get.” He gestures with his head, nodding towards another party a few tables away who are making it extremely obvious that they’re looking for somebody to give them a drink refill. “Hey, go finish your shift. Just don’t forget about me.” 

You roll your eyes, but he shoots you a wink as you walk away. As you turn towards the next table, you prepare your customer-service voice once more, but inside you couldn’t be happier with the way things played out. Well, maybe if he had tried to make a move sooner then it would’ve saved you a weekend of heartbreak, but you have to admit that you’re partially at fault for not saying something earlier too.

As promised, three hours later Jeonghan remains glued to his seat, nursing a cup of coffee.

The rest of the evening seemed to fly by, without any problems — except for the strange looks from your coworkers, and the new maître d' who’d asked a couple times if you wanted her to find Joshua for help getting rid of the guy, thinking he was harassing you. It was a fair assumption, especially considering how many times he’d waved you over to his table to chat with him it might as well be harassment, but you assured her you didn’t need help.

Finally you finish checking out the last party in your section, and you’ve never been more grateful not to be closing tonight. If you had to do all your regular work on top of cleaning and sweeping and helping prep for tomorrow then there’d be no chance of you having enough energy to meet Jeonghan afterwards, but whoever had created the schedule this week must’ve been on your side. Jennie’s the one working the closing shift for tonight, so you make a mental note to text her later to fill her in.

Making eye contact with him from across the room, you look at your watch and then tip your head towards the exit, and he scrambles to stand up, shrugging on his coat. You disappear through the doors marked ‘employees only’ for a moment to grab your belongings, balling up your apron and throwing your purse over your shoulder. When you re-emerge you find him waiting at the entryway of the restaurant, resting his arm on the counter as he chats with Mina. You wave and give her a brief good night, and her eyes dart to Jeonghan for a second before returning the goodbye, a subtle pink creeping into her cheeks.

Though the restaurant is still open for a few more hours, the parking lot is sparse at this hour and it doesn’t take long to find your car. Jeonghan walks with you, standing beside your parking spot with his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.

“So were you thinking your place, or mine?”

You turn and scoff at him, raising an eyebrow as you begin to fish around in your purse for your keys. “I never agreed to that. I don’t sleep around on the first date.”

Jeonghan smirks. “Who says this is our first date? In fact, this is our…” He counts on his fingers one by one, tallying them off as he speaks. “… ninth. The first date I had pork belly, the second one I had the seafood platter, then the third one—”

You smack his arm. “You call that a date? I don’t think it counts as taking me out to dinner if I’m the one serving it to you.”

“Then let me serve you this time.” He grins mischievously, his eyes darkened with lust. “Is that fair enough?” His hands settle on your waist, and the weight of his touch makes you shiver.

“Only if you promise to take me on a real date next time.”

“I’ll take that deal.” He grins. “Actually, I was going to wait to ask you out until I’d tried the whole menu. Just to make sure I took you somewhere that was up to your standards. Since you’re the food expert here.”

You snort. “Well then, no wonder it took you three months to do something. We do have a pretty big menu.”

He runs his tongue along his teeth, making a thoughtful little sound. “You know, there’s still something I haven’t tried yet…”

His eyes remain fixed on you, but there’s something darker in his gaze as he stares deep into your eyes and slips his hand behind the base of your neck, intentionally slow to give you a chance to push him away. When you don’t move, the corner of his mouth quirks up in a satisfied smirk, and he finally closes the distance and presses his lips against yours. Reciprocating comes naturally to you, and you easily adapt to welcome his kiss, lips moving together in tandem with his.

You feel the pressure from his fingertips increase as he grips your head a little harder, guiding you against him and pulling you in closer. With a little gasp you finally wrap your arms around his body, and you feel him smile into the kiss at your touch. You can tell from the way he devours you how experienced he is and how cocky that makes him, and although the last thing you want to do is stroke his ego, he’s admittedly really good at it. The way he takes control is effortless, dominating the kiss and moving you in exactly the way that makes you feel good without even having to think about it yourself.

His hand on the back of your neck adjusts to explore your head, and you kiss him deeper as his fingers start to trail upwards to tangle in your hair. When his nails dig into your scalp and you let out a whimper into his mouth, he reluctantly pulls back to let you breathe for a second, but you quickly shake your head and try to chase his lips. “More—”

“More?” He quirks up an eyebrow tauntingly, and it’s so attractive it makes you want to smack him again. If this were anyone else you wouldn’t change your mind so quickly, but you’ve been holding back from him for so long that you don’t care even if it breaks your made-up dating rules. “Mm… I see. Well then, if that’s the case, are you really gonna make me ask again?” He pauses, watching the confusion register on your face as he looks on with raw, burning pleasure. “Don’t deny yourself. Answer me this time, darling. Your place or mine?”

“Whatever you want, it doesn’t make a difference to me.” You swallow thickly as you wipe at your bottom lip with your thumb, a futile attempt to fix your lipstick that you’re certain is now smudged beyond repair. Slowly your senses return to you, and you remember where you are: pressed against the side door of your car under a streetlamp. “Wait, but— my car…”

He points to the only other car nearby, a little black Corvette parked sitting quietly across the lot. You’d never thought to wonder what kind of car he drives, but somehow you aren’t surprised. The model seems to fit him. “We could take mine tonight. I’ll drive you back here to pick yours up tomorrow.”

You scoff, but it doesn’t have as much bite in it as it did before. “Tomorrow? You seem pretty confident that you’re getting laid.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a cocky little smile. “I don’t like to be indirect with what I want. Waste of time, in my opinion. You know what I’m asking. If you want to dance around it, I’m not going to force you.” Jeonghan takes a step back from your car, but there’s a hint of smugness in his expression that says he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “You know what? I’m sure you’ve had a busy evening, working on your feet all night. You should go home. I won’t keep you.”

He takes another half step backwards, and before you can stop yourself a pathetic little whimper tears from your throat as you move to follow him. It instantly makes you cringe how needy you sound, but he seems to only take satisfaction from your reaction as your hand shoots out to grab his wrist. “No. Hold on. I…” 

You sigh, finally admitting defeat. Teasing and dropping subtle hints has always been your style, but he’s managed to break you down and have you begging for him in the span of a few hours. It frustrates you to no end, but it’s also kind of turning you on. This clingy, desperate feeling in your chest is new to you, almost queasy from how badly you want more of his attention. 

You’ve never felt this way with your past relationships, always coming to an end too soon because of how quickly your attachment faded. The red-flag alarm in your head should probably be screaming at you right now, but the nonchalant way he brushes you off and the simultaneous determination in his gaze only makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t hide that he wants you — the look in his eyes alone is enough to tell you that — but at the same time he acts like he couldn’t care less whether you reciprocate or not. And something about that works for you.

Something deep inside, something primal in you, wants him to care. You need him to crave you; you want to make him beg, too. You want to fluster him so bad that he caves, like you did, and just gives in and takes what he so clearly desires. The embarrassment from your own reaction has faded into something more passionate, a competitive yearning to make him feel this pathetic, depraved desperation the way you do. He may think he’s winning, but you’re not going to be satisfied until you’re not the only loser in this game.

His expression is still as smug as ever, but he stands there patient as promised, waiting with your fingers wrapped around his wrist. It’s a strange feeling to swallow your pride and go along with his games, but you’re sure that if you play your cards right this night will go the way you want.

You clear your throat and ease your hand away from his arm, though it pains you a little to let go of him. His skin is soft under your fingertips, with subtle hints of firm muscle hidden by his lanky frame, and you want to keep touching him. You need to keep touching him, to explore every inch of his body and find all of his pressure points, to discover every spot that makes him weak and—

“Did you want to say something?” Jeonghan coaxes, cutting off your rapidly derailing train of thought, and even though he pisses you off you’re grateful for the snap back to reality.

“Yeah,” you finally manage, and force your gaze upward to meet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes that you’ve found staring at you from across the restaurant, week after week. In public he was always subdued, a little flirtatious but always respectful, lingering only just long enough to make sure you noticed but never anything more. But the look in his eyes now is completely different, like he wants you to start tearing his clothes off right here in the parking lot. Pursing your lips, you give him a smirk of your own, and you relish in the way his gaze darkens in response.

“How close is your place?”

Before the door of his penthouse is even fully shut, you’re shoving Jeonghan backwards against his kitchen counter as your lips connect again, your moans mixing together and echoing off the walls throughout the wide open room.

“Oh, I like this.” He flashes a toothy grin before diving back in, equally as passionate. That smirk again; you swear, if he gives you that stupid cocky look one more time, you might slap him. But then his slender fingers cup your chin to draw you closer to his mouth, and the light pressure of his fingertips on your cheeks makes your head spin, making you forget all about how easily he manages to get under your skin. For a split second the thought occurs that those hands would probably look gorgeous wrapped around your throat, but your brain is moving about a million miles per minute and it isn’t long before another, hornier thought replaces it.

You barely even notice him leading you out of the kitchen, step by step pulling you with him into the living room, until you feel your calves hit the back of something firm. You break away just for a moment to look down at his couch, and he gently presses down on your shoulders to guide you to sit.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt, and you take the hint and quickly begin stripping off your own top as well. Once you’re seated on the couch he sinks to the carpet in front of you, nudging your legs apart to kneel between them and unbutton your pants. Again you’re transfixed by his fingers as he works: the bulging veins that trail across the back of his hand down toward his wrist, his neatly trimmed fingernails. You get so lost in watching the way his knuckles flex that you only belatedly realize what he’s doing once he shimmies your pants down your legs and adjusts his position to press his face between your legs.

“What are you…?”

“I said I was gonna serve you, didn’t I, darling?” Jeonghan finally shrugs his shirt all the way off, revealing an expanse of soft pale skin. But you don’t have time to focus on admiring his body before he leans in close to your inner thigh, his eyes taking in everything in sight with obvious delight.

He leaves an open-mouthed kiss on your clit through the fabric, and you feel a new wave of slick pooling in response. You don’t even need to see for yourself to know that you’re absolutely soaked. He trails his fingers up your slit, pressing against the fabric to feel your warmth. You’re positive that he can feel your cunt pulsing, leaving two fingers tauntingly between your legs to keep you on edge. When he finally pulls his hand away after teasing you for what feels like hours, the pads of his fingertips are already damp just from touching you through your panties.

Jeonghan hooks a finger around the waistband of your panties on each side of your hips and tugs them away. He moves unbearably slowly to the point where you’re nearly about to start crying and begging him to do something, anything, to you. 

But thankfully, he doesn’t make you wait much longer. Once your lower half is completely naked, he groans at the sight of you and leans in even closer. The tip of his nose brushes against your inner thigh, and his breath is burning hot against your skin as he whispers into you. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? Dreaming about eating this perfect fucking pussy? How hungry I’ve been for you?”

You moan and let out a hiss, arching your back off the couch as he pushes your legs apart even more forcefully. He still hasn’t done anything yet, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

“Jeonghan!” you whine, scrunching your nose as you concentrate. “Please…”

That smirk returns once again, but it doesn’t linger like it usually does, quickly replaced with a look of desperate lust. “You sound so sexy when you say my name. So much better than I imagined.” He presses his face into your pussy with a pleased sigh, mumbling into your lips. “Wonder if you taste better than I imagined, too.”

And without another second of hesitation, he pulls your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. Instinctively your legs tense and try to close around his head, but his hands are surprisingly strong as he keeps you held open for him to feast on. Jeonghan flattens his tongue against your pussy, curling it to scoop through your folds and collect as much of your slick as he can, then begins to flick it up and down across your clit. If you thought he was good at kissing, then holy fuck, he’s even better at this. Within mere seconds his tongue has you seeing stars, and it’s impossible to keep your mouth shut to stop the endless stream of pathetic noises leaving you.

His hair tickles the top of your stomach as he moves back and forth, and you reach down with one shaking hand to brush it back from his forehead, but it just flops right back down again. He dislodges his mouth from your pussy for long enough to croak out, “Please, baby. Pull my hair. Make me do whatever you want. Wanna make you feel good.”

It takes a minute for his words to register, because he says them in such a whiny, pleading voice that you don’t immediately recognize it as coming from him. You’re so used to the confident, suave voice he uses in public that the man currently devouring your pussy seems like a completely different person. 

You scramble to comply, threading your fingers through his hair and giving his scalp a gentle tug. Instantly his jaw goes slack against your core, letting out a frustrated but very pleased sounding groan. “Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he says, and it’s the last thing you hear before he goes back in for more.

You know you’re done for once he introduces his fingers into the mix. Keeping his lips pursed around your clit, he prods gently at your entrance with his middle and ring finger, shallowly thrusting up to his first knuckle. It takes a few seconds to adjust, but when he feels you relax and loosen up he pushes deeper, until both fingers are fully engulfed inside you. He continues slowly thrusting until he’s satisfied with the lack of resistance, then adds a curling motion each time he pulls his fingers out. If you were a religious woman, you’d swear you were about to meet God.

The stimulation is both too much and not enough at the same time, no matter how desperately you try to rock your hips in rhythm with his tongue. But you can feel it building, getting closer and closer to reaching a peak you can’t come back from, and you know it won’t take much more before you make a mess on his face. As if he knows your orgasms like a sixth sense, his motions become a tiny bit more intense, his tongue pointed more purposefully at your clit and his fingers thrusting just a tiny bit faster. And finally, like a dam breaking loose after a storm, you’re gone.

Your release is loud. Shaking, panting, sweating, and swearing, your hips move on their own to frantically grind against his face in a reckless haze, chasing the high that seems to stretch on and on and on. Jeonghan just sits there and takes it all, sopping up the flood of your slick with his tongue like a starved man as you yank on his hair even harder than before, desperate to keep his mouth in contact with your pussy through the duration of your orgasm. 

After what feels like a full minute of cumming, your clit is still throbbing like crazy, your thighs feel like Jell-O, and your toes are cramping a little, but you would be lying if you said that wasn’t the best head you’ve ever received in your entire life. Man, he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to serve, that’s for sure. It’s way too early to be catching feelings, but all of a sudden there’s a fervent, burning desire in your chest to not let him go. You’ve never admitted to being a jealous person, but the tiny inkling of possessiveness that you feel now mirrors how you’d felt when he showed up to the restaurant last week with someone else.

With legs still trembling you manage to stand up, pulling him up by his shirt collar and shoving him down onto the couch in the same spot you’d just been sitting. Your lower half feels like pure TV static, but you eventually get your knees onto the edge of the cushion and clamber onto the couch, sinking down to straddle your aching pussy over his lap. You slip your hand down between your bodies to palm his bulge, and he rewards you with a loud, choked moan.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you? You want my cock that badly, angel?” 

Jeonghan smirks, and you’re so wound up from the lingering effects of your orgasm that this time you actually do slap him, your hand darting out across his cheek out of instinct. Not hard or meant to hurt him, just a light playful smack, but it’s still enough to make a sound. Immediately your face falls in shock, and you open your mouth to start profusely apologizing for crossing a line. How could you get so caught up in the moment like that? But before you even have a chance to be embarrassed, he just smiles even wider.

He grabs your wrist, which still hovers awkwardly in the air between your bodies, and brings it to his lips to kiss your palm, moaning against your hand. “God, that was hot. Do that again once I’m inside you.” 

His gentle lips tickle your skin, and a shudder runs through your body as he bites playfully. He glances up at you through his lashes, an almost taunting look on his face, and it might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Keeping eye contact you slip your other hand back down to his crotch, fumbling with the button on his pants, and he lets go of your hand to let it join the other so you can undo it faster. All the while he just sits comfortably in his seat, letting you do all the work as he watches, enamored. His head rests against the back of the couch, his neck on full display, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he lets out a little chuckle of satisfaction. He doesn’t even say anything, but his reaction is enough praise to make your cunt pulse, a warm and pleased feeling erupting in your chest from the positive attention.

You finally manage to undo his pants, and wordlessly he lifts his hips to help you push them down past his knees, freeing his hard cock to rest lazily against his stomach. He spreads his legs wider beneath you, sinking deeper into the couch cushions as he slouches down to give you a better angle. The faint grooves of his abs make your mouth water, but as much as you’d like to spend hours running your tongue along every miniscule crevice of his body, there’s more important matters on your agenda right now. Pressing your hands against his chest instead, you rake your nails gently across his skin, and he shivers a little at the feeling as he begins to stroke his cock.

After a few seconds he lets out a shuddering sigh and releases his hand, and his cock stands at attention between your bodies, flushed and strained with need. He moves his hands to your waist, tapping his fingers against you to signal you to sit up. You lift up onto your knees above him and reach beneath you to wrap your hand around him, and he lets out an involuntary little whimper at the contact that makes you smirk. Giving him a couple strokes of your own, you guide the head of his cock between your folds before pushing him inside, both of you groaning in pleasure as you sink down onto his length.

Jeonghan allows you a few seconds to adjust, breathing heavily as that wonderful feeling of fullness washes over you. Without thinking you begin to rock your hips, not moving up and down but simply rolling them forward and backward, grinding against him with his cock buried firmly inside of you. You can feel the tip pressing a little bit deeper with each movement as you start to relax, your walls throbbing and fluttering around him.

For now he’s content to sit back and let you play with him however you want while he lies beneath you, enjoying the view. Each rotation of your hips pushes your chest closer to him, your hard nipples sitting tauntingly at his eye level. You lean forward to hold onto the couch behind him for leverage, pressing your breasts even further into his face, and he smirks up at you in response.

After a minute he lifts his hips a few inches off the couch, experimentally thrusting into you. It’s not much, but it’s still more than enough to take your breath away when you realize how deep he can hit. Your whimper makes him grin as he feels your walls clench around him like a vise, as if trying to pull him in even more.

“Sensitive, hmm?” he coos, though it comes off as more teasing than sincere. You purse your lips into a pout, nodding, but you don’t change your movement. “Still feels good though?”

Instead of replying you lean down and crash your mouth against his once more, starting to lift your hips in a shallow up-and-down motion to test the waters. His cock is still almost all the way buried inside you, only letting an inch slip out before pushing back in, just a hint of extra stimulation.

Your nose is pressed awkwardly into his cheek as you kiss him furiously, but it’s the last thing on your mind as his hands grip your waist more firmly, helping give you a little bit more leverage to continue the slow, rolling movements. His tongue nudges against yours, your lips opening to welcome him.

One thrust hits particularly deep in a particularly sensitive spot deep in your cunt, and you have to pull away quickly for a second to exhale a drawn-out moan before filling your lungs with fresh air. But in that moment, without warning Jeonghan pushes his hips up into the air, bouncing you on his lap, and the force of his thrust cuts off your sound, trailing off into a broken whimper mid-way through. His fingers squeeze your waist harder, digging into your muscles before sliding down to grip your ass for a better angle. It knocks the breath out of you, your core tightening around him.

The rhythm he sets is difficult to keep up with, but luckily for you it doesn’t seem like he expects much effort on your part. All you have to do is sit there on his lap, pliant and relaxed, and let him fuck into you as hard as he wants. His hands supporting your ass are firm, and you can see the strain flexing in his lean biceps as he holds you up. The angle still puts your tits directly in front of his face but he’s staring up into your eyes, his eye contact unflinching as he pants for breath with parted lips.

“Look at you,” he huffs, his voice thick and rough, just loud enough to be heard over the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. “So tight. God, you’re so beautiful, riding me just like that. Wanna stay buried in this pussy forever.”

Despite the unfiltered praise he’s giving that makes your stomach twist with butterflies, there’s still that hint of teasing in his words: too genuine to be sarcastic, but at the same time too smug to be completely heartfelt and without ulterior motive. Either way, you can’t deny how good it feels to be worshipped so openly like this, especially by him.

The change in Jeonghan’s attitude doesn’t escape your notice; the way he’s gotten more and more dominant as the night goes on, but somehow at the same time less dominant too. It’s a refreshing change of pace, how naturally your dynamic shifts back and forth at will. His lack of expectations soothes something deep inside you that you weren’t aware needed to be soothed; his easy disposition that lets you take control when you want it and give it back when you don’t. Maybe it’s because he can read you so well, or maybe it’s because he can’t. Either way, his effortless ability to switch between roles is something you didn’t know you were missing in your life, and it makes his actions all the more intense and exciting and unpredictable.

Your throat tightens as you feel the early waves of another orgasm beginning to crash into you, but you can’t get the words out to warn him before one more well-timed thrust sends you hurtling over the edge. You fall forward, catching yourself on his shoulders and gripping him so hard it’s got to hurt, but he says nothing but praises as you cum with your thumbs digging into his collarbone.

“That’s a good girl, keep going. You feel so fucking good, angel. Let me have it, all of it. C’mon— yeah, right there, there you go.”

When the initial shock fades, the high from your second orgasm subsides even more slowly than the first time. You’re still struggling to deal with the effects yourself when Jeonghan frantically pulls you off of his lap, his cock haphazardly recoiling against your stomach as milky white spurts leak from his tip. His eyes are wrenched shut in bliss, his mouth hanging open and his hands squeezing your ass even harder.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of your memory, you make a note that Jeonghan whimpers when he cums. It’s such a beautiful, passionate, strangled sound, and you never want to forget it.

A few moments of silence pass, the room quiet except for the sound of you both heavily panting for breath. Jeonghan finally opens his eyes again, his gaze unfocused for a second before it lands on you, and he breaks out into a smile. A real one this time, not his usual arrogant smirk or teasing grin. He lets out a long, slow, pleased hum and releases his grip on you, sliding to rest on top of your thighs instead.

“Wanna take a shower with me?”

After an hour (maybe a lot longer than an hour…) you’re clean and comfortable and content, both of you lying naked in his bed together. It hadn’t been difficult for him to convince you to stay over for the night and let him spoil you a little more. You’d pretended to be on the fence about whether or not to stay, just to tease him, but his promise to make you breakfast is what had finally won you over.

A half-empty bottle of Dom Perignon rests on the bed between you both, wedged against a couple of pillows. With the sheets messily tossed over your lower half, you balance your glass on your lap as you sit leaned up against the headboard of his bed.

When you’d confessed earlier that you’d never actually tried his favorite brand yourself, despite how often you have to serve it at work, he’d immediately hopped out of the shower to bring you a bottle. His effort was admirable, making a whole show out of uncorking it and pretending to be your waiter, before subsequently spilling most of it on his bathroom floor.

Now, Jeonghan sits propped up on one elbow, holding his own glass of champagne in one hand while resting the other across your hip. You didn’t initially label him as being a touchy-feely kind of guy, but the way he hasn’t let you out of his sight all night has been kind of endearing. Maybe you’re both clingier than you thought.

You sigh, exhausted but relaxed, and take another sip from your flute. “I guess you’re right. This is totally better than the cheap stuff.”

He lets out a tipsy little giggle, grabbing the bottle and pouring the rest of it into your glass to top it off. “I told you, I know my wines. Only the best for you. That’s why I always ordered it.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue with him. By now, you believe he really does mean all the cheesy crap he says. He did promise to actually take you on a real date next weekend, not a “stalking you at your workplace” kind of date. Maybe it’s just the champagne talking, but after tonight, his sincerity about has put a warm, fizzy feeling in your stomach. (But then again, that might be the champagne.)

Either way, you’re not denying your feelings anymore, and neither is he.

“Cheers,” he says after a minute of content silence, holding up his glass in front of him. The look in his eyes mirrors your own, something bright and soft and happy that makes your heart flutter.

“What are we cheers-ing to?” you laugh.

“Hm. Well…” He pauses and bites his lip.

It’s been too long since you last kissed him, you think to yourself as you wait for his answer, watching him absently pull his bottom lip between his teeth. You need to change that. 

“To good food and good sex. Both of which you can provide.”

You grin back at him and raise your glass to clink against his. “Sure. To the finer things in life.”

bonus:

© junkissed 2026. do not repost or translate. ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 want to be notified when i post new fics? join my taglist!

this is the first fic i've been able to finish after a long hiatus and i'm genuinely so proud of how it turned out, so i truly hope you enjoyed reading!! if you did please reblog with your thoughts, or leave a comment or send an ask! reblogs are legit what makes tumblr work: it shows me that people are interested in this content, and knowing people liked it makes me more inspired to write more! i put a TON of time, love, and effort into my fics, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!

taglist — located in the reblogs of this post!

Fuck it , he thinks. He'd wear the cologne you liked, the vanilla one with hints of a "woodsy" scent, whatever the fuck that meant. You knew what it meant. If you mentioned it, he'd brush it off, saying it was just something that he picked out, like he hadn't spent the better half of an hour going through his scent collection to find anything he thought that you'd like. You'd compliment him, and the two of you would start talking again. Sebastian couldn't talk his way out of a paper bag, but he was hoping to be just drunk enough to come across as charming. You liked charming guys. He could be that.

Sebastian is fresh out of the shower when the question that had been in the back of his mind for weeks brings itself to the forefront. Did you even want him like that? He moves his hair out of his face, sighing, thinking the plan he had been so eager to enact might be for nothing. You hadn't said much to him since the kiss you'd shared, and he wanted you to have your space after your breakup with Alex, so he hadn't reached out. Or maybe you thought he didn't want you, that maybe the kiss was out of pity, and not something he'd been dreaming about since you stepped foot into the valley. Either way, contact had been scarce.

Pulling on his signature hoodie, he heads out, making his way towards town. He gets to Sam's house later than usual, but he decides that he's waited long enough, and it was already getting pathetic.

The music coming from Sam's house was deafening, loud enough that he was sure even Evelyn and George could hear it without their hearing aids in. The noise complaint from Lewis was inevitable.

Sebastian steps into the house, with a bottle of whatever he thought his mom wouldn't miss, and he sees you for the first time that night. You, skin glowing under all the fluorescent lights, brightening the room even more than he thought possible.

He starts to smile, but it quickly fades once he sees you standing next to Jeric, looking up and smiling while he pours something into a red cup. You shouldn't be there; you should be with him. You'd say the music was a bit too loud, and he'd ask if you wanted to step outside, and you'd agree, and he'd kiss you, under the streetlamp, away from everyone, and you'd kiss him back while the fireflies flew past your face.

It doesn't happen.

Your laugh drags him away from his thoughts, and his stomach turns. Abigail offers him something that she'd mixed up, and he takes it, which is a mistake. The alcohol warms his already sour stomach, and the urge to vomit is all the more present, but he shoves it down. There wouldn't be any embarrassing incidents this time.

Sebastian goes most of the night without speaking to anybody, apart from the occasional 'hey' to those who offer it first. His silence is even more noticeable once the party dies down, and the only people left are you, Sam, his new mortal enemy, and a few stragglers.

Right now, Sebastian should be walking you home, making small talk, and maybe future plans for a potential date. Instead, he's forced to watch you laugh at Jeric's jokes, which cannot be that funny.

He quickly slips into Sam's room, pretending to be on his phone, but you see him. There was a hint of a frown on his face, but you couldn't be sure if it was his normal Sebastian grimace, or something deeper.

Jeric offers to walk you home, and you almost accept, but there's something eating at you. You tell him to wait, and he goes to make conversation with Sam while you sneak into his room.

Sebastian's face down on Sam's bed, head shoved into the pillows, and his whole body jolts when tap him on the shoulder. You can tell he wasn't expecting you, or at the very least only expecting Sam, because when he peers up at you, his face turns a shade of red that you'd only seen on him whenever Robin said something embarrassing about his childhood.

He sits up, watching as you sit towards the edge of the already small bed.

"Is everyone gone already?" He knows the answer; the walls are thin, and he can hear every little thing in Sam's house.

"There's still a few people left, but I just wanted to check on you. You okay?"

Sebastian wants to shake his head no, because sitting by himself all night while he watched his crush be flirted with by at least five people, plus the town flirt, was not how he wanted to spend his Saturday, but he doesn't.

"I'm fine. It's just quieter in here." He can smell the alcohol and the scent of something fruity on your breath. He hopes you like the cologne he wore. He hopes you know he wore it just for you.

You move towards him, close enough that your knees nearly touch, and the body heat coming from your body sends a jolt through his. "I was worried, you haven't said much all night."

"I never say much, do I?" He laughs, running his hand through his bangs.

"Tonight was different. You didn't even say hi to me." You look away, towards the door, biting your lip slightly before turning back to Sebastian. His heart swells, thinking about you waiting the whole night for him to come over and say something, anything.

The night at the Summit flashes in his mind again, the same way it does every day whenever he and his busy mind get a second to just be. You were looking at him like you are now, and he wishes you wouldn't, but also hopes that you never stop, that you keep those eyes on him forever. Every time they land on him, he lights up, and it's like you're a witch, or a wizard, or a necromancer who swears they only use their powers for good, but they only ever curse him, simultaneously bringing him to life and dragging him deeper into the abyss of your spell.

Before you had moved to town, this was about as much conversation as anybody could get out of Sebastian, but now he found himself wanting to find more to say, anything to keep the conversation going. His words fail him, but his body doesn't. Pulling you into him and kissing you was already like muscle memory for him, even though he'd only done it once before.

You gasp, leaning into Sebastian as he pushes the two of you onto Sam's old twin mattress that squeaks with every movement.

Sebastian thinks that he's dreaming, that you lifting up your dress just enough to grant him access is just some mirage, and he's going to wake up any second, only to find out that it was just another wet dream that ended before it got good.

He touches you, hesitantly at first, all over your body, like he's afraid that adding any pressure would cause you to disappear.

He pinches himself, once to make sure he's not dreaming, and then another for luck, before he gives you another kiss, wiping the quizzical look from your face.

His fingers trace along the edges of the panties you wore before sliding them to the side. He blushes, turning a deep shade of scarlet when he sees how wet you are. You shudder when his finger finally touches your cunt, no barrier, just the skin-to-skin contact you'd both been craving.

For the first time in a while, Sebastian is grateful. Grateful that he didn't take that in-office job a few states away so he could be here, with you. Grateful that he had just enough liquid courage swirling around in his belly to light a fire in yours, and even grateful that your grandfather had passed away and had the good sense to leave you the farm in his will. He knew how fucked up that sounded, but he couldn't find much else to care about other than the convulsions of your pussy around his fingers.

He presses on, on a deep sea dive for your g-spot before he hears you make a deep groaning sound that amateur porn had taught him meant that he had found what he was looking for.

"Right there?" He needs confirmation, needs it like he's never needed anything in his life, and when you shakily nod, he brings his other hand over to your clit, hoping to pull that same groan out of you again.

" Fuuuuck, Sebastian don't stop," as if he had to be told. The only thing that could pull his fingers out of you was you pushing him away or Yoba himself coming down and deciding that now was the perfect time for his believers to join him in the afterlife, which he didn't put it past him to do.

His fingers slip, and he has to stop the stupid grin that forms on his face when he feels how wet you get. His mouth grazes your ears, neck, anywhere he can reach, and every time his warm breath greets your skin, it feels like you come to life just a little bit more.

You fumble around, trying to unbuckle his belt, and his insides flutter at the thought of you being just as desperate as he was.

Sebastian knows that he should probably stop, should probably take you back to his place or even your own farmhouse, but the warmth emanating from in between your thighs makes it hard for him to think logically. All the blood's gone to his dick, and he can't help but listen to it.

But it seems that he didn't have to bring himself to stop. Luck still wasn't on his side because as soon as you pull his pants down and get a good look at the equipment, Sam bursts into the room, drunk and slurring about someone vomiting on his mother's couch.

Sweet, lovable Sam, who was now the main source of conflict in your cute little friends-to-lovers tale.

You quickly sit up, pulling down your clothes and nearly knocking Sam over in the process of running out of his house, leaving only a faint, "goodnight, Sebastian!" in your wake.

Sebastian smiles after you. Sam starts to lecture him, his voice jumping an octave when he sees the wet spot you'd left, but his speech is in one ear and out the other. He and Penny were no strangers to Sebastian's basement, and he couldn't care less. He tried his best to drown out Sam's voice and figure out if he'd be calling you later when he jacked off using the same hand he'd had inside you or if he'd be on a solo mission tonight.

He's almost relieved, because this is not how Sebastian imagined his first time with you would be. He'd been dreaming of a candlelit room, with slow R&B in the background, on a king-sized bed, with you being as loud as you could, and not just as loud as the music in the background dictated.

He's halfway home when he gets a text from you.

I had fun tonight. Same time tomorrow?

He types, deletes it, types more, deletes that, and then finally settles on sending sure. see you then. Before he locks his phone and slides it into his pocket.

He unlocks the door to his room, the smell of you still on his fingers, a small reminder of the night's activities left on every doorknob he touches.

Solo mission it is, he decides.

 “What do you mean you married someone else?!”

Seungcheol’s outraged voice is only met by a small shrug from where you’re bundled in his blanket, perched in his gaming chair, using his PC to play his copy of Stardew Valley.

In your defense… okay, you don’t have much of one. You didn’t realize that a simple farming game would have a hot emo man waiting in his basement for you to fix his broken computer and heart.

“Sorry, baby,” you say, half-hiding a grin. “But I’m a married woman now. Anyway, the more relevant question is—what should Sebastian and I name our kid?”

The sound Seungcheol makes behind you is somewhere between a scoff and an actual growl. “Your kid? You’ve been playing this save for, what, three in-game months? You barely even upgraded your watering can!”

You swivel slowly in his chair, cocooned like a very smug burrito. “Three in-game months is 3/4ths of a year! Besides, we bonded over shared trauma,” you counter, gesturing at the pixelated couple standing in front of their cozy farmhouse. “He liked me when I was just the weird girl who kept fainting in the mines. That’s real love.”

Seungcheol’s jaw drops. “You fainted because you kept trying to fight slimes with a hoe!”

“And yet,” you say, clicking to pet your virtual dog, “he never judged me. He just stood there in the rain, smoking under that pixel tree, saying mysterious things like ‘What am I going to do today? Probably nothing.’”

Seungcheol groans like you’ve personally offended his soul. “That’s not mysterious, that’s depression!”

You gasp dramatically. “He’s deep, Seungcheol. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I would understand,” he fires back, stepping closer to peer over your shoulder, “if you didn’t just—oh my god, did you name the farm after him?”

You grin at the screen. “Sebby Acres has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

He just stares. “You didn’t even name your real plants, but this guy gets an estate.”

“Love changes people.”

“Yeah, apparently it changes your standards too,” he mutters, crossing his arms as he glares at Sebastian’s pixel sprite. “He’s just… standing there. Doing nothing.”

“He’s thinking,” you defend.

“About what, the void?”

“Maybe,” you whisper dramatically, “maybe me.”

That earns you a loud, disbelieving laugh. “You’re actually insane. You know that, right?”

You click through a few menus, ignoring him. “He made me coffee this morning.”

“Oh, so now we’re romanticizing caffeine dependency?”

“Better than romanticizing being a jealous gamer boyfriend,” you shoot back, smug.

That stops him for half a second—just enough for you to glance up and catch the exact moment he schools his expression, trying not to smile.

“I’m not jealous,” he says finally, voice lower now, softer. “I just think it’s tragic that my girlfriend is out here emotionally cheating with a pixel.”

You grin. “Emotionally cheating? Bold of you to assume it’s not physical.”

His jaw drops. “You did not just say that.”

“Oh, I did.” You spin back toward the screen. “Sebastian’s got those 16-bit biceps for a reason.”

He groans again, but this time it sounds closer to laughter than despair. You can feel him behind you now—his presence warm and looming as he leans down over the back of the chair. His chin brushes your shoulder as he squints at the screen.

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice close enough that it sends a little shiver through you, “so what happens if I—” he reaches over you, taking the mouse, “—go into your house and delete your save file?”

You gasp, clutching your blanket like a shield. “That’s a war crime!”

“Oh, it’s justice,” he says, smirking now, the corner of his mouth curling as he hovers over the [Delete] option just to watch you panic.

You twist in the chair to glare up at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might,” he says, teasing, but there’s that glint in his eyes—half mischief, half affection. “Maybe then you’ll stop flirting with trench-coat Minecraft boy and pay attention to your real-life boyfriend.”

You hold his gaze for a beat, heart skipping in that annoying, traitorous way it does when he’s too close. Then you say, voice quiet but pointed, “You wanna start a new save together?”

He pauses, just for a second, before burying his face in the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath. You can feel the hesitation before his hair brushes your skin as he nods.

“Even though it's a ‘boring farm game with limited rpg capabilities and—”

“Yes, yes, okay! I was wrong. M’sorry.” He pouts into your shoulder, “Promise to never judge your taste in games again. Just… marry me in our save?”

You bite back a smile, trying not to sound too triumphant. “I’ll consider it.” You turn your head to press a kiss to the top of his. “Dork.”

Seungcheol hums against your skin, the sound low and satisfied—like a man who’s just won a battle he didn’t actually fight. “ ‘Consider it,’ ” he echoes, voice muffled against your neck. “That’s not a yes.”

“That’s a maybe,” you correct, scrolling back to your cozy pixel house. “You’ll have to prove yourself worthy first.”

He leans back just enough for you to see the mock offense on his face. “Worthy? You’re acting like I have to duel Sebastian for your hand.”

You don’t look away from the screen as you murmur, “You could try, but he’s got a motorcycle.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Oh, please. I’ve got a car.”

“Yeah, but can your car brood under the moonlight?”

“I can brood under the moonlight!” he protests, and you lose it—bursting into laughter that makes the chair spin slightly. He catches it before it can whirl too far, one hand steady on the armrest, the other landing lightly on your knee, caging you in and surrounding you with his warmth.

“See?” he says softly, the teasing edge fading to something gentler. “I can brood, I can farm, I can mine—hell, I’ll even water crops every morning if that’s what it takes.”

You blink at him. “You hate resource management.”

“I hate losing you to a pixel more.”

That earns him a snort, but the warmth that blooms in your chest gives you away. You tilt your head, studying him from under your blanket hood. “You’d actually play with me?”

“I’d actually play with you,” he repeats, earnest this time. “Even if I die every five minutes in the mines.”

You grin, leaning closer until your noses almost bump. “Then we can faint together.”

He laughs—a bright, unguarded sound—and before you can say another word, he kisses you. Just a small one, soft and warm, like punctuation on a joke that suddenly got too sincere.

When you pull back, you whisper, “You’re trying to distract me.”

Seungcheol’s smile is slow and lopsided, still close enough that you can feel his breath when he answers, “Is it working?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing idly against your knee through the blanket. “Guess I’ll have to try again—hey! You’re not supposed to go back to your game!” He whines as you spin the chair back to face the screen.

“Why not?” you tease. “Keeps you guessing. Builds character.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of character,” he says, voice dropping just a little as he leans in again, lips brushing the skin under your ear. “I’m literally offering to play farm husband, and you’re still playing hard to get.”

“Correction,” you say, spinning back toward the monitor with a grin, “I’m playing hard to marry.” You click a few times, pretending to focus very seriously on harvesting your pixelated strawberries. “There’s a difference.”

He exhales through a laugh, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” you sing-song, clicking to water your crops. “Let me just finish this day and I’ll start us a new save file, m’kay, you big baby?”

He groans softly, the sound vibrating against your back. “You just called me a big baby while wrapped in my blanket, stealing my chair, and emotionally cheating on me with a two-dimensional man.”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me.”

He huffs out a laugh, “Clearly not enough, if you’re settling for emo-boy.” He replies as he hooks his chin over your shoulder again, watching you play with that soft, restless energy he always gets when he’s trying not to admit he’s enjoying himself. His thumb starts tracing idle circles against your leg, absent-minded but distracting. 

Finally, after you finish the day and save, you click back to the main menu and open a new save folder. “Go get the switch.” He’s up before you can even finish, Nintendo Switch in hand as you create the farm and add him. You only pause to yelp when he lifts you out of the chair to settle instead with you in his lap, his arms around you, and his chin tucked over your shoulder so he can see what he’s doing.

“Clingy.” You mutter, pecking his cheek as you set up the new game. “Name suggestions?”

He hums, pretending to think very seriously as his hands settle around your waist. “Hmm… Revenge Acres.”

You blink. “Revenge?”

“For the fallen Sebastian,” he says solemnly, eyes locked on the screen. “May his emo soul rest in pixels.”

You snort, nearly dropping the controller. “You’re insufferable.”

“Or—hear me out—‘Farmy McFarmface.’”

“Absolutely not.”

He grins, delighted at your horror. “Okay, fine, fine. What about… Coups Crops?”

You stare at him flatly. “That’s the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you,” he says proudly. “I try.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “We’re naming it something cute. Something wholesome. Like—” You pause dramatically. “Snugglefield.”

Seungcheol physically recoils. “Snugglefield?! You’re going to make me farm turnips on Snugglefield?!”

“You’d rather live on Coups Crops?” you shoot back, turning in his lap to raise a brow.

“Yes! It’s branding!” He gestures broadly. “Imagine: local farmer S.Coups, humble provider of the valley’s finest parsnips.”

You can’t help laughing at that. “Fine, farmer Coups, but if you ever actually refer to yourself like that again, I’m divorcing you.”

He grins wide, unbothered. “You can’t divorce me if you never say yes.”

“Oh, so now it’s blackmail?”

“Strategic patience,” he says, fingers squeezing gently at your sides until you squirm.

“Mm, that’s cheating,” you warn, even as you’re giggling. “You can’t just tickle me into saying yes.”

“I can try,” he murmurs, voice dropping just enough that your breath catches. “But I’d rather earn it.” He presses his lips to your neck, softly kissing the sensitive skin.

“Focus.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You type Coup’s Crops and Co. Farm into the [Farm Name] field before selecting a type (four corners because you’re co-opping and it's clearly the only correct answer) and loading up the new farm.

“Why am I in a different house than you?” You can feel Cheol’s pout against your neck, and you laugh.

“Because you’re my farmhand. How inappropriate would a farmhand in the main house be?”

Seungcheol lets out an incredulous scoff, the kind that vibrates against your back because he’s still got his chin hooked over your shoulder. “Farmhand? Excuse me—” he reaches forward to poke your screen accusingly, “—I am co-owner material, at the very least. You think I’m waking up at 6 a.m. to water your crops for free?”

You stifle a laugh. “Technically, you’d be waking up at 6 a.m. because I’d make you.”

“Oh, so now I’m your underpaid labourer and your husband-in-waiting?” he deadpans.

You hum thoughtfully. “Sounds accurate.”

He narrows his eyes. “This is a scam.”

“Welcome to marriage.”

That makes him groan—loud and dramatic, like you’ve just told him he’s being exiled to the mines forever. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

You grin, smug. “I am aware.”

The first few minutes of the game are chaos. You both spawn into the pixel farm surrounded by weeds, rocks, and trees—your avatar immediately starts chopping trees with your axe while Seungcheol’s stands there doing absolutely nothing.

“Cheol,” you say, suspicious, “why are you just standing there?”

“I’m observing the land,” he says sagely. “Assessing productivity potential.”

“Translation: you forgot what button makes you move.”

“...That too,” he mutters.

You giggle and hand him a quick tutorial rundown, watching his character start to move in clumsy little jerks across the field. He immediately starts cutting down grass with his scythe.

“Don’t cut that down! We need it for the animals once we build a silo!" you cry.

“It’s in the way!”

“You’re starving our future chickens and ruining my vision!”

He pauses, his avatar mid-swing, then looks over at you in real life with that slow, knowing smirk. “You mean our vision, boss.”

You turn to glare at him, but he looks way too pleased with himself, leaning back in his seat and drumming his fingers against your waist like he’s keeping score.

“Fine,” you say, feigning exasperation. “You can have a say in our vision. What’s your idea, Mr. Efficiency?”

He leans in, lowering his voice like he’s about to drop the world’s greatest strategy. “Simple. We build one big field. No decorations, no fences, just pure money-making crops.”

You stare at him, horrified. “So… you want to make a corporate farm?”

He grins, unashamed. “Coup’s Crops, LLC.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“That’s capitalism.”

“That’s worse than Joja.” You swat at his arm, laughing so hard your character stops moving entirely. “We’re not doing this. We’re gonna have flowers and beehives and cute scarecrows, and maybe—” you click a few times, placing a chest by your cabin, “—a little pond area where we can sit together.”

“...You’re making a kissing spot, aren’t you?”

You pause. “I’m making an ambiance.”

He lets out a low laugh and presses a kiss to the side of your jaw, catching you off guard. “Sure, baby. Ambiance.”

You nudge him with your elbow, trying not to smile too widely. “You’re supposed to be chopping wood, not flirting with your boss.”

“I multitask,” he says smoothly, returning his focus to the game—though his hands never quite leave you, thumbs tracing slow circles on your waist.

A few quiet minutes pass like that—soft music from the game, faint tapping of keys, the occasional ping of harvested wood—until he breaks the silence again.

“So,” he says casually, “when do I get to move into your house?”

You grin, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe after your first successful harvest.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he complains immediately. “Sebastian didn’t have to harvest anything to get into your house.”

“Sebastian had emotional depth,” you tease, deadpan.

He gasps. “I have pecs!”

You nearly choke on your laughter. “Not the same thing, Cheol.”

He turns you slightly in his lap, enough to catch your eye with a mock glare that’s betrayed by his smile. “Oh, it’s exactly the same thing. Wait till you see me water these crops. You’ll be proposing to me by the end of the season.”

You arch an eyebrow, amused. “Confident, aren’t you?”

He grins, leaning in until his nose brushes your temple. “Farmer Coups doesn’t need confidence. He’s got irrigation.”

You groan, half laughing, half sighing. “If you make one more irrigation joke, I’m marrying Shane next.”

He stiffens. “The chicken guy?!”

You smirk. “He gives me beer.”

Seungcheol squints, pretending to process that like you’ve actually betrayed him. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. “No. Nope. That’s it.”

You blink. “What are you—hey!”

Because he’s already reaching past you, grabbing your mouse, muttering, “War crime time.”

“CHEOL—don’t you dare delete this save!”

“I’m saving it!” he insists, laughing now, “And we’re going to bed. It’s almost midnight.”

“Still early by your usual hours!” You argue as you make an attempt to grab the mouse back, but he’s stronger, and it devolves into chaos—tickling, laughing, your blanket half falling off, his voice all smug and breathless as he says, “Say you’ll marry me and I’ll stop.”

You freeze for a heartbeat, cheeks warm, eyes meeting his—he’s still grinning, but there’s a softness underneath, something a little too real.

The laughter fades just enough for the sound of your breathing to fill the space between you—shallow, uneven, caught somewhere between teasing and something that feels a lot like the truth.

“Say you’ll marry me,” he repeats, quieter this time. The playful lilt is still there, but it’s gentler now, the edge rounded by sincerity.

You blink up at him, still half-tangled in the blanket, your hair a mess, and your cursor hovering over the in-game farmhouse. “In the game,” you clarify, but your voice wavers just slightly, and he catches it—of course he does.

His grin softens, that dimple showing for just a second before he dips his head closer. “Sure,” he murmurs, “in the game.” His eyes flick toward your screen. “But, you know… maybe also not just in the game.”

You laugh, breathless and a little flustered. “You can’t just say things like that,” you whisper, trying to sound lighter than you feel.

For once, Seungcheol doesn’t immediately joke back. Instead, his grin falters—just slightly—and when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Still warm, still mischievous, but threaded through with something steadier that makes your heart stutter

He shifts, the chair creaking under both your weight, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw, gentle and grounding, “You think I’m joking?” he asks, quiet enough that the words barely clear the space between you.

All you can do is blink, breath caught in your throat as he goes on.

“I…” He exhales, a soft sound that's half nervous, half fond. “This isn’t how I planned this. I—I bought a ring like, months ago. Fuck, give me a minute.” 

He picks you up and sets you down gently on the chair, leaving you wide-eyed as he rushes to rifle through his nightstand before returning with a small velvet box.

“Okay. Fuck, I had this whole plan. Flowers, dinner at the restaurant we had our first date, Jihoon was even gonna play live music like we were in a drama—”

You snort at that, despite the tears welling in your eyes as he takes one of your hands in his, getting on his knee in front of the gaming chair.

“Well, cats out of the bag now, so I guess I’ll just go with it. It’s very us.” He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, but it seems more to ground him than you. “The past three years with you have been… everything. Being able to spend time with you, have your face be the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing I see when I go to sleep… it made me realize that I want that forever. With you. I want every sleepy morning, or loud ones where you forget your keys and yell at me for not reminding you, even though I did.” You let out a shaky laugh, and he smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “I want to argue about our in-game farms and real-life living rooms. I want to grow old hearing you tell me how insufferable I am and how I can’t design for shit.” You swallow hard, letting the tears fall from your eyes because there was no way you’d let them blur the vision that is Seungcheol in this moment. Your fingers shake where they hold his.

“I don’t care if we’re rich, or if we’re still living off of takeout and late-night gaming sessions,” he continues softly. “I always wanted to build something—a life, a home. But I realized that I can’t have any of that if you aren’t there. Before you, those were just words, but now… now they’re a person. They’re you.”

There’s a beat where neither of you says anything, and the only sound is the hum of the PC, the faint game music looping quietly in the background.

Then, he releases your hand to open the velvet box, revealing a ring that makes you choke out a sob. You’d only talked with him a few times about styles, gems, and rings in general, and this man listened. His hands are steady as he looks up at you, eyes filled with security and hope and fear and love as he murmurs, “Marry me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a confession, an offering.

Your hand comes up almost on instinct, fingers threading into his hair as your forehead presses back against his. “You’re supposed to have music,” you say softly. “And flowers.”

He laughs, the sound low and rough. “You’re supposed to say yes anyway.”

You breathe out a shaky laugh, tears now flowing steadily down your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek again. “And you love me.”

“I do,” you whisper, and the words feel too big, too right.

His breath catches. “Then marry me.”

You look at him—really look—and realize there’s no version of your life where you wouldn’t.

You nod, smiling through the tears. “Okay,” you say softly. “Yes.”

For a second, he just stares, eyes wide, like his brain short-circuits. Then he laughs—quiet, disbelieving—and presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your mouth, all in a flurry of warmth and relief.

He slips the ring onto your finger with a boyish smile. “This part I did plan,” he says quietly. “Just didn’t plan for you to be already married to some pixel guy first.”

You laugh through your tears, covering your face. “You’re impossible.”

He grins, eyes shining. “You love me.”

You drop your hands, smiling back. “I do.”

It was one of those syrupy summer nights, the air thick and soft, clinging to skin like a second, invisible layer. Cicadas droned lazily from somewhere deep in the woods, their chorus blending with the distant hum of traffic beyond the trees. The sun had long dipped behind the hills, but the heat of the day clung on, reluctant to let the world rest.

Your backyard was a patchwork of dim porch light and moonlight, the fence throwing long shadows across the brittle grass. Beyond the fence stretched the treeline, thick and dark as spilled ink, pulsing with the unseen eyes of the forest.

The fence was old—weather-worn wood, sun-bleached, as tall as your chest, and starting to splinter in spots—but it was your fence. Your spot. The place where every night, like clockwork, you would stand on one side with the glow of your kitchen lights behind you, and he would linger on the other, half-concealed by the darkness of the pines.

You heard the faint scuff of boots on dried leaves, the rustle of branches catching on old denim. You didn’t even have to look. You knew it was him.

“Late again,” you teased, leaning against the picketed wood. Fireflies darted around overhead, slow and golden, tiny lanterns against the night.

Jack shifted closer. Tall, broad-shouldered, the faintest glint of moonlight catching the wet curve of the dark mask he wore, the slits where eyes should have been yawning and black—just two gaping sockets, still managing somehow to see you. The copper tang of dried blood still clung faintly to him, mingling with the loamy smell of the forest and his favorite cologne. All wrapped up in an oversized gray hoodie and old wrangler jeans.

“I had…business,” he rasped, voice rough like something left too long in the dark.

You studied him, heart twisting. Once, things had been different. 

You met Jack in college, before everything changed.

He was Eyeless Jack to the world now—a name passed around in hushed rumors and panicked police briefings—but once, he was just Jack. Jack Nyras, pre-med major, scruffy-haired and half-insomniac from too many late-night study sessions. You’d first bumped into him, literally, outside your genetics class when you spilled an entire iced coffee down the front of his hoodie.

Instead of getting mad, he laughed. That laugh, even now, you remembered with a painful fondness: easy, warm, too big for his slight, lanky frame.

After that, you were inseparable. You sat in labs together, sharing notes, studying for hours until your brains turned to mush. Sometimes you’d catch him drawing twisted little sketches of incredibly detailed body parts in the margins of his anatomy book, black ink dripping from his pen like nightmares, doodling hearts and vein patterns and every bone you could think of. He’d grin sheepishly if you pointed it out.

“Just to blow off steam,” he’d told you.

If only it had stayed that way.

But something was off that last semester.

It started with Jenny. A bright-eyed, over-eager girl with too many questions about death, about gods, about what might live on the other side of everything. You’d seen her hanging around Jack, pressing him for his knowledge of anatomy and the occult. You hadn’t thought much of it—she was a weird kid, but who wasn’t in college?

Until the night they took Jack to a ritual.

You hadn’t known where he went, at first. A text left on read. A worried voicemail. Then nothing. You had no clue.

They’d dragged him to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town, where Jenny and her cult had tried to summon a demon—and they’d needed a human sacrifice to open the door. Jack. Your Jack.

They had held him down, cut his eyelids away so he could never look away, and scooped out his eyes with brutal, surgical precision. You would have nightmares about that for years: those empty, bleeding sockets. Then they poured something black and slick, like tar, into the holes—a living thing that pulsed and smoked, thick with hatred.

It was supposed to let a demon pass through him, a doorway wearing a human face. But something went wrong.

Instead of a perfect vessel, Jack became the demon’s prison. The possession took root, warping him, twisting flesh and bone. His skin turned an unnatural gray, hard like stone. The black voids where his eyes once were never stopped weeping that tar-like ichor. Needle-sharp teeth split his mouth, rabid and hungry.

Jack was the only one to survive, if you could call it surviving.

When he came to you after, it was in the dead of night, half-collapsed against your back porch door, trying to hold his guts inside his ribs with clawed, shaking hands. He was weeping. You’d never heard a sound like it, the noise of someone whose soul had been torn in half.

“Don’t look at me,” he begged, voice raw, inhuman already. “Please.”

But you did. You looked. You saw him for what he had become, and refused to turn away.

You kept him alive those first weeks, when he didn’t know what to eat, didn’t understand the pull inside him. You watched him break down on your kitchen floor, apologizing over and over. You helped him find ways to stay hidden, to scavenge what he needed to keep from losing his mind completely.

When Slenderman came for him—a towering, impossible shape between your backyard trees one night—you thought you’d lose Jack for good. But even that faceless horror couldn’t break the bond you’d built. Jack still came back, slipping from his grip in brief windows, always returning to the same spot at the back fence, where your world met the dark.

You wondered if part of him fought that puppet-string control just to see you again.

The truth was, you had every reason to fear him. You’d seen the news reports, the evidence photos, the torn bodies left in his wake. The world would call you naive, maybe even insane. But you knew him. You’d seen him laugh over spilled coffee. You’d watched him hold a scared freshman’s hand in a bio lab when they passed out during a dissection.

That Jack was still there, tangled in the ruin.

So you never turned him away. Even now, years later, you stood by your back fence on humid summer nights, waiting for the quiet scuff of his boots through the weeds. You told him about your boring, safe life—air conditioners and late shifts and microwave dinners—and he told you, in broken pieces, about the horrors he couldn’t help but feed on.

And despite all of it, despite the monsters clawing at his mind, you stayed. Because sometimes being a friend wasn’t bright or easy. Sometimes it was raw and heavy and stubborn, refusing to let go of someone even when the world said you should.

If you wanted, you could forget that night he’d stumbled from the woods, half-monster and half your friend. You could pretend this fence was a line dividing your worlds.

But you didn’t.

Because he was Jack. A biology major, obsessed with genetics and a little too competitive at beer pong. Now, the woods had become his kingdom, the darkness his only safe harbor. But some things hadn’t changed: the way he still leaned forward a little when you spoke, or how he listened more than he talked.

“Rough night?” you asked gently.

He tilted his head, a gesture oddly canine in its curiosity, “Rougher for them.”

You sighed, but there was no real fear in it. If there was one truth in your world, it was that he’d never hurt you.

“I had a pretty boring day,” you offered, voice light, trying to balance out the shadows in his. “Work was slow. Mrs. Carter’s cat had kittens, I saw them in her yard. Oh—and I got a sunburn.”

His head dipped, as if acknowledging the small tragedies of a normal human life. “Show me,” he said quietly.

You laughed, brushing your sleeve up to reveal pink skin. “See? Totally my fault. I fell asleep in the hammock.”

He reached forward, clawed hand resting on top of the fence, close but not quite touching. “You should be careful,” he murmured. “The sun can be quite dangerous this time of year.”

That startled a laugh out of you—a small, real sound. “Wow, Jack, you going to lecture me on skin cancer now?”

A faint, rasping chuckle answered, like dry leaves scraping together.

You both fell into silence, the comfortable kind. The night seemed to wrap around you, humming with late-summer heat, thick with scents of honeysuckle and crushed grass. Somewhere far off, an owl called.

You studied him across the fence, trying to read the shape of him. You could still see the slope of his shoulders, the faint twitch in his jaw when he was worried. The eyeless mask made him look monstrous—but you’d stopped seeing it that way long ago. Nowadays, you were just upset you couldn’t see his cute smile.

“Jack,” you said after a while, softer now, “are you…okay?”

His shoulders rose and fell. A sigh? Maybe.

“I don’t know if I even remember what ‘okay’ feels like,” he murmured. “But… this. Talking to you. It helps.”

Your heart pinched, warm and a little sad. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

You saw him shift closer, a whisper of movement, enough that the shadows seemed to lean toward you. You swallowed, wishing you could reach over the fence and touch him, just once. Instead you let your fingers curl against the peeling paint. “I’m glad you still come back,” you smiled. He just nodded.

“You should go inside soon,” he rasped. “It’s too warm to sleep, but… safer. You should eat some dinner.”

“Will you stay out here a while?” you asked.

He dipped his chin, the faintest promise. “Yeah. I’ll keep watch.”

It was nothing, and it was everything.

Crickets sang to fill the hush that followed.

You stepped a little closer, pressing your palm to the wood between you, pretending you could feel his heartbeat through the fence. If he even still had one.

“Same time tomorrow?” you asked, trying to smile.

He nodded once again, a barely-there motion. “Same time.”

“Goodnight, Jack,” you said softly.

“Goodnight,” he answered, voice steady, a vow carried on the warm summer air.

And then, like a dream dissolving, he stepped back into the gloom of the pines. You caught one last glimpse of his silhouette before the night swallowed him whole.

The fence was still warm under your hand, the cicadas still singing. You exhaled, steadying herself, knowing that tomorrow he’d be there again—your friend in the woods, monster and boy, killer and companion.

And you would be there too, waiting for him.

── .✦

The day crawled by, the hours sticky and dull. You’d scrubbed your kitchen counters twice, answered a handful of emails for work you barely remembered, and even tried to read a book on the back steps—but the words blurred in the heavy evening heat.

All you could think about was Jack.

Ever since that night, years ago, your days felt incomplete until you met him at the fence. Those small conversations, traded across weather-ruined ply-wood, had become your strange ritual, your fragile thread of normal.

Tonight was no different. As the sun began to drop, you practically inhaled your dinner—pasta gone rubbery from the microwave, but you didn’t even taste it—swallowing mouthfuls so fast you nearly choked. Then you ran a hand through your hair, smoothed the wrinkles from your shirt, and stepped outside.

The air was still and damp, the kind that made your arms itch. The cicadas thrummed their endless song, hiding the hush of the woods. You leaned on the fence, peering into the tree line.

Nothing.

You waited, shifting your weight from foot to foot, hoping you’d see the pale glint of his mask moving between the trunks. But the woods stayed silent, the sky growing darker by the minute.

Maybe something came up. Maybe Slenderman needed him. Maybe he was hunting. He was usually late anyway.

You tried to reason with yourself, but the night stretched on, thick and empty, until the mosquitoes started biting and you had no choice but to go inside.

The next night, you came out early, practically running through the kitchen just to get to the fence faster. But again—nothing. The woods felt wrong, like a silent accusation, each leaf unmoving in the hot breeze.

The third night, you could barely stand to eat. You pushed your food around the plate, your stomach a hard knot, fingers picking at the torn edge of your thumbnail until it bled. The skin around your cuticles was raw from worry, your breathing shallow and thin.

Three days, you thought, three days is too long.

He had never gone three days without showing up, not since that night you saved him from bleeding out in your basement.

A cold panic clawed at your throat. You pictured him cornered somewhere, wounded, or worse—devoured by whatever lived inside him. You pictured Slenderman tearing him apart like a dog with a ragdoll, or the police finally catching him, gunning him down before he could explain he was more victim than monster.

Your fork clattered to the plate. You couldn’t take it.

You stood so fast your chair scraped a painful shriek across the floor. You grabbed your flashlight, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out, and stalked out into the night.

The fence gate to the woods creaked open, a hesitant protest that felt far too loud. The path beyond was half-eaten by weeds and dark as ink, but you forced yourself through, lungs full of warm, wet air that smelled like dirt and dying leaves.

If Jack wasn’t coming to you—then you would go to him.

You stepped across the fence line, your safe little world snapping shut behind you like a broken jaw, and let the darkness swallow you whole.

── .✦

The woods closed in around you the moment you crossed the fence line, swallowing up the distant hum of the highway and the yellow glow of your back porch light. Out here, everything was shadow layered on shadow, the air thick enough to choke.

You stepped carefully, branches scratching your shins, the beam of your flashlight bouncing across the undergrowth. Every so often you caught a flash of color—a scrap of paper, a mushroom cap, a piece of trash—and your heart would leap in false hope, only to crash back down when it wasn’t him.

Where are you, Jack?

You tried to keep your breathing quiet, tried not to think about the thousands of unseen things rustling in the tall grass. Your imagination filled the darkness with monsters: faceless giants and hollow-eyed shapes, hands reaching.

A branch snapped somewhere ahead, sharp and loud. You flinched, heart hammering up into your throat. Your flashlight jerked wildly, sending yellow arcs of light through the undergrowth.

“Jack?” you called, voice soft and strangled.

No answer. Only the startled flutter of birds erupting from the canopy, taking to the sky in a rush of frantic wings. You staggered back, hand clamped over your chest, adrenaline scalding through you.

You swept the beam of the flashlight across the trees, willing him to be there—a dark mask, a familiar slouch, anything—but the woods only gave you more silence.

Panic built behind your ribs like a scream. You tried to swallow it down.

“Jack?” you called again, a little louder this time, your voice carrying through the trees.

Nothing.

The darkness pressed in. Every stick crack, every scuttle of an animal felt like claws reaching for you. You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, your sneakers sinking into damp earth.

You called again, and again, each time a little braver, though the sound of your own voice nearly terrified you more than the silence did.

“Jack,” you pleaded, “if you can hear me… please answer.”

The flashlight beam wobbled as you clenched your shaking hand around it. The woods felt too big, swallowing your words whole. You had no idea how deep Jack had gone, or if he was even alive, or if you’d ever find him again.

But you had to try.

You would keep going. Even if it meant walking straight into a nightmare, you would keep looking for him, because Jack had never left you alone, even at his worst.

And you refused to leave him alone now.

You kept walking.

The night felt endless, the same dark trees repeating over and over until your legs burned and your feet throbbed inside your sneakers. Branches snagged at your sleeves, tearing tiny holes you barely registered. Bugs droned in the heavy air, the only thing keeping you company.

You lost track of how long you’d been out there—forty minutes, an hour, maybe more. Every step felt like you were sinking deeper into something that didn’t want you there.

Then your flashlight caught a rounded shape in the dirt.

You froze, breath stuttering, and dropped to your knees. The beam landed on it properly this time, and your heart broke in a single, sharp crack.

Jack’s mask.

It lay half-buried under leaves and mud, one side split down the cheek like something had struck it hard, the once-smooth paint now chipped and stained. It looked wrong, abandoned, like a piece of him torn away, like it had been sitting here for a couple of days.

“No,” you whispered, fingers trembling as you picked it up. It was heavier than you expected, damp with rain and sweat, smelling faintly of earth and blood.

“Jack!” you shouted, panic swallowing every scrap of caution you had left. “Jack! Where are you?”

Your voice rang off the trees, harsh and desperate.

Nothing answered.

You shoved the mask under your arm and pushed onward, scanning the cliff runoffs and dry creekbeds where you knew animals liked to hide, searching the tangled roots along the old trails, calling his name again and again.

“Jack! Please—answer me!”

The woods felt different now. As you climbed another steep rise, lungs burning, you realized it had gotten… quiet.

Way too quiet.

The cicadas were gone. No crickets. No night birds. Nothing.

Like the entire forest had been smothered under a heavy, waiting hush.

Your footsteps sounded painfully loud, each broken twig echoing off the trunks around you. You forced yourself to keep moving, scanning every hollow, every patch of shadow for a flash of gray skin or those ink-black tears—anything to prove he was still here.

But the silence felt absolute.

Crushing.

Wrong.

You swallowed, hard, the edges of the quiet closing around you until it felt like the woods themselves were holding their breath.

The stillness was so heavy it pressed on your eardrums, leaving you dizzy and unsteady. You clutched the broken mask tighter to your chest, heart hammering, flashlight flicking from one twisted branch to another.

That was when you heard it.

A wet, tearing sound, slick and raw, like someone wringing out a soaked rag. Then another noise—a sharp pop, like cartilage snapping.

Your stomach lurched.

You turned your flashlight toward the sound, its pale circle shaking so badly it barely held focus. You swallowed, took a single step, then another, trying not to crack any twigs, the silence around you making every breath sound huge.

You crept forward, through brambles that snagged your jeans, and finally reached the thick trunk of a pine tree. Its bark was rough against your palm as you steadied yourself, heart about to pound out of your chest.

The noises were louder here—slurping, chewing, flesh pulling away from bone.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a heartbeat, steeling yourself, then leaned to peek around the tree.

The sight made your legs go out from under you.

Jack was crouched low, his claws sunk deep in something—someone—sprawled in the mud. His face was buried in the corpse’s stomach, his mask gone, the ruined hollow of his sockets pressed to ruined flesh as he tore through it with those glinting, animal-sharp teeth.

Wet, black gore streaked his chin. Strings of it dripped from his mouth as he devoured what was left of the person’s organs.

He looked monstrous, more beast than man, moving in a brutal, mindless rhythm that made bile rise in your throat.

A scream clawed its way up before you could stop it, raw and terrified, tearing itself from your lungs.

The flashlight fell from your hands, clattering against a rock. Jack’s broken mask slipped after it, landing in the dirt.

Your knees buckled and you crashed to the ground, hands braced in the leaves as you gasped, the scream still echoing through the dead, silent woods.

Jack’s head snapped up, raw and slick with gore, strands of dark tissue clinging to his torn lips. For a moment, he just stared—or aimed those hollow sockets at you, emptier than any night you’d ever seen.

Then he let out a sound.

It was a low, throaty grunt, bubbling through whatever remained of the man’s organs, followed by a choked, strangled whine.

He shoved the corpse aside in a jerking, hungry motion, the wet smack of it hitting the ground making you flinch. Jack’s claws scraped through the dirt as he pushed upright, swaying on his feet. The moon caught the raw gleam of his teeth, stained black-red and sharp as glass. The front of his gray hoodie was stained dark, blood covering his chest and collar.

He took a staggering step toward you, hunched, moving in fits and starts—a predator not quite remembering how to use its limbs.

“J—Jack,” you stammered, voice cracking under the weight of your own terror.

Another grunt, this one higher, confused, almost hurt. But he kept coming, head tilted like he was trying to place you, thick lines of blood still running from his mouth.

You scrambled to your feet, hands scraping against sticks and dirt. Your flashlight lay where it had fallen, but you didn’t dare grab it—the thought of wasting a single second made your heart seize.

You ran.

Your legs barely worked at first, a jolt of panic burning through them so violently you stumbled. Behind you, Jack howled—a horrible, broken sound, like a wolf choking on its own kill—and then he charged.

You heard him crashing through the brush, smashing into trees hard enough to shake the branches overhead, snarling and sobbing all at once.

Your lungs tore with each gulp of damp air, your feet tangling in vines and roots. The world blurred, branches whipping your face and arms, your pulse a screaming rhythm in your ears.

You glanced over your shoulder—mistake.

Jack was close, horrifyingly close, lurching forward on all fours at times, then staggering upright, drool and blood flinging off his chin with every strangled cry.

The sound of him was horrible, like a nightmare given voice: gasping, wet snarls, a boy’s whimper trapped in a monster’s throat.

You pushed harder, legs on fire, tripping through a creek bed and nearly going down. Behind you, Jack crashed in after, water splashing like a thunderclap. He slammed against the bank and scrabbled up again, claws raking mud, his body moving with a terrifying, unstoppable hunger.

The night around you felt like it shrank, every tree too close, every shadow reaching. You could hear him breathing—wet, ragged, sharp—right behind you, the animal panic of a predator whose prey was slipping away.

Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, half from terror, half from heartbreak. Jack. Your Jack. Reduced to this. Hunting you like he didn’t even know your name.

He wailed again, an echoing, desperate sound that sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through your spine.

You scrambled up a hill, nails tearing into the dirt for grip, and felt him slam into the slope behind you, sending rocks and dead leaves skittering down around your heels. He tripped on a root, crashing to his knees with a scream of frustration, but he was already dragging himself up, unstoppable.

You felt pathetic, small and breakable, every instinct screaming to run run run run—

But there was nowhere to go, nowhere safe. The forest was a cage, and Jack was filling every inch of it, his cries ripping through the dark, hunting you down with mindless, monstrous determination.

You ran anyway, because you had to.

And behind you, he followed—crashing, wailing, unstoppable.

It only took one misstep of your foot, one trip—a rush of air and the thunder of clawed feet, and then he crashed into you with the force of a falling tree.

You hit the ground hard, the breath punched out of your lungs, dirt grinding into your palms. Before you could even scream, Jack was on top of you, pinning you to the forest floor with all his unnatural weight.

He snarled inches from your face, the sound raw and animal, splattering you with thick, foul-smelling gore. Blood dripped from his wide lips, fat droplets falling onto your cheek, sliding warm and sticky into your hair. You noticed it then, the absolute richness of his smell. Like his cologne, but so stout and thick you could’ve choked on it.

You froze, terror swallowing you whole, every muscle locked in place. His claws curled into the ground beside your head, framing you like steel traps.

“Jack,” you choked out, your voice breaking under the fear, “Jack, it’s me—please, please, it’s me!”

He leaned closer, so close you could smell rotted copper and damp earth on his breath. His hollow sockets flared wide, a horrible, empty focus. Another snarl tore out of him, spraying more blood across your face. Even the tips of his pointed ears were speckled with the stuff.

You raised your hands, palms open, pressing against the dampened fabric of his hoodie, feeling the quivering, rigid muscles beneath.

“Jack—Jack, please,” you sobbed, “you know me—it’s me, it’s me—”

Something in him stuttered.

The endless growling broke off, replaced by a high, confused whine. His head twitched, tilting to one side, like a dog trying to understand a new word.

His breath hitched, and then he bent down, nosing against your cheek, sucking in deep, shaky lungfuls of your scent.

His three black tongues emerged, slick and twitching, and began to sweep over your face in long, wet strokes, gathering up the blood he’d splattered there. It was revolting—warm, sticky, and far too intimate—and you flinched as he moved lower, tongues pressing to your neck, tasting, cleaning.

He breathed you in so desperately you thought he might inhale your entire soul. His chest heaved against your hands, shuddering with each inhale.

“Ssr—” he tried, voice grinding out of a throat that sounded half broken, “Mmn—Hah—”

You could hear it, buried in the monstrous ruin of his voice, “So-Sorr-ey—Mmn-sorr—Mnn-Miss yewhh—”

He kept trying to form the words, but they came out in garbled sobs and animal rasping, drool and blood dripping onto your skin.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe.

His tongues kept working, lapping gently at your throat, tasting, nuzzling, his claws scraping at the dirt on either side of your head. A pitiful whimper rattled through him every time he pulled away and tried to speak again.

It was like being pinned by a hurricane—something impossibly powerful and terrifying, but also heartbreakingly confused, lost, wanting only you.

You stared up at the empty sockets inches from your eyes, mind screaming, every nerve alight with raw, animal terror.

Jack’s blood-slick mouth hovered above you, trying so hard to shape human words, but all that came was a broken, hopeless cry.

Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Jack’s weight felt endless on top of you, a monstrous, crushing presence that smelled of blood and rot and something older, darker.

But… this was Jack.

You tried to remember that—your Jack, even buried in this nightmare. You preached about loving him and being there for him no matter what, but as soon as you’re faced with a horror, what did you do? Stupid.

You drew in a weary, shaking breath and reached up, fingers threading through the wild, tangled strands of his dark hair. The roots were tacky with drying blood, but you ignored it, combing gently, soothing.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice raw, “Jack… it’s okay. You’re okay.”

He whimpered against your throat, the monstrous rumble of his chest vibrating against yours. His tongues tried to drag across your cheeks again, desperate and sloppy, but you pushed him back with a shaking hand, steadying him.

“Stop—hey, it’s okay,” you tried again, voice firm but soft, like talking to a wounded animal.

He froze, breathing you in so deeply it hurt to hear, then slowly lowered his head until his brow touched yours. The blood was sticky between you, but the contact steadied him, just a little. You’d never have thought touching him, seeing him without his mask for the first time in months would’ve been like this. Fate has a weird way of working things out.

You kept your hand moving through his hair, gentle, grounding, and after another moment he shifted, claws pulling out of the dirt beside your head and instead curling around you, wrapping you in a terrifying, protective cage.

His hands—bloodied and sharp and so wrong—trembled as they ghosted under your shirt, rough against your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your ribs against his chest.

His entire body shook as he settled, breath ragged and uneven, the smell of iron so strong you wanted to gag. Still, you stayed, letting him hold you, even when every terrified instinct screamed to run.

Moonlight spilled through a break in the canopy, falling on the two of you in a cold, pale wash. It caught the gore still clinging to his jaw, the unnatural gray of his ruined skin, the inky stain of his hollow eyes.

Jack clung tighter, claws pricking your sides, breathing hard against your neck, confused sounds still rumbling in the back of his throat.

He didn’t understand. You could feel it in the frantic rhythm of his touch—he didn’t know why his body felt so raw, so starving, so desperate.

Jack stayed wrapped around you, claws trembling against your back, his breathing raw and frantic. His face was buried at your neck, those horrible tongues twitching against your skin, tasting you over and over as if it was the only thing keeping him sane.

Your head spun. He was so strong—you could feel it in every twitch of those monstrous hands, how easily he could have broken you. But he didn’t.

He was shaking, whimpering, lost.

“Jack,” you tried, voice cracking, “what is this? What’s happening to you?”

He made a mangled sound, low in his chest, trying to force words through a throat that wasn’t made for them anymore.

“Ca-c-can’t—” he rasped, wet and torn. “Can’t… s-stop.”

You swallowed, panic still clawing at your ribs. His claws flexed under your shirt, not hurting, but clutching at you like a lifeline.

“Can’t stop what?” you asked, heart hammering, “Hurting? Hunting?”

He shook his head, a violent, jerky movement against your neck, a fresh whimper breaking free.

“Smh-smell… y-you…” he gasped, voice breaking. “C-c-can’t… st-stop.”

Your mind was spinning, trying to piece it together. You thought of how he’d tracked you down, how he couldn’t stop licking you, couldn’t get enough of your scent, the way he was holding you now like he needed you to keep breathing.

Your stomach dropped.

Was this… heat? The word felt alien, but close. Or something like it. He was… an animal, twisted by what they’d done to him. Maybe his body had gone feral in more ways than just hunger.

“Jack,” you whispered, dread crawling up your spine, “are you… in some kind of… rut?”

He went still, pressed against you. A miserable, pained whimper came out, low and helpless.

“Dha-d-don’t… know,” he stuttered, voice thick with something raw and pathetic. “I… s-smell… yo-ou… need…”

It made your head swim. Of course he didn’t know. How could he? No one ever taught a monster about instincts like this.

His claws scrabbled at your back again, then curled around your waist, pulling you even tighter. His face pressed into your collarbone, those tongues working against your throat like he was trying to memorize you.

It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking.

“It’s okay, Jack,” you whispered again, voice catching, “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Jack trembled against you, his claws flexing and unflexing along your ribs, scraping your skin just enough to sting. His entire body was rigid, shaking, the way a bowstring might before it finally snapped.

A raw, pained groan crawled up his ruined throat, and then—he moved.

He shifted, his hips dragging against yours, grinding down, slow and clumsy, a desperate friction that made your blood run cold and your spine bow off the ground. He did it again, harder, a broken sob rattling out of him. He was hard, and so painfully, terrifyingly big. 

It was so wrong—but so heartbreakingly human in a twisted way.

He didn’t know what he was doing. You could feel it in how he shook, how his claws fluttered against your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. But some dark, feral instinct had its claws in him now, and it wouldn’t let go.

“J-Jack—” you stammered, terror slicing through you like a blade, “Jack, wait—wait, please—”

He didn’t seem to hear you. Or maybe he couldn’t.

He only whimpered, grinding down again, more frantic, his entire body surging with confused, alien need. The weight of him pinned you, crushing you into the damp earth, making it impossible to squirm away.

Your words turned to babbling, desperate, tears spilling from your eyes.

“Jack, please, wait, j-just—just hold on—you don’t have to—!”

But he needed to.

His tongue, the longest of the three, licked up the side of your neck, tasting your tears, and his whole body shuddered in something close to ecstasy.

You were perfect—you smelled so good, so alive, so his.

Jack keened against you, hips ramming forward again against the center of your thighs, a hopeless rhythm he didn’t understand, only that it made the gnawing ache inside ease for the briefest second. You grunted with every press, legs clamping to close around his hips, but it was no use.

His claws roved under your shirt, skittering against your bare skin, so hot and feverish it felt like they might burn you.

You tried to hold on to him, hands bracing against his chest, trying to reason with him, but he was gone to you—lost to instincts so deep and cruel they drowned out everything else.

“P-please, Jack,” you cried, voice catching on a sob, “I know you’re in there—I know you’re in there, please just—”

He didn’t answer.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling with a desperate, shaking gasp, then ground into you again, a brutal, guttural snarl tearing from his chest.

There was hunger, yes—but not for organs, not this time. It was a hunger that was aching, tearing him apart in places he didn’t even have names for anymore.

He needed you. And he couldn’t stop.

The heat in his body was a firestorm, swallowing everything that made sense, leaving only need. You smelled so good—the salt of your skin, the sweet tang of your fear, the soft, warm human scent that had always belonged to you.

His claws scraped against your ribs as he ground down, again and again, unable to stop, each movement more desperate than the last. A whine rattled out of him, high and pained, like it physically hurt to be this close and not inside you somehow. You matched his whines, your thighs shaking with how his cock rubbed against your cunt through layers of thick clothing.

Your hands clutched at his hair, pulling, nails digging into his scalp. You were crying, babbling, your voice cracking with half-formed pleas—but you weren’t fighting him, you didn’t think you could anyhow.

He latched onto that with something feral, something primal. You wanted him, some buried part of you did, or at least you weren’t kicking him off, and that was enough to break what was left of his reason.

His tongues flicked over your neck, tasting sweat and tears and heat, making him snarl in frustrated ecstasy. The sound vibrated through your chest, and you arched up against him without meaning to, hips meeting his with a helpless grind that made his claws clench hard enough to bruise.

The world was spinning, dizzy and molten, your voice cracking again as you gasped, “J-Jack—”

He couldn’t stop.

“Mhnn—M’sorry—”

He bit you.

His jaws snapped down on your shoulder, too hard, the sharp points of his monstrous teeth tearing straight through the thin cotton of your shirt and sinking into flesh.

You screamed—a sound tangled between pain and something far, far darker, some twisted surge of relief that made you go limp under him.

He tasted your blood, hot and coppery, and moaned against you, rutting his hips so hard you could barely breathe.

Your head fell back, tears streaming, your body alight with panic and arousal and a hundred things you couldn’t name.

“Ah—Fuck—!” you sobbed, hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as you trembled from the agony of his bite.

He whined around the mouthful of your skin, drool and blood spilling down your shoulder, tongues fluttering against the broken flesh. His claws skittered under your back, catching on the fabric, desperate to feel you, to anchor himself before he tore you apart completely.

The smell of you, the taste, the way you moved against him—it was too much. It was everything.

Jack’s grinding grew more frantic, more nasty, sloppy and desperate, like an animal starved of touch for centuries, driven by something so foreign he couldn’t even name it.

You moved with him, rutting up to meet his rhythm, your voice breaking into half-sobbed moans as you clutched him closer, dizzy from pain and heat and the horrible, unbearable need radiating off of him.

It was messy, violent, a collision of instincts and terror and some warped, twisted need to save him.

It built like a storm, each frantic thrust of his hips dragging you closer to a precipice you couldn’t see, didn’t even know it was there until you felt the coil in your stomach. Jack was panting, growling, his claws scoring lines onto your ribs and back and all over as he rutted against you, mindless and unstoppable.

You were barely breathing, the pain in your shoulder mixing with something hot and carnal that had your hips moving up to meet his every time, your voice caught in your throat in sobs and broken cries. Your thighs feel open, legs coming around his broad hips to wrap around him, locking your feet together at the base of his back.

The smell of blood, sweat, the damp soil—it all blurred around you, your entire world narrowed to the way his hips slid against yours, his length pressed against your aching clit.

Jack’s tongues lashed against your skin, tasting you, claiming you, his breath so ragged it rattled his chest. His hips stuttered, harder, faster, his growl climbing into something high and keening—

You felt the tension snap inside you like a frayed wire, every nerve flaring white-hot as you choked on a sob, your hips jerking up, caught in that same unstoppable rhythm.

Your orgasm crashed through you, messy and raw, pain and pleasure and terror all tangled together until you didn’t know what you were feeling except that you couldn’t handle the pressure any longer.

He felt it too.

Jack’s whole body went rigid, a strangled, animalistic cry bursting out of him as he ground down hard, shoving you into the dirt so rough your bones ached. He shuddered, every muscle seizing, the heat of him smothering you as he came, mindlessly rutting through the last frantic pulses until his hips slowed to stutters.

For a long moment, there was only panting—his huge body draped over yours, twitching, shaking.

The forest was silent except for your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the coppery sting of blood sharp under your nose.

Jack went still, finally, the frantic, feral madness draining out of him all at once like a burst dam. He slumped against you, heavy and limp, rasping out broken, rattling breaths.

You felt his face move against your neck, those horrible tongues twitching sluggishly, no longer hungry, just back to cleaning the blood that trickled from your bite.

A low, almost human voice crawled out of him, helpless and raw.

“C-cou-couldn’t—” he tried to say, and choked on a sob, “couldn’t s-stop…”

Your shaking hands found his hair again, combing through the blood-matted strands. Your voice was thin, ruined from crying, but you managed to get words past your cracked lips.

“I-I know,” you whispered, “Jack, I know…”

He let out a hoarse, broken whine, pressing his face harder into your throat. The pressure of his claws, still tucked under your shirt, turned gentle, almost soothing, stroking your bare skin in a clumsy mimic of affection.

The blind, animalistic need had quieted, leaving something raw and battered in its place.

He was Jack again, for now—shaky and confused and so, so sorry.

“D-didn’t… want to… h-hurt…” he stammered, one of his tongues licking a stripe up your jaw as if trying to apologize, “you smelled so-soo good…”

You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears.

“It’s okay,” you whined, voice paper-thin, “it’s… it’s okay. We’ll… we’ll figure it out.”

He let out a low, pitiful whimper and curled tighter around you, as if even after all that, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You felt the heat of him, the ragged exhaustion, the sloppy, dazed nuzzles as he licked at the bite he’d left on your shoulder.

But then—you felt it.

Hard. Still hard.

Thick and throbbing, pressed against the curve of your hip, pulsing with a need that clearly hadn’t burned itself out yet. The realization shot a cold spear of panic through your gut, even as your mind reeled from the aftershocks of what you’d already survived.

“Jack,” you breathed, voice breaking, “wait—”

But he was moving again. A slow, rolling grind against you, the heavy ridge of him rutting over your thigh. You flinched, a fresh spike of sensitivity bursting through your half-numb body.

He whined—higher, clearer, more Jack than the animal—but still desperate.

“C-can’t stop…” he stammered, his voice raw and torn, but understandable now, “please… I need… more…”

Your heart lurched, hammering so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. You put your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.

“J-Jack—wait—just—just hold on a second—”

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

He loomed up over you, gray skin catching in a shaft of moonlight, eyes still hollow and leaking that inky blackness, but somehow so full of you, focused only on you.

A clumsy claw caught the hem of your shirt, tugging, tearing the cotton easily as if it were paper. Another hand fumbled at your waistband, his movements frantic, awkward, scraping your skin as he tried to pull your pants down. He tore his claw through your shirt, ripping the fabric in half, shoving it off your chest. The air was warm, but your flesh still crawled with goosebumps, crossing your arms across your bra.

“J-Jack—” you pleaded, voice cracking, “slow down—”

He shook his head, a course growl pulling out of his ruined throat, all three tongues lolling and quivering as he nosed at your bare shoulder, inhaling you like your scent was the sweetest perfume known to man.

“Sm-mells so… g-good…” he slurred, breath shivering across your damp skin, “It hurts… I need…”

He sat up off of you onto his knees and tugged harder, practically ripping your pants down your hips, dragging the fabric across your thighs and off your ankles, leaving you shivering in the warm night air, half-covered in blood and dirt and his own desperate scent.

Your head spun, panic and some horrible spark of want twisting in your belly.

His claws raked down your sides, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but his grip gentled near your hips, as if trying, clumsily, to be careful with you.

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking around the word like glass, “I need it…”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was tearing at what was left of your clothes, his claws hooking into your panties and ripping them in a single, impatient pull. The elastic snapped, leaving you bare beneath him, the humid night air kissing every inch of your trembling skin.

Jack leaned back, just enough to see you fully—the sight of you exposed made him snarl, low and guttural, his hips twitching in a spasm of aching need.

You gasped when he tore at your bra, the clasps giving way to those claws so easily, leaving you naked, splayed out beneath him in the mud and leaves. His tongues ran over his lips, shivering in the night air, and he lowered his face to your chest, sniffing so deep it made your skin prickle.

Jack shifted above you, still breathing in those ragged, animal-edged huffs of air. His claws twitched at the edge of his hoodie, scrabbling almost clumsily as he started trying to yank it off, frustration roughening his voice.

“Too… h-hot,” he snarled, voice breaking as he tried to pull the oversized fabric over his shoulders, “can’t—too tight—”

It was ridiculous, in a way—the thing was big on him, he had to roll up the sleeves for crying out loud, but with the way his body strained and trembled now, even that roomy cloth felt suffocating.

You watched, dazed and shaking, as he finally managed to drag it over his head, the hood catching for a second on his head before he ripped it free with a growl.

The air hit his skin and he shivered, shoulders rolling. His body was… terrifying, and yet so painfully, heartbreakingly familiar.

His skin, that strange ashy blue-gray, gleamed with sweat, muscles standing out in sharp, tense lines. Broad shoulders, roped with lean, powerful definition, his chest heaving, his ribs showing the slightest hollow from days of half-starved hunting. Scars ran across him in jagged, uneven tracks, some healed rough, others still pink and new.

The moonlight skimmed over his abdomen, tracing hard-cut muscle under a shimmer of sweat, each breath flexing the taut cords of his stomach. His hips were narrow, but thick with power, and every line of him looked made for violence—but somehow so vulnerable in this raw, exposed moment. But the pièce de résistance was the trail of hair that started under his belly button and traveled down to somewhere unknown beneath his waistband.

He tossed the hoodie aside and leaned back over you, hair matted and damp around his forehead, claws spreading on either side of your waist as he growled, breath ghosting over your chest.

“Hold on now, w-wait—” you stammered, but the words barely left your lips before his mouth was on you.

He licked a broad, hungry stripe up the slope of your breast, then latched on, three tongues working over your nipple at once—hot, slick, inhuman. You cried out, body arching up, nails digging into his shoulders as the wet heat sent a jolt of electricity through you.

He moaned at the taste of you, his voice raw and desperate, his hands splaying out over your hips to pin you down as he moved lower, lower still, dragging those horrible, clever tongues across every inch of you.

When he settled between your thighs, you tried to close them—but his claws kept you open, spreading you wide, your body so exposed you could hardly stand it. You leaned up onto your elbows, fingers digging into the grass.

Jack paused for just a second, panting, his face hovering over your slick, his tongues twitching with anticipation. He let out a broken, hungry little whimper. Was he… was he fucking drooling?

“P-pretty…” he slurred, the syllables barely holding together, “so… pretty…”

And then he lunged, mouth burying itself against you with no finesse, no mercy.

You screamed, your back bowing off the ground as those three tongues moved with wild, sloppy desperation, lapping at you like he was starving. It was too much—the rough flicks, the obscene wetness, the teeth scraping gently at sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure and terror straight through your core.

You gasped, hips jerking, the spark of pleasure sharp as lightning through your belly. Jack let out a deep, satisfied growl at the reaction, circling your clit with the tip of one of his tongues, soft at first, then firmer, more insistent, making your muscles clench under him.

You fisted his hair, gasping, voice cracking as you tried to guide him, tried to survive the hurricane of sensation.

The second tongue joined the first, working in a counter-rhythm, stroking and licking at you until you were shaking again, barely able to think. He was playing with you—greedy and clumsy, but somehow still so achingly precise, watching you break apart under every drag of his tongues.

“J-Jack—oh my god—slow—please—!”

He didn’t slow. Couldn’t.

He added another.

His monstrous hands pinned your thighs even wider, his growls vibrating right through you, and he sucked at your clit with all three tongues, so intense you almost blacked out, eyes rolling far beyond the back of your head.

“Fuckk—y-you—taste—” he babbled into you, lost in it, “so fucking good.”

You felt his hips rutt against the ground while he devoured you, grinding for relief even as he tore every ounce of yours from you with terrifying devotion.

It was savage. Beautiful.

You were helpless, caught under him, trembling as the pleasure built again and again, nowhere to go, nothing to do but cling to him and pray you survived.

And Jack—he just kept going, lost in you, a monster starved for more than flesh.

Then, with a hungry deliberation, he shifted, tongues drawing lower, to the dripping entrance of your core. One slick tongue traced around the tight ring of muscle, circling, then gently pushed inside—the stretch was strange, hot, noticeable, and you cried out, fisting the dirt, hips rolling helplessly.

Jack shuddered like he could feel it, letting out a sound halfway between a moan and a growl that vibrated against your cunt.

Then a second tongue slid in next to the first, thicker, the two of them twisting, writhing, pressing against places inside you that made your toes curl and your spine curl off the forest floor.

“F-fuck—Jack—!” you sobbed, barely holding on.

He whined, eager, desperate to please, and a third tongue pushed at your entrance, stretching you even more, making you feel so full and so impossibly overwhelmed. He fed them in deeper, deeper still, moving them in slow, obscene thrusts as your body fluttered helplessly around them.

His claws dug into your hips, holding you steady, and he watched you break apart, those empty sockets somehow burning with a savage, possessive adoration.

“Cant stop—I can’t—” he stammered, voice shaking as much as you were, “So warm—”

The tongues twisted inside you, slick and hot and everywhere, while the tip of one still worked your clit in perfect, punishing circles—until your mind was nothing but static. You could feel your restraint dissolve, feel every muscle coming unbound with every pass of the muscles roiling around inside your gummy walls. All you could do was hiccup through tears that spilt down your cheeks, hands lost between fisting the grass and Jack’s messy hair.

He wouldn’t make you decide for long.

Jack finally slowed, his three tongues pulsing one last time inside you before starting to pull free—inch by inch, painfully slow, the writhing muscle dragging slick and hot against your walls.

You cried out, hands scrabbling through the dirt, thighs shivering so hard they nearly clamped shut around his head. Jack lifted, and the sight of him made your stomach twist—his face was covered in you, slick and glistening all the way to the hollows of his cheeks, dripping down the edges of his jaw.

He panted, claws still gripping your hips, and then—almost absently—he used those tongues to clean himself. They swept up over his chin, lapping across his cheeks, curling to drag away every trace of you with obscene thoroughness.

The longest tongue curled all the way up to the corner of his eye socket, slicking away a streak of blood, while the others worked over his lips and down to his throat, catching every drop.

It was monstrous, horrifying—but something about it was also devoted, his noises soft and grateful as he tasted you over and over again.

When he was finished, his face shone faintly in the moonlight, wiped clean by nothing but his own inhuman hunger, and he looked down at you with those hollow, endless sockets, panting, starved, still wanting.

“Taste so… mhnn—so go-good—” he stammered, voice breaking apart, almost overwhelmed himself.

Then, shaking, he leaned back on his haunches, claws fumbling at the button of his jeans, breath coming out in deep, stripped huffs. The denim was already soaked with sweat and stained with little flecks of gore, clinging to his muscled thighs.

“C-can’t—too tight—need…” he growled, frustrated, claws almost tearing the button clean off before he finally managed to wrench it open and shove the jeans down.

The second they fell, your breath hitched. You felt your stomach roll over on itself.

His cock was monstrous, huge even by impossible standards, flushed a dark bruised-blue that almost glowed in the slivered moonlight. Thick ridges ran along the underside, pulsing faintly, and the head was slick and shiny, drooling a bead of clear precum that dripped to the dirt below. Veins wrapped around the shaft like dark ropes, throbbing with each frantic beat of his inhuman heart.

It was obscene, the sheer size of it, the way it twitched and jumped with the smallest movement of his hips. Your body tensed, terrified and aching all at once, while Jack looked down at you with those endless, hungry sockets, a guttural, whiny sound escaping his throat. A noise a dog would make if you held food above its head.

“Sweet girl,” he rasped, voice shaking, “Want—hnn—want inside… please… pl-please.”

He was so hard he looked in pain, the length of him bobbing forward, heavy, glistening, terrifyingly perfect in its brutality. One clawed hand wrapped around the base, a poor attempt to steady himself as he leaned over you, every muscle in his lean, powerful frame quivering with raw, feral need.

You could barely breathe, heart hammering against your ribs, as Jack loomed over you—huge, starved, and desperate to make you his.

A wave of terror slammed into you, cutting through every dazed, sweet ache in your body. Your instincts screamed run, and before you could even think, you rolled over onto your stomach, dirt scraping your skin, legs wobbling as you tried to get your knees under you.

You were so weak, so shaky from everything he’d already done to you, but you managed to crawl forward, dragging yourself clumsy and frantic through the leaves. No fucking way were you going to take that thing.

“Jack, no—” you gasped, voice breaking.

But he snarled behind you, a sound so deep and hungry it rattled your bones.

“Don’t run…” he growled, words wet and cracked, “…don’t run, pretty girl…”

You made it only a few feet before his claws closed around your calf, the rough grip tearing a desperate cry from your lungs. Jack hauled you backward with terrifying ease, your fingernails clawing at the dirt as he dragged you until you were flush against him, your back pressed to the heat of his bare chest, his hips crowding up behind you.

He leaned over, breath scalding against your ear, and you felt the monstrous weight of his cock slide along the curve of your ass, so heavy and thick it made your whole body clench up.

It rested there, pulsing hot against your skin, smearing precum over your lower back and leaving your mind reeling with just how deep he was going to go.

“Don’t run…” Jack repeated, lower, almost a begging whimper tangled with the snarl, “n-need you…need all of you…”

He ground forward, letting the head of his cock catch between your cheeks, then angling his hips, slid his length between your thighs, pressing against your entrance just enough for you to feel the impossible stretch waiting.

Your breath came in sharp, terrified gasps, the world a dizzy blur as his claws dug into your hips, holding you pinned, his voice breaking as he panted into your hair.

“P-pretty…don’t run…gonna make you f-full…so full…”

The sheer heat of him, the solid, inhuman girth twitching and drooling against you, made your head spin. Your heart thundered like prey under a predator’s paw—helpless, trembling, trapped.

You tried to squirm again—a panicked, half-blind attempt to drag yourself away, the leaves and damp earth clinging to your elbows. But Jack’s low, animal snarl made your heart stop, vibrating through your ribs like thunder.

“Don’t,” he rasped, breath raw and uneven, “don’t run—gonna take you—”

His hips rolled, the bulging head of his cock catching against your clit, making you yelp and arch from the sudden jolt of raw, overwhelming pleasure. He dragged it up and down your slit, soaking you with slick precum, smearing it across your folds until you were trembling so hard you could hardly breathe.

Then he shifted, the tip nudging against your entrance, parting you, teasing just enough to send another bolt of fear straight through your spine.

You tried to move again, legs kicking weakly—but that only seemed to annoy him. A harsh growl ripped out of Jack’s throat, and before you could even scream, he slammed both hands onto your back, claws spreading wide across your shoulder blades and pinning you flat against the earth.

He pushed, his massive weight bearing down, forcing your spine into a sharp arch so your ass was high in the air and your chest crushed to the dirt. It was a humiliating, bestial pose—your body forced to submit, trembling, fully exposed.

“Stay,” he snarled, voice cracking around a broken whimper, “stay still—don’t squirm…”

You felt the head of his cock pressing again, harder this time, nudging into you with enough force to steal your breath, the tight muscle of your cunt burning already. You could barely process the stretch, barely believe it would fit, your walls already fighting the impossible intrusion.

Jack’s hips flexed, and the head started to push in, painfully slow, prying you open one quivering inch at a time.

“F-fuck—so tight—so…warm…” he stammered, panting above you, his claws tightening on your shoulders until they dug sharp enough to sting.

The pain was blinding, a burn that radiated through your hips and made tears prick your eyes. Your body shook, helpless, every muscle trying to clamp down and push him out—but he wouldn’t stop.

Jack rocked his hips forward, the head bobbing deeper, pulling out a fraction only to shove in again, each movement nudging him further and further inside until your walls were clinging to the first few inches of that monstrous, ridged length.

Your mind blurred, terror and overstimulation crashing together, as the stretch split you wider and wider—and Jack’s heavy breaths grew more desperate, his voice breaking into wild, devoted praise.

“Yeah—so good—so good—take me—need you t-to take all of me…”

And you realized, in that moment of absolute terror and helplessness, that he meant to fill every aching, breaking inch of you, no matter how much it hurt.

“Oh fuck— Oh, God—wait, Jack—”

Jack’s rhythm grew steadier, more determined, as he worked deeper—each push splitting you a fraction more, the obscene stretch lighting up every nerve in your body. Your breath came in ragged, sobbing pants, eyes screwed shut against the tears as your walls spasmed helplessly around him.

He was relentless, hips rocking, drawing out and then pushing a little deeper each time, forcing your body to mold around him. You could barely process how much was already inside—it felt like too much, so impossibly full, and still he hadn’t bottomed out.

“Hold on—hold on—just wait,” you hiccuped, reaching your arms behind you to plant against his hips, trying to stop him from going any further. You could already feel him bumping against your cervix, drooling tip nudging the deepest parts inside of you.

“Almost, pretty girl—almost there,” Jack rasped, voice wet and fractured.

You choked out a half-formed plea again, but it was lost in the dark as he pressed closer, his sweaty chest crushing against your back. He shifted his claws from your shoulders to dig into the dirt on either side of your head, caging you, pinning you, leaving you nowhere to go as you trembled under him.

And then—with a low, guttural growl—he leaned down and bit into the other side of your shoulder, teeth tearing your skin, white-hot agony blinding you. He locked his jaw tight.

Your scream broke the night, ripping from your throat, echoing through the trees. You pressed your forehead to the ground, heaving and panting into the grass.

In that moment of your rawest, most helpless pain, Jack shoved forward, burying the final brutal inches in one unforgiving thrust. The monstrous cock slammed home, hilting inside you so deep you could barely comprehend it, your body jolting forward from the force as if he meant to split you in two.

Your walls convulsed, spasming wildly around his impossible girth, every nerve alight with pain and pressure and a sick, brutal pleasure that made your head spin.

Jack’s breath rattled against your neck, hot and frantic, his tongues slipping out to lap at the blood welling from his bite as he held himself buried to the hilt, trembling over you like a beast barely chained.

“So—so warm,” he whined against your torn shoulder, voice shaking, “Feels so g-good, baby. So tight—”

And you felt everything inside you go tight and molten and unbearably full, helpless under the weight of him, pinned in a way you could never escape, your body forced to take every impossible inch.

You felt him shift—a subtle grind of his hips, the head of that monstrous cock grinding even deeper, making you jolt with a strangled cry. He couldn’t even wait until you got adjusted.

He let out a wet, shattered moan. “G-gonna move—can’t—can’t stop—hold still—”

And then he pulled back. Slowly at first, dragging that inhuman length from your spasming, quivering walls until only the tip was left stretching you wide, and for a heartbeat you thought he might let you rest.

But then he slammed back in, the force of it making your eyes roll up, punching the air out of your lungs in a weak sob.

“F-fuck—so—tight—” Jack stammered, voice raw, animalistic, clawed hands braced on either side of your head as he started to fuck down into you.

Each thrust was brutal, making you lurch forward, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the dead-silent woods. He was so deep, so thick, dragging against spots inside you that left your mind spinning, the pain a white-hot brand with every punishing push.

You tried to crawl away again—an instinct, a desperate, animal attempt to survive—but Jack caught you by the hips and slammed you back against him, snarling in your ear, “Don’t run—don’t you run from me. You’re mine—mine—”

His claws dug into your sides, angling you up so every thrust hit a new nerve deep inside, making your stomach tighten painfully around him. You could barely breathe, your body forced to take it over and over as he fucked into you like a starved animal.

Jack’s moans started to crumble, breaking apart into sharp whimpers and cries, his teeth dragging over the bite-mark on your shoulder, licking the blood and sweat. You felt him trembling, desperate, the force behind his thrusts growing frantic and messy, cock twitching with every pull out.

He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

And under the moonlight, pressed into the dirt with his massive length tearing you open over and over, you realized neither could you.

It hurt. God, it hurt—but something in the pain had started to shift, twisting deep in your belly until it burned into something hotter, something needier. Each time Jack slammed forward, your cunt clenched, not just from the brutal stretch but from a raw, wicked spark that left you reeling.

You couldn’t help it—your hips began to rock back to meet him, your battered body chasing the next drag of that searing cock as it raked through your oversensitive walls.

Jack stuttered for a second, stunned, a growling noise pulling out of his throat as he realized you were pushing back. That you wanted more.

“Yeah, yeah—sweet girl—” he stammered, voice breaking, “feel so—so good—”

Your hands scrambled backward, clinging to the thick muscle of his arms, then up to dig your fingers into his shoulders, nails dragging across hot, sweaty skin. He was burning behind you, feverish, the broad line of his chest flexing with every ragged breath.

“Jack,” you gasped, voice catching, “t-touch me—please—Jack, please—”

That was all it took.

He let out a deep, snarling whimper, the sound rolling through his chest and into you, and then he was moving even harder, rutting into you with sloppy, frantic thrusts that made your thighs spasm and your vision blur.

His claws scraped the earth beside you as he tried to keep from ripping you apart, every thrust wet and obscene—slick squelching, drool dripping from his mouths down onto your back, strings of precum and slick soaking your thighs as his jeans pooled around his knees.

The raw, nasty sounds of him splitting you open filled the air, sticky and wet and feral, each thrust making you clench tighter, wanting more, more, no matter how much it hurt.

Jack’s hips smacked against your ass again and again, leaving stinging bruises, and still you pushed back, desperate to meet every brutal stroke. Your hands clung to him like a lifeline, nails raking across his skin, your body screaming for more even as it trembled under the onslaught.

Jack’s tongues slipped out again, drooling, laving down your spine, tasting your sweat, your skin, your pain—unable to stop devouring you in every way.

“Don’t—don’t stop—” you choked out, and he let out a hoarse, shattered laugh that broke halfway to a growl.

“Can’t—never—never stopping,” he gasped, rutting forward until your knees buckled, forcing you to collapse under him, pinned to the dirt by his weight and the vicious, monstrous cock ripping you apart.

It was filthy, raw, a primal mess of slick and sweat and drool and blood, and neither of you could seem to get enough.

Jack’s thrusts slowed momentarily, a slurred, choked sound catching on his tongues as he pulled out, dragging that massive length from your trembling, ruined body inch by inch. You gasped, nearly sobbing, empty in a way that made your insides clench desperately around nothing.

But before you could catch your breath, Jack’s claws wrapped around your hips, hauling you over like you weighed nothing, flipping you onto your back. The warm night air bit into your sweat-slicked skin, making you groan—then his shadow fell over you, huge and monstrous, his eyes boring down like twin bottomless holes.

You reached up, arms instinctively curling around his shoulders, holding onto the thick, corded muscle under his burning skin. His lean, powerful torso flexed with every breath, still dripping with sweat.

He lined up again, the fat head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, and you both moaned, bodies shaking with raw, hungry need.

“Jack,” you whimpered, voice small and cracked, “fuck me, c’mon—”

“Gonna—gonna put it back in, pretty—so warm—so good—” he rasped, leaning over you, three tongues lapping from his mouth and twitching as he stared down, almost mesmerized.

Then he pushed.

It was every bit as brutal, every bit as overwhelming as the first time, the massive length stretching you to your limit and then beyond, the head forcing your walls open until you thought you’d break.

Your back arched, a scream caught in your throat—but it didn’t get out, because Jack was already sinking deeper, deeper still, until you felt a tight, blunt pressure so far inside you that it made your vision white out.

His eyes went wide, hollow sockets somehow hungry, staring right at your stomach.

“Look,” he panted, a grin tearing across his blood-streaked lips, “look at you—”

You followed his gaze, and nearly broke—a distinct bulge pressing up under the roundness of your belly, obscene and impossible, shifting every time he moved.

“Oh my god—Jack—” you cried, eyes glassy, “that’s—fuck—”

“Inside,” he growled, voice reverent and broken, his claw pressing right against that bulge. You felt it, felt the way it shifted with the head of his cock, and a raw, helpless sob tore out of you.

“Can you feel me?” he crooned, barely human, claws stroking your hips, pressing harder against the bump in your stomach. “Can you feel me all the way here?—S-so deep, pretty girl—mine—”

You shook, nodding, tears slipping from your lashes as the pleasure spiked unbearably.

“Yes—yes, Jack—yours—yours—”

He let out a hoarse, ecstatic snarl and started pounding into you again, faster, harder, the force of each thrust making that stomach bulge jump under his hand. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, gripping for dear life as he rutted you into the dirt, tongues lapping at your face and neck, worshipping you. Each thrust knocked his cock against your g-spot.

“Never gonna—hah—let go—” he grunted between sloppy, punishing thrusts, “gonna fill you—make you full—of my babies—”

You couldn’t even answer, your body was on fire, arching and breaking under him, every nerve screaming for more as the woods spun around you.

It came faster than you could even register.

You couldn’t take any more—each brutal, slamming thrust was a lightning strike, fire rolling through your veins until everything inside you clenched, burned, and finally broke.

Your back arched hard off the ground, arms locked around Jack’s shoulders, mouth open in a silent cry as a devastating orgasm ripped through you.

“Jack—!”

Your walls squeezed him so tight he nearly lost his mind, your core fluttering and gripping him in pulsing waves, slick and scorching. Jack’s claws immediately wrapped around your back, holding you close against him as if he could fuse your bodies together.

He let out a strangled, desperate growl, eyes locked on you, breathing so ragged it almost didn’t sound human. Something in him seemed to snap—a feral instinct flooding through every monstrous inch of him.

“Pretty—so good—” he babbled, voice raw and cracking, “mine—mine—mine—”

Then he lurched down, seizing your mouth with a ferocity that stunned you.

His tongues plunged inside all at once, stretching your lips wide, thick and powerful as they explored every inch of your mouth. One curled under your tongue, another ran across your teeth, the third so deep it made you gag, stealing your breath.

You choked on the sheer overwhelming invasion, tears spilling down your cheeks, but couldn’t pull away—Jack’s hands were iron around your waist, crushing you to him, the feverish heat of him radiating through your trembling body.

His tongues moved with a filthy rhythm, tasting you, claiming you, drool mixing with your tears until everything was slick and desperate. He moaned right into your throat, rutting his hips hard against you while his tongues tangled deeper, worshipping you like you were air, water, salvation.

Your climax was still crashing through you, making your legs weak and shaky as you tried to breathe through the frantic kiss—but Jack wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop, lost in that blinding animal need to own you completely.

Your lungs burned as his tongues kept invading, every inch of you claimed and devoured. The taste of him—coppery, inhuman, mixed with the salt of your own tears—filled your senses until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

His cock was still pounding into you with a punishing rhythm, the tip punching so deep inside you that your stomach bulged again and again. Every thrust made your sensitive walls clench helplessly, overstimulated, still pulsing.

Jack moaned into your mouth, frantic, tongues twisting and licking and fucking into you while he fucked harder, losing any semblance of control. His claws dug into your hips, pinning you in place, pace stuttering as he chased the final edge.

“M’gonna—” he gasped, voice barely even a voice, just a devastating, hungry snarl against your lips, “gonna fill you—make you—mine—!”

You felt him tense, the length of him swelling impossibly inside you—then he buried himself to the hilt, the head smashing up against your cervix, and roared.

Hot, thick cum poured into you in heavy pulses, stretching you so full you could feel every gush, every wave crashing deep inside. Jack’s whole body shook above you, tongues still gagging your mouth, drool and tears mixing on your face as he pumped you full.

Your walls fluttered again, clamping down on him instinctively, milking every drop until he finally slowed, breathing ragged and wild.

He collapsed against you, still inside, still impossibly hard, arms curling around you protectively like he’d never let you go. His tongues finally pulled free of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air, lips bruised and slick with spit.

Jack buried his face against your neck, panting, lost and shaking, whispering in a hoarse, cracked growl, “Mine…always mine…”

You thought—prayed—he was done, but then you felt it: a new pressure, deep in your gut, stretching you wider from the inside.

Your eyes flew wide, panic spiking again.

“J-Jack? What’s happening?” you rasped, voice shaking, but he only whined into your neck, his hips rocking against yours, grinding in short, desperate ruts.

You felt it swelling—something solid, something burning, growing right at the base of him.

Oh god.

You tried to move, to shift, but his claws curled around your hips, locking you down hard.

“Stay,” he snarled, voice a warped echo against your throat, “don’t run.”

You gasped as that thick knot stretched you, forcing you even wider, burning with a brutal, almost cruel fullness. Your walls spasmed helplessly, trying to reject it, but Jack was stronger—so much stronger—and he held you down while he forced the growing bulb past the tightest part of your entrance.

It finally popped inside with a wet, obscene sound, lodging deep against your cunt, locking you to him.

You screamed, back arching off the ground, mind breaking under the sheer bruising invasion.

Jack moaned—moaned—a weary, needy cry, shoving his face against yours as if to soothe you.

“Can’t—can’t let go—” he babbled, voice dripping hunger and desperation, “mine—mine—stay—stay here—”

He ground his knot deeper, each tiny thrust making it swell even bigger until you felt like you’d burst. The fullness was blinding, overwhelming, his cock jerking and twitching inside you as another pulse of hot cum flooded you, trapped by the knot, locked away.

Your hips shook, pinned, no escape as Jack licked and bit at your neck, rutting slow, greedy circles against you even with the knot sealing you tight.

“Don’t—don’t run, sweet girl,” he panted, voice trembling, “can’t…can’t let you go…”

You felt every throb, every pulse, the unbearable stretch, your whole body trembling and on the verge of breaking apart under him.

Jack was still, but you could feel him trembling—muscles locked tight, claws flexing against your hips as though afraid you might vanish if he let go for even a second.

You squirmed, a whimper tearing from your throat as the knot shifted painfully, the pressure pressing right up against your cervix.

“Jack,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, “Jack, it’s too much—”

He whined, the sound broken and needy, burying his face against your cheek, tongues tracing clumsy, comforting patterns over your sweaty skin.

“Can’t—can’t let go yet,” he slurred, voice ragged and half-human, “feels too good—can’t—”

You felt him try to rut again, short, choppy motions that only made the knot grind harshly against every raw, sensitive part of you. A shocked moan escaped your lips, your body arching under him, pleasure and pain blurring together until you couldn’t separate them. You slammed your fist against his shoulder.

“Shh,” he crooned, breath hot against your face, “s’okay—s’good—so warm—so warm inside—”

His hips stuttered, forcing the knot to jerk inside you, and you could swear you felt another faint gush of heat flood your battered, filled-up core.

Your walls fluttered around him helplessly, milking every drop.

Jack whimpered again, as if even he couldn’t stand the feeling, and wrapped his arms fully around your waist, drawing you up against him until your chests were smashed together. You could feel his heart hammering through your skin, a wild, frantic rhythm that matched your own.

“Don’t leave me,” he begged, voice warbled and broken, “please—pretty please—don’t leave—”

You could barely breathe, dizzy from being stretched and locked in place, but you nodded, trembling, stroking through his sweat-slicked hair.

“I’m here,” you whispered, voice cracking, “Jack, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

He made a sound like a sob—part growl, part weep—and curled around you, knot twitching inside you, sealing you so perfectly you could feel every tremor of his body through the hot, thick lock of him.

And there, under the hush of the woods and the silver light of the moon, you stayed tangled together, your breath mixing, no escape, no space left between you.

── .✦

The woods felt endless, but you clung to him like an anchor, your hands tangled in his hair, your cheek pressed against the rough planes of his shoulder. His knot still held you in place, keeping every inch of him buried deep, a constant, heavy pressure that refused to ease for what felt like an eternity.

Neither of you could move much, so you talked, your voices small and exhausted under the wide, quiet dark.

“Where…where did you go, Jack?” you asked, trying to steady your breathing as another aftershock rolled through you.

He rumbled softly, claws smoothing along your spine. “Didn’t know,” he rasped, sounding like himself again, raw and worn-out. “Felt…wrong. Everything was red. Loud. Inside my head.”

You nodded, heart twisting. “I thought you were dead,” you admitted, a tear slipping out, catching on the blood drying across your cheek. “When you didn’t come, I— I thought—”

His arms tightened around you, a protective squeeze. “Not dead,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “I couldn’t control much, but… I knew I had to stay away. Knew if I saw you I would hurt you.”

You sniffled, breathing in the rich, earthy scent of him, still faintly metallic from all the blood. It was terrible—but it was him, and that was enough.

“I came looking,” you whispered, voice breaking, “I couldn’t just sit there, Jack, I— I needed you to come back.”

A pained groan rattled in his chest, his claws dragging up to cradle your face as best he could. “Pretty girl,” he rasped, almost gentle, “mine…always mine. M’so sorry…”

You felt him shift, hips jerking, the knot giving a final, deep pulse inside you. It made you cry out softly, but then you felt it: the swelling finally, blessedly going down. Inch by inch, the brutal stretch began to ease, and you could feel the heavy, wet fullness slipping from your body with a messy, shuddering slide.

Jack grunted as the knot popped free, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, legs trembling uncontrollably.

For a moment you just lay there, both of you breathing hard, staring at each other. Then Jack leaned down, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to your cheek before sitting up, guiding you carefully.

“Come,” he murmured, voice steadier now, “let’s—let’s go.”

You nodded weakly, your body aching and filthy, but still reaching for him. 

Jack helped you with fumbling claws, reached for your jeans with shaky claws to help tug your them back onto your ankles and into place, grimacing at the mud-smeared fabric. He growled under his breath, pulling your ruined panties out of the way and scowling at the torn, limp scraps.

“Shit,” you laughed weakly, voice hoarse and a little hysterical, “Jack, those were my favorite pair.”

He shot you a look through his hollow sockets, a low, embarrassed huff.

“And my bra?” you added, smirking despite the soreness. “Guess that’s toast too.”

Jack shifted, claws fumbling with the remains of your bra, what was left of the cups shredded and hanging from one strap. “Didn’t—” he rasped, voice cracking, “didn’t mean to.”

You snorted, half delirious, letting him help pull your dirty t-shirt back down over your shoulders, trying to keep what modesty you had left.

“Yeah, well,” you sighed, “you owe me a shopping trip.”

A surprised sound rumbled from him—almost a laugh—before he bent to fix his own jeans, dragging them back up around his hips, claws clumsy from lingering adrenaline. He tried to tug his hoodie over his head, only to growl when it stuck to his sweaty back, the sleeves twisted.

“Hot,” he grunted, voice frustrated, trying to shrug out of it. “Too…tight.”

You had to bite your lip to keep from giggling as you watched him wrestle with the oversized, shredded hoodie, muscles flexing and straining as sweat dripped down the lean, scarred lines of his back and chest.

“Jack,” you teased softly, “you’re gonna rip that too.”

He shot you a sulky look, then finally tossed the hoodie aside, leaving his bare skin gleaming under the moonlight.

You spotted his mask in the dirt, cracked and stained, and you picked it up with a shaky hand.

“Here,” you whispered, offering it to him.

He stared at it, hollow eye sockets softening, then took it gently from you. Jack sighed, then leaned down and scooped you into his arms like you weighed no more than a feather.

You couldn’t help a startled little laugh, clinging to his neck. “Jack—!”

“My sweet girl,” he repeated, voice quieter now, more sure. “Taking you home.”

Your heart ached at that—so familiar, so safe despite everything.

He turned, stepping carefully through the underbrush, still clutching you close as if you’d vanish if he let go. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed, hearing only the rhythmic pounding of his heart and the slow, steady steps through the woods.

The broken flashlight swung from his claw, the cracked mask tucked into the crook of his elbow, a battered promise that somehow, the two of you had survived one more night together.

The night air clung to your skin as Jack stepped carefully along the familiar path, carrying you easily in his arms. When you saw the glow of your porch lights through the trees, you almost sobbed with relief, clinging to him tighter—and he just kept walking, carrying you still. You could see the silhouette of your fence ahead, the place where, for so many nights, you’d waited on one side while he stayed on the other, the fragile, invisible line you’d both respected all this time.

But now—

Jack shifted you in his hold, reaching out with one clawed hand to unlatch the fence gate. It creaked open, spilling a pool of soft porch light across the grass. And just like that, he stepped through, crossing the boundary he’d never dared to cross before. It was almost ceremonial, the moment so huge it stole your breath.

He came through, you thought in a daze. He finally came through.

He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, just carried you straight toward the back door, nudging it open with his shoulder. The house was cool inside, smelling of candle wax and lemon dish soap—so normal, so safe compared to the horror outside. The floorboards were faintly warm from the day’s sun, and the air conditioners hummed, washing over your sticky, bruised skin.

Jack set you down gently, claws steady even if you could feel him trembling. Then, without a word, he guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the light with an awkward flick of his elbow. You winced at the sudden brightness.

You didn’t even have to ask, he handled everything. Undressing you again, running warm water over your washcloth, holding you tight. He knelt in front of you, running the damp cloth across your arms, your belly, carefully dabbing away the drying blood and mess between your legs. His gray skin was flushed darker in patches, his eye sockets soft around the edges, hollow but somehow tender.

“Stay still,” he mumbled, voice low and rough, so much clearer now.

You let him clean you, trembling, heart pounding at every careful sweep of the cloth. He undressed too, cleaning the still bloodied and slick-stained parts of his body, running the rag over his jaw and neck. When he was done, you leaned against him, boneless and trusting, letting him gather you back up into his arms.

This time he carried you to your room, the house dim and quiet except for the chirping bugs outside. He paused at the foot of your bed, as if making sure you really wanted him there, the question unspoken.

You reached up and cupped his jaw. “Jack… just get in,” you whispered.

His shoulders slumped in relief, and he eased you down onto the mattress, then crawled in after you—still completely naked, still warm with the sticky night air and smelling of earth and moonlight and something feral you couldn’t name.

The sheets tangled around you both as he curled protectively against your back, claws twitching, breath tickling your ear. You could feel every line of his strong, scarred body pressed to yours, his skin so hot it almost burned.

He buried his face against your shoulder, exhaling shakily. “No more gate,” he rasped, like it was a confession. “No more fence.”

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes. “No more fence,” you agreed, voice soft and breaking.

Jack’s breathing slowed at your back, his chin nestled against the crook of your shoulder as if he might melt right into you. The cicadas outside carried on their summer song, but your room felt impossibly calm, impossibly still.

He shifted, clawed fingers brushing across your ribs, a hesitant stroke. “…Missed you,” he rasped, the words broken but more human than you’d heard in days.

You swallowed hard, reaching down to lace your fingers with his. “I missed you too. I was so worried.”

A pained noise rattled out of him, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. “Didn’t…know where I was,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “Felt…wrong. Everything smelled and looked wrong.”

You turned in his arms, close enough to see the faint scars along his lips, the smear of blood he’d missed near one temple. “Like…a haze?”

He nodded stiffly. “A dream. A bad dream.” His claws flexed in yours. “Couldn’t…stop. Needed—Need you.”

Your heart pinched at that, at how raw he sounded. You reached to smooth his damp hair away from his forehead. “That’s why you didn’t come to the fence?”

“Didn’t want you to see,” he rasped, ashamed, looking away for a second. “Didn’t…trust myself.”

You hugged him tighter, pressing your forehead against his. “Jack, I came looking for you. I wanted to see you. Even if you were… messed up.”

His body shuddered, swallowing a rough, pained sound. “Came…through the gate,” he mumbled, voice almost childlike, like he couldn’t believe it himself.

You smiled, despite everything. “Yeah. You finally crossed my fence.”

A huff of air against your cheek—maybe the closest Jack could get to a laugh. Then he shifted closer, pressing his hips into yours. You could still feel the heavy weight of him, even now, half-hard where he lay against you.

“Still…feel it,” he admitted, cheeks darkening, as if shy.

You gave a nervous little laugh, brushing your fingers through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, I can tell.”

He ducked his head, almost hiding against your neck, mumbling something soft.

“What, baby?” you asked, gentle.

His voice was so raw it cracked in the middle. “…Never gonna leave again.”

Your chest went tight, tears pricking your eyes. You cupped the side of his face. “Good,” you whispered, letting him hear how much you meant it. “Good, Jack. I’m not leaving, either.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years, then buried his face against your shoulder again, arms banding around your waist. The two of you lay tangled together in the sticky summer night, hearts pounding, no fences, no gates, no walls left between you.

── .✦

You woke slowly, warmth and stickiness pulling at your senses before your mind could even register what time it was. The curtains glowed with that syrupy gold of a sunrise, a hint of last night still vibrating in the walls.

But what really forced you awake was the strange, achingly sweet pull deep between your legs—a wet, rhythmic swirl that nearly made you arch right out of the bed.

Your eyes shot open, breath lodging in your throat, and you gasped as you fumbled the sheets off your chest—only to see a dark, familiar shadow moving below the covers, a low, wet slurping sound vibrating straight through your bones.

“J-Jack—” you whimpered, voice a strangled mess as you dug trembling fingers into the sheets.

The shape below the blanket shifted, and then a sudden, precise flick of a tongue against your clit made your vision explode in white. You barely managed to shove your hands down to find his hair, grabbing at the strands, when your body snapped—the orgasm crashing over you so hard your knees tried to slam together, your hips twisting helplessly.

Jack didn’t even stop, if anything, his hands pinned your thighs down harder, clawed fingertips dimpling your soft skin as he let you ride the crest of that wave. You were writhing, shaking, trying to push him away, but he only rumbled deep in his chest—a possessive growl that left your body going limp.

When he finally surfaced, crawling up over your body, the blanket fell away to show his face—drool smeared his chin, along with your slick, and all three of his tongues curled out to lap at the air before sliding back behind sharp teeth.

He was panting, like he’d been starved all night.

“J-Jack,” you tried to breathe, grabbing his shoulders as he hovered over you, “didn’t we… didn’t we handle this last night?”

A pitiful, rough whine left him, one of his hands curling against the pillow beside your head. “Not enough,” he croaked, voice shredded, raw. “Need…more.”

His hips dipped against yours, and you felt the hard, achingly hot length of him, smearing against your thigh. A tremor shot through you, panic mixing with want.

“Jack, please—”

“Need you,” he repeated, lower this time, a snarl clawing through his words as his claws scraped the bedding beside your head, inches from your skin. “More.”

His body pressed you down into the mattress, wild, unstoppable, like the night had barely scratched the surface of what he needed.

Your breath caught in your throat, tangled between fear and something so shamefully eager you could hardly stand it. Jack loomed over you, the heat rolling off his body, eyes like pits of pitch and night, starved even after everything.

He lowered his head, nosing along your jaw, breathing you in like you were the only thing left on earth that could save him. “Pretty,” he rasped, tongues flicking out to taste the salt of your sweat, “smell so good…can’t stop…”

His hips rolled against yours again, grinding, thick and hard, and you felt him shiver all the way down to the bones. His claws dug into the sheets beside your ribs, trying to hold himself back, but you knew there was no holding him back.

A flicker of sunlight broke through the curtains then, kissing the two of you in the warm glow—him hunched over you like a beast out of a half-forgotten dream, you trembling and wide-eyed, your hands knotted in his hair.

You swallowed, voice breaking as you dared to smile through the haze.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, and you meant it—even if you were terrified, even if everything hurt and burned and ached, you still meant it.

His head bowed, shoulders heaving, and a relieved, broken sound fell from him, more human than you’d heard yet. He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, clutching you like you were the last tether to what was left of him.

And then he surged forward, capturing your lips, those monstrous tongues wrapping around yours, and in that feral, messy kiss you felt every unspoken word he couldn’t form—how he loved you, how he’d always come back, how he could never leave you again.

The world outside kept turning—birdsong and heat, soft light and the creak of old wood—but you were wrapped in him, in that terrifying, impossible devotion.

There was no fence anymore. No boundary.

Just the two of you, locked together, in all the ruin and the tenderness you’d built. Your Jack.

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

๑ back to my masterlists

➽──────────────❥

You moved in exactly a year ago.

New town, new you, or something like that. A house on the edge of nowhere, tucked into the treeline. When you’d initially bought it, shaking hands to seal the deal, nothing was out of the ordinary. The conversation itself was mundane, but there was a tension in the realtor's shoulders that made you uneasy. His eyes were constantly darting to the windows in every room, always glancing at something just out of sight. It was odd how he seemed so ready to bolt, like there was a threat he couldn’t tell you about, a hushed secret that outsiders weren’t supposed to know.

You had brushed it off, even when his palm trembled in yours far more than professional jitters allowed. Ignored it when his obvious apprehension built sky high as dusk started to set. This was a good deal, rare and reasonably priced on the market compared to the others. So you packed your bags and settled in, the memory of the troubled salesman long forgotten.

Until that night.

A week in, and you were decently satisfied. Arranging the built-in fire pit for some well-needed rest, when you’d heard it. A rustle of leaves along the borders. Your backyard stretched acres, the fields were vast, your home was isolated from neighbours, and the closest thing you had to civilization was a gas stop on the highway.

You weren’t superstitious by any means; logic came first. It was probably just a fox, attracted to the bright lights of your porch, not some ghastly ghoul that’d come to eat you, right? Shaking your head to rid the thoughts, you resumed your task. Your decor was homey, miscellaneous camping chairs you’d bought on a whim, all circling the bonfire you’d painstakingly started on your own. Armed with a pack of marshmallows and graham crackers, you sighed. Popping the fluffy treats on a cleaned stick and kicking your feet up.

The hearth looked borderline ancient, with scuffed brick and unused for at least a decade; it still worked like a charm, though. Enjoying the warmth, you should have been relaxed, the atmosphere serene, moon hanging bright over the clouds. The breeze was cool enough for a light sweater, comfortably chilled to perfection. There was just this feeling that wouldn’t leave you fully, the heaviness of being watched.

Overactive imagination had haunted you since childhood; that’s all it was, naive anxiety over things that didn’t exist. Yet the feeling of eyes on you only grew.

You had eaten through a quarter of the bag by now, distracting yourself with the sugary snacks barely worked, and the once peaceful evening had developed an edge. This was stupid; you were not going to ruin your long weekend because the person who sold you the home had anxiety. The rumours hadn’t helped much either; your trips to town were eventful, the people kind and considerate. It was whispers that made you pause, the look of shock, when you told them about your residence.

Patting your shoulder as if they pitied you, gaze drifting to the multitude of missing posters stapled on almost every corner. The words ‘how unfortunate’ were never spoken; you felt it anyway. The nonsensical worries flooded your mind, and you decided you were going to silence them once and for all. What’s the harm in checking? You were going to do a quick sweep along the perimeter, something to ease the tension.

You’d gone back inside and grabbed a flashlight, the metal snug in your hold. Feeling confident as you walked. This was just because the house was new, being unaccustomed to your surroundings, had you a little off-colour, that’s all. The beam swayed back and forth, searching between branches and shrubbery, but nothing. You were about to head back, ready to tell your friends the next day about your little adventure, when you caught it.

A figure, just stray of the spotlight. The shape of a hand, the rest completely swallowed by darkness. It didn’t even register at first; you were frozen, not screaming or sprinting, simply standing in place. Nearly unbothered, you slowly tilted the torch up, from his arm to his chest, your head angled back. His form never seemed to end, reaching to the leaves, you don’t know how you’d missed him before. Broad in an inhuman way, you had to step back to fully capture him in light, neck hurting from the strain.

The sight hits you full force when you see his face.

A dark blue mask, eyes barren with empty voids in exchange, he looked a part of the shadows themselves. Towering over you, only a few feet away. Cold sweat wracked your body. Donning a black sweater, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, you realized why his hand had confused you. His skin was grey. A muted charcoal, claws in place of dull nails. Stygian and blade-like at his fingertips, you were going to die tonight. It wasn’t even his appearance; it was how he carried himself.

The air around him reeked of death, making every instinct preinstalled in your blood scream danger. Your ancestors’ way of survival. A millennium of defining what it meant to be in the presence of a predator. Palms clammy, you were panicking; therefore, you said the first thing that came to mind.

“Please don’t eat me.”

Squeaked out in a pitiful attempt to be spared. He didn’t move an inch, stillness alienating. You were an anxious rambler; this time was no different. “I have marshmallows if you’re hungry?” Then, just barely, he leaned his head to the side, as if he was studying you. You continued anyway. It was a very, very dumb thought, but maybe he was friendly?

“You’re uh… super tall. That’s cool, you live around here, or you just prowl the trees for fun?” Awkward and sweaty, you laughed at your own joke. And despite being terrified, you did your best to crack a grin at him. He remained silent. Shifting from foot to foot, you stared at him, and he stared back. His eyes, or lack thereof, were boring into you, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Coughing into your fist once, you cleared your throat, “I just moved in, so, neighbours, am I right?” Shrugging, you chuckled.

He didn’t. “I think I’m gonna turn in, long day and all that. I’ll.. see you around, probably?” Cautiously backing up, you inched towards the house, facing him the entire way. By the time your heel made contact with the porch, he was still here, unmoving as ever. Now, a faint silhouette in the distance, you waved and shouted goodnight.

You didn’t sleep a wink.

➽──────────────❥

You truly, in honest to god truth, have no idea how you ended up here.

After your encounter, you began gaslighting yourself into thinking it was a fever dream. That plan immediately went down the drain when he started showing up. Frequently. At first, you’d been jumpy to say the least, stiff while you had your one-sided conversations. He’d show up at the threshold at random times during the week, always silent and as rigid as the day you’d met him. You didn’t know why he kept coming back, or why you’d light your bonfire and wait, you just did. Justified by the fact that if he wanted to hurt you, he would have already.

Over time, his attendance became less scary and more routine. You could rant, spew every living thought you had, and he’d just stand there. You weren’t even sure if he was paying attention; it was simply nice to get things off your chest. Then, he’d stopped looming in the evergreen, choosing to sit quietly on a stump a couple of steps behind your chair.

It was kind of charming the way he’d scrunch himself up to fit, the make-shift stool far too small. His hands folded neatly in his lap as he listened. The question of who he was and why he was forefront of your mind, he definitely wasn’t a run-of-the-mill man from what you could tell. Aside from the ashen skin and claws, you’d catch glimpses of pointed ears when he’d shift. Hidden under his hood, highlighted by the fire when the wind was in your favour.

You’d asked before, but you never really expected a response to be fair. Odd fashion choices, you supposed, but who were you to judge? You’d talk about unceremonious things, a show you’d started, a new recipe you tried, and he’d stay no matter how boring. You spoke to him the way you would a stuffed toy, not quite addressing him, more just filling the air. However, after another night in his mysterious company, it clicked. He was lonely. An answer so obvious that you were disappointed in yourself. The discussion wasn’t special or different than the others prior; the pieces just fused.

You couldn’t guess what he got up to in the daytime, but you thought you were well within your rights to assume he didn’t get out much.

The understanding changed your view of him entirely. And with that, the way you interacted did too. Your fear mellowing out into fondness, your talks stretching longer and longer. Finding comfort with him near, and whether you knew it or not, you were breaking him down. The walls he’d spent years building, soaring and impenetrable, were starting to chip. Jack kept his distance for good reason; he knew what he was. The thing parents would tell stories about to keep their young in bed, the shadow in the closet that you’d have nightmares of.

He was an abomination, born of violence and greed, sacrificed for the promise of grandeur. The ritual forsaking, binding him to walk the earth in chains. Imprisoned by the very hunger that had damned him. The appetite for blood. The need to take, stealing from the innocent, to feed. He had lived more lives than he could count, each more punishing than the last.

He hunted on autopilot, getting it over with and gorging himself full. It made him feel disgusted; most days, he’s numb, and on others, he screams until his throat is raw. An outsider in his own home, his peers wary at best, but he sees the way they judge. As if their hands are not as tainted as his, they talk amongst themselves, sharing meals and inside jokes, and he watches.

Their companionship refuses to extend. When passing around chips or confectionery, he’s skipped. Never considered, like the nourishment will be dirtied if he touches it. The worst part is, he can’t blame them. He doubts they’re aware he can even digest anything other than flesh; how could they? When he returns, emanating finality, when he walks past with crimson dripping from beneath his mask. He hates it, being the boogeyman, even amid monsters.

That’s why you were so interesting. He could smell the fear on you, yet you laughed at him. Told him he was tall, and that it was cool. The normalcy of it stunned him, made him return. To watch as he always did, but you started talking to him. Cautious at first, then your scent warped into something sweeter, warmer.

He searched everything for hints of distress, your body language, your tone, your eyes, to the way you sat- and nothing. You trusted him.

He thought you were strange.

You thought he was sad.

So, that night you’d brought him a snack. His hands were always empty while you munched on whatever treat you had. It made you feel a little guilty; perhaps he never talked because he was shy, and you were literally stuffing your face in front of him. Waking up early to prepare, you spent the afternoon baking away. If you were going to offer him food, you were going to do it right.

Packing a basket with the pastries, you descended the foyer, already spotting his emerging figure from the trees. However, instead of facing your seat to the fire, you’d swivelled around. This was new; the basket in your arms was also new. He tilted his head to the side. Just what were you planning? For the first time since you’d met him, he seemed genuinely shocked. Leaning back like a skittish animal as you placed the goods in his lap, he tensed. A couple of seconds passed, and you began to second-guess every decision you’ve made up to this point. Was it offensive? Maybe he was allergic? An uncomfortable pause wedged between you, before he broke the silence.

“You don’t fear me.”

A statement. His voice was deep, baritone rumbling low in his chest. The base of it was so guttural you felt it more than you heard it. Peering up, his gaze meets yours, “Why?” The question was asked softly, for someone who appeared so commanding, he spoke fairly quietly. The contrast was jarring, yet it endeared him to you even more. “Well, I don’t know, I thought you looked lonely.” The last syllable left your mouth as he stood. How curious, a human, capable of understanding how he felt.

His frame overtaking you, neck craned up, “I just think you’re neat, I suppose.” Nodding, your eyes flicked to the basket that had slipped onto the grass. “I baked, if you were hungry.” You were a timid little thing, clueless and naive. A fawn ensnared in the claws of a beast you’d willingly thrown yourself at. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him without disdain, and you were so open. Defenceless, almost like a pet, it wasn’t your weakness that made his mouth water. It was your trust.

It stirred something in him, a part he’d assumed died long ago. Want. His desire, animalistic and starved, simmered under his skin. Ever-present and ready to snap. You could see it for just a moment, his muscles contracting as if he’s prepared to pounce- before it’s smothered. The heat freezing over, shame taking its place. Guilt and mortification surge through his body in waves. You’d offered him your efforts in good faith, and his appetite had increased for a completely different reason. It was humiliating to have the lack of control he possessed.

Your words had seemed to take his breath away for the worst. Somehow even more rigid than earlier, this was not the effect you wanted. Backtracking, you sputtered, “I’m sorry if I overstepped- it’s just I always have something when you visit and I realized I’d never offered before-“ A clicking resounded from his throat, eyes (voids) vacant. You fidgeted in place, “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, it’s cinnamon rolls I made today. I think they’re pretty good- ah, I should have asked if you’re allergic.”

The explanation is clumsy, though your earnestness fascinated him, so desperate to make him feel at ease as if you had any power here. Caring so much about his comfort that you’d spent your precious time baking for him. Mortal lifespans were terribly short in comparison to his decades of existence, and you had chosen to waste your constantly whittling human seconds just to not- what? Hurt his feelings? An ever-draining hourglass, each granule of sand adding to the growing mass, counting down to your end. An act so seemingly meaningless to you held a world of weight to him.

A sacrifice. Scarlet dripping down your arms as you proposed it at his decaying shrine, clueless to the fact that this was what had sealed your fate. The moment he’d decided for the first time to keep something for himself. If the devil dealt in blood, this must be his payment for the carnage he’d spilled. His paid bounty finally surfacing, a gift in exchange for all the destruction he’d raged. Wrapped in silk ribbon, his naive rabbit to keep.

You’d spent the rest of the evening as you usually did, except for his newly added dialogue. He still wasn’t much of a talker, but he’d tell you things. Actually answering your questions instead of leaving them to fade into obscurity.

He told you his name was Jack, that he lived far into the woods away from the lights, told you he didn’t like the noise. Said that it was better to wear a mask, not expanding further when you prodded. You had learned that he had some sort of enhanced hearing, scent and senses alike, you also assumed he was blind, though you thought it’d be rude to ask, settling on his hobbies instead.

He was smart, that’s for one. Jack’s knowledge of the medical field was no joke; he knew about intricacies you hadn’t even heard of, and that he liked order and schedule. Organization, spending his time memorizing the way the trees moved, mapping out the forest trails and the wildlife that inhabited them. It was admirable how much he noticed about such tiny details, picturing his lumbering form silently staring at squirrels while he walked past made you giggle.

His responses drifted from vague to elaborate; it felt like you’d both known him your entire life and only met him today at once. Nonetheless, a routine had formed. And so had your solace in him, an unlikely companion was a companion all the same.

Or so you thought.

➽──────────────❥

The anxiety of the house’s surroundings became a far-off memory.

Rarely crossing your mind, you worked, you rested, and in between, you had a friend to keep you company. Yet, the word friend was becoming more denial than fact by the day. Your initial impression of Jack was fear-inducing, clouded by distrust and adrenaline, then it was baseline acceptance, and currently it rests at humbling and embarrassing attraction. The traits that had you recoiling in shock now had you doing a double take, not in disgust or terror, but in longing.

His outfits remained more or less the same; it wasn’t new clothes or anything of the sort that drew you in, it was the minute attributes that slowly caught your attention as your perception of him altered.

First, his height. It had stunned you the night you’d run into him; presently, you had to take a breath every time he ducked under a doorway not to say something obscene. Towering in all his might, the worn-down fabric stretched across his chest, struggling to contain his brawn with each step he took. And he was broad, shoulders stacked with high-strung muscle, built for pressure and gruelling labours you couldn’t name.

The same claws that had frightened you made you want to douse yourself in ice water; you think your entire head could fit in his palm. Faint scars littering his forearms, you’d watched as the veins in his hand bulged when he helped you move a table. Lifting the heavy oak with an arm, not a single grunt, either, it was effortless. One time, you were so entranced in your daydream about what it’d feel like if he’d just pick you up and squeezed—

He had to have called your name at least three times to snap you out of it.

The worst offender? His voice. Like the purr of an engine every time he spoke, smooth and low. As deep as bourbon. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, it reminded you of distant thunder. Resonate in the way it commanded, never failing to make you shiver. You thanked your lucky stars he couldn’t see, saving you the humiliation of being caught glancing at him excessively, or the way you pouted with want when he’d move a certain way, his hoodie rising just above his belt.

Your face growing hot, eyes averting his face when he’d lean down to listen. The way you’d squeeze your thighs together when he’d hum by your ear in agreement. He was your friend, so when you’d mention you needed something fixed around your home, he’d do it without question.

The shameful part came when he would grab the tools, and you’d tell him you were going to read. The lie was always said confidently. You were most definitely not going to read or spend any time in your room, trailing behind him as quietly as you could, peaking from the corner while he worked. It was terrible, and you knew it; the guy couldn’t see, and you were using that to your advantage like a pervert. He would kneel by your sink or wherever and tinker about, with your figure tucked by the room’s edge.

He navigated your space with ease, most likely due to his intensified awareness, you presumed. You tended to forget he didn’t possess the same sight you did, rushing up to him, picture in hand to show him a stupid doodle you’d made, to be met with nothing. A slight head tilt and silence, freezing for a brief moment before you start prefusely apologizing. Jack’s response was the same every time. Bringing up a loose fist, his knuckles brushing your nose bridge, before tapping your forehead twice with his thumb. A way of teasing you, his version of vocalizing he took no offence.

His face is hidden by the mask, but you swear he’s grinning at least a little behind it. You imagine the quirk of his lips, the way his cheeks pull up just a tad, you think his smile would be nice. You also think it’s an absolute crime that no one has hit on him before, appalling, actually.

Selfishly, you’re grateful, though that doesn’t make the information any less shocking. You’d brought it up in passing if he was seeing anyone, and he’d turned to you with such visible confusion you’d laughed. In theory, it made sense; in practice, it did not. Like have you seen him?

Over seven-feet-something of straight man, hulking yet gentle, and aside from his vaguely questionable hobbies— he was nearly perfect boyfriend material. Gentlemanly, where he didn’t even try, the type to cup the corner of tables when you’d bend to pick up a dropped mug. Closing cabinets so you wouldn’t hit your head in the bustle, and grabbing your bags before you could even decide if you needed help or not.

Jack was thoughtful, far more considerate than you think people gave him credit for. And perhaps if you told your peers you were in love with some lone-wolf forest dweller who lacked eyes, they’d judge you, but that’d only be because they hadn’t met him. You guaranteed that if he had a night on the town, he’d have suitors lining the block. You told him that. Making a joke about it when he was staring at you like you were crazy for insinuating he, the literal embodiment of the silent type trope people dreamed about, was taken. He had shaken his head, pinching your cheek softly, then returning to his task.

Patient, tall and humble. And he almost one-hundred-percent did not see you like that. This must be hell.

➽──────────────❥

Jack was not blind.

As a matter of fact, he had better sight than anyone else on the planet.

Demon biology and science were tricky; he didn’t have physical eyes, sure. However, he could see just fine, analyze moving creatures even miles away if he wanted; his “view” of things worked vastly differently from the average person’s. The first time you’d stumbled and apologized, he had half the heart to correct you, until you blushed.

He could feel it, the blood rushing to your cheeks, then you mumbled out some shy excuse about your bad memory. Twisting your thumbs together, pupils dilated as you blinked up at him. It was adorable. He knew it was probably bad and very misguided to lie to you like this; he simply couldn’t help himself. You and your puppy-like curiosity, so excited to show him the most mundane things, because you thought he’d like it. A cool rock you had, or a funky colored sticky note you’d found, as if your eagerness would overwrite your previous knowledge of him.

It was awfully indulgent on his behalf, yet he didn’t have it in him to cease. Especially when you started following him around, nearly tripping over yourself in an attempt to be discreet. It became a game, pretending he didn’t see you, ignoring your inaudible giggles behind your hand when he’d move something heavy for you. Acting like he hadn’t noticed you peering from the hallway, mouth pressed into a thin line in fear of being caught while he was repairing a rickety chair leg. He was well aware he was playing with fire; you didn’t even know who he was, what he did, let alone what he was.

But was it truly so wrong to preserve this one thing?

All he did was serve under orders; his dictator left him alone most times, but that didn’t mean he was free to do as he pleased. Patching up wounds day and night, drowned in violence at hours on end. Saving the lives of people who would leave him to bleed if they got the chance, not even in feeding did he have reprieve. An act so impossibly human warped into something despicable by most standards.

He was deluded at this point because, somehow, a part of him believed you’d stay. Stay when you inevitably find out, stay when he’d confess to you his wrath, stand by his side when he’d return to you, soaked in gore and carnage. You had to, wouldn’t you? He’d shown up in the middle of the night, looking like death itself, and you’d grinned at him had you not? He’d returned time after time, as mysterious as the last, and you’d welcomed him, had you not? Giddy when in his presence, your joy seeps into his bones, and he can smell you. Smell your craving. Your lust. The scent is sickly sweet, thick molasses that coats the walls. Borderline taste the heat that coiled between your plush thighs.

Your want comes in waves, knocking the air out of his lungs, the second it hits his nostrils. And it was getting harder and harder to ignore, spit collecting under his tongue as you bluff. Sitting in front of him, pretending your core wasn’t slick with need, all because he was close to you. A lamb to the slaughter, presented on a silver fucking platter. The control on his own desires waned every time you pushed too close, leaned in too far.

He was growing restless, the energy making his body taut. He started hunting more, feasting with abandon, tunnel vision stuck on his memory of you. Winter was approaching fast, and he needed more meat to keep him satiated than normal, primal instincts taking hold. Jack’s hunger was blistering; he wanted to devour you whole.

And he was sure you’d thank him with a smile on your face.

➽──────────────❥

There had been a shift in the air recently.

The forest around your residence had turned quiet. Originally, you’d assumed it was the weather that had driven the birds away, but this seemed… different, strange in a way. The silence felt unnatural, like the wildlife was hiding from something. Chased away by an invisible threat, the once lively trees had fallen still. It left a strange ache you couldn’t quite place. As for Jack, he’d been weird lately, too.

The last time you saw him, his shoulders were tense, and he barely answered any of your questions. It didn’t feel like he was irritated or annoyed, just distant; as if his mind were elsewhere. Responding to everything you said with grunts or stiff nods, his body jerking faintly once and a while, resembling a predator holding itself back.

He’d abruptly stood up when you were reading on the couch, arriving only a few hours earlier before suddenly storming out. That was weeks ago. You were worried, staying up on random nights just in case he’d stopped by and no one was there to open the door. He did have the spare key you’d given him; you just wanted to see him the second he returned. Wracking your brain for anything you could’ve done to set him off, yet you can’t remember a single time in the past month he had even disagreed with you. He was fine, nothing was standing out, leaving you to stew in your own confusion and fret. Your concern was solely focused on him—

Until you started noticing the blood.

Stark against the fresh snow, the faded red streaks weave between the timber. Specks spread across the yard; you had tried to rationalize it, you lived in the woods for god’s sake, just because it was a little quieter than usual didn’t mean the animals stopped existing, stopped hunting. It didn’t mean the rumours were true.

Then, you noticed the claw marks. Dug into the bark, stretching across the trunks and dragging into the frozen soil. They were ragged, angry, left by something starved. The scores were sizable; whatever creature that had done them had to have been massive, some too high up to be from a bear. You weren’t close to the hillside either, mountain lions out of the question, and even if you were, what kind of feral cat leaves scratches like that?

None of it was making sense; the lacerations didn’t look sporadic either. Your property had been marked. Ice filled your veins as you stared; you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

The sun was long gone, dusk setting heavy over the treeline. A gnawing dread had begun creeping in; you were terrified. If it were on paper, perhaps you could have brushed it off, chalked it up to nerves. You’ve dealt with strays before; this was another variant entirely. A finality in the air that wouldn’t shake. Along with your worry for Jack, you selfishly wished he were here to protect you. His unyielding nature, always reliable, sturdy and safe. He appeared to be able to keep a cool head about almost anything. He’d know what to do, where to go, what to say to stop the tremble in your hands.

You were close to tears when you spotted it, cold sweat lining your back. A flicker amongst the trees. Moving far too fast to be human or animal, the shadow ripped its way through the shrubbery. Breaths picking up, you darted behind your sofa. You knew it was a bad hiding place, but something in the way it advanced told you shelter was pointless. Pulling your knees to your chest, you clamped a palm over your mouth to muffle the petrified sob. A growl echoes out; the sound is guttural, reverberating through the walls, shaking the glass windows as the wind wails.

Eyes shutting tight, you curled into yourself. Of course, this would happen when he was away. At this moment, you would’ve given anything to bring Jack back to you; he’d know how to fix it, he always did. When you’d panic over something stupid, he would soothe you in a way only he could. But Jack wasn’t here, and you were alone. Scared out of your mind with a hell bound beast encroaching on your home, you didn’t want to die.

The fear was unlike anything you had ever felt, chilling you from the inside out. It spread like a parasite, aching in your lungs with every breath, twisting your stomach to nausea. You hiccuped, hugging your legs close. You didn’t want to die- this wasn’t fair, and if something happened to you, what would happen to him? Your dearest friend, more loved than he’d ever know, and you’d never even gotten the chance to tell him. The porch creaked loudly, heavy steps thudding against the frosted wood; you wanted to scream.

The door swings open, breeze screeching in the background. The cold is rushing in, draft circling the room, and the lock clicks shut. Apparently, this beast had manners. Heartbeat deafening in your ears, then you hear it. The tell-tale shuffling of boots, Jack. Shooting up, you spun around, already stepping past the couch. Relief flooding your body, lips twitching up, you wanted to laugh— tell him about how scared of the storm you got without him.

He’ll probably think you’re ridiculous, shake his head a tad and ruffle your hair. Scold you softly, say you’ve been watching too many movies, reading too many books, with a reasonable explanation on the tip of his tongue. Rounding the corner, the words died in your throat. The tempest had cut your power, but even from where you stood, you could tell something was horribly wrong.

The darkness of the hallway enveloped him. He stood off-center, shoulders hunched, his hands limp by his sides, twitching every couple of seconds. It was too dim to see clearly, yet you caught it anyway. A thick, viscous liquid, dripping from under his mask, now that you had noticed it, you realized he was drenched in it. The scent reaches your nose a beat after, metallic.

“… Jack?”

Muttered weakly. His head tilted down, like he was observing you. You knew it was him, so why were you so uneasy? His foot dragged an inch forward, your legs reacting before your mind, subconsciously taking a step back. He notices, he always does. When you were anxious, when you were hungry, because you forgot to eat breakfast, when you were scared.

The notion hurts him; your fear felt violating and wrong in his body. The pained howl he lets out has every hair on the back of your neck standing on end. Sharply pitched, inhuman as he continues to stalk closer. You shuffle away further, retreating, and it upsets him. You looked so terribly fragile, meek, with tears still clinging beneath your lashes. He needed to warm you, to keep you safe, it was blizzarding outside after all, and he knew how anxious you got during blackouts. His mask took a hit during the hunt, and his hood had been knocked off somewhere along the way. The buckle too withered to hold up the weight, finally snapping, mask slipping off and clattering to the floor. You barely register the sight before he crosses the hall in three strides.

His face. Gaping sockets where his eyes should be, filled with black tar that smeared his skin. He says your name, or a version of it anyway. Voice warbling deeper than you thought possible, cadence unsteady. Reaching out for you, his clawed hand brushes your cheek, catching a tear that falls when you blink.

“Little lamb.”

It barely sounded like him, and all you can do is stare. His mouth opens, tongues sliding out to wet his lips. Wait, tongues..?

Your eyes widen as they swiped along the edge of his teeth. Pointed and sharpened, like they could bite through bone. He presses his forehead to yours, arms caging you in. Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest, clutching the damp fabric. You trust him, yet your gut is screaming for you to run, the inner battle making you shake in his embrace. Brows furrowing, why wasn’t this working?

Shivering meant you were cold; it meant you were vulnerable. The scent of your distress sets off alarm bells in his head; his urge to consume and preserve you clashing. A gravelly and repetitive clicking resonated from his throat, overlapping his speech, “Cold. Why do you tremble so, mi ocelle?” The concern emitted from him in ripples, apprehension so heavy it felt as if you were suffocating. “I- I was just worried about you, it’s… storming out.”

You didn’t know what to say; the events playing out were something you’d never learnt to plan for. What were you to do when the devil was at your door with a bleeding heart in his hands? Perhaps you were foolish. Naive in ways others would never understand, but if the Morningstar were yours, then it must be in your fates to be burned.

Leaning in, he cooed. “You were worried… for me?” Your timid confession seemed to appease him, nuzzling your face with his. Amusement blooming across his features, he traced up your spine, the edge of his talons fraying cotton. “Prey tell, my dove. What do you fear?” Your mind was racing for an answer, searching for something- anything- that wasn’t him.

Swallowing, you stuttered, “I thought- I thought I saw something in the woods—“ He hummed, like this was fun, like he knew. Reading the barren truth that you could only deny for so long. “It was by the window. I saw it earlier, I swear-“ Cutting you off when he suddenly withdraws. The frost was a harsh contrast, his warmth no longer shared. “Then let’s look together. To ease you.” He glances at you once from over his shoulder, turning as he heads for the living room.

The plush entryway carpet does little to comfort you, following in his steps until stopping in front of the aperture, your stomach in knots. Jack leaned back against the frame, almost leisurely. “Describe it to me, won’t you?” You toed at the rug, ankle bumping the coffee table leg.

“It was tall- and it growled so loudly the house shook.”

His shoulders twitched, stature reaching above the windowsill. His brawn obstructs the moon’s glow, the shadows spilling like ink. As if you were framed by death’s silhouette. Baritone purr rumbling deep behind his ribs.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and it left these gashes on the trees. Blood trails in the snow-“

The muscle in his forearms twisted while he gripped the glass ledge, sable keratin tapping the surface in rhythm. They gleamed under the pale light, dark crimson dripping off the razor edge and splattering up his hands like paint.

“I see.”

“And it sounded hungry, like it wanted to devour me in one bite.”

Tongue dragging along his teeth, nearly drooling. The weight of his eyes left goosebumps in their wake. Sweeping from your pouty cheeks to the flushed curves of your chest. Memorizing your damp skin.

“Starved, I’m sure.”

“It was tearing apart everything in its path, and moving too fast to be an animal- I don’t know- it- it was like a—“

“Monster?”

Your head snapped up. Empty voids boring into you, black oil mixing with red. His complexion, the claws, you couldn’t decide if you were stupid or so desperate for attachment you’d refused to see the signs. It was always there, a whispered thought when the conversation died down, a realization when his hand would jerk at the sight of the news. Now it was too late, the monster was in your home, and he was going to eat you alive. With nowhere to turn, panic seizes you, breath coming in shallow pants. Jack’s face was unreadable, eerily still.

You spin on your heel, sprinting up the stairs. He was standing next to the main hallway entrance; you wouldn’t be able to get past without him grabbing you. You can hear the harsh thud of footsteps from behind, hot on your tail. You know it was futile, yet adrenaline clouded your judgment. Running like hell, as fast as you could, swerving around the staircase railing the second your feet hit the second floor. It didn’t matter if he was going to catch you; you needed to get away. Ducking in through the gap of the bedroom door, you carefully made your way to the ensuite bathroom.

It was over; you just wanted to go on your terms, have some time to think before it ended. Being a human was truly awful, you think. Because in all of this, the part that bothered you the most was how much you enjoyed being held by him. His touch, the way he brushed away your sadness, and now he was coming to slaughter you. How ironic is that? That even now, being hunted, you still wished he were there to comfort you.

Vision blurring, you laughed to yourself. The bathroom didn’t have a lock; you slid down the wall and onto the cool tile. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots, stopping outside the door. The knob turned slowly, and he pushed it open. When you saw him, it made your chest heavy. He looked handsome like this, the moonlight from the window outlining his frame. He was pretty, beastly features or not, they were his, and that was enough. “Can you at least do it fast? I baked you cinnamon rolls, y’know.” Wobbly smile on your lips, you tensed. Bracing for the impact, the numbing pain of a puncture wound, but it never came.

Opening your eyes, you sniffled. Jack had knelt in front of you. Docile, unmoving and rigid as stone. Submission in the way bite-ridden guard dogs revere sheep. “Such a peculiar little thing.” Said softly, hushed and low. Not snarling or pouncing on you like you expected, simply quiet, handling you with care as he always did. Scooting closer, he tucks your frenzied hair behind your ear before resting both hands on your legs. His thumb rubbed in gentle circles against your calf, “You thought I was going to kill you?”

The lightness of his tone makes you blink, like scolding a child for not holding on when they were afraid of the dark. Shedding tears for something so easily fixed. “So sure I was your end, yet your body still calls for me.” He had you pinned, half crawled over you as he spoke, the random jolts that wracked his body worsening by the second. Faces inches apart, you could see the restraint that held him together, the slight shake in his breathing, how his hand flexed, nails digging into the porcelain. “I can smell it, mellilla.” Dipping his head to your neck, he inhales deeply before his teeth break your skin with little effort. You flinch at the feeling, gasping.

You grabbed onto his sweater, eyes watering in confusion. It hurt; the laceration was shallow enough not to be fatal, just deep enough to bleed. His tongues lapped at the mark. You were so sweet. Groaning as he swallows, and you shiver at the sound. His knee was pressed between your thighs, rocking back and forth every time he moved. The pain was slowly melding into gut-churning heat, wires crossing in your head, you whined. Breathing hard, he shifts, hips grinding down.

“You have no idea, do you?-“ The zipper of his jeans nudged against your clit, your thin sleep shorts were riding up, and the pressure had you dripping. “-What you do to me, fuck.” His assault on your throat never faltering, drinking in your nectar. Sinking his canines in deep over your pulse, he needed to feel it. Had to taste your heartbeat or he’d lose his mind. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, and you clung to him as if he were a lifeline, squeaking when he started gulping at your spilling wound. “Sorry- I know. It hurts, doesn’t it?” Muffled against your skin, his apology fell on deaf ears.

Parting from you with a wet pop, strings of blood and saliva stretched from his jaw to your neck. More beast than man as he sat back on his haunches, chest heaving. His lids drooped low, drunk off it, “Look at you, my little rabbit. Ripe enough to eat.” Hooking a finger under your shirt, he yanks it up in one swipe. Claw slicing it cleanly, leaving you bare. It made his mouth water. Caging you again, his mouth clamping around the perky nub. Writhing, your back arched off the floor. Arms secured to your sides by his palms, Jack’s strength was otherworldly. Even through his sweater, the contours of his body were unmistakable.

The ache had you dizzy, cunt throbbing in pulses with each nibble he took, littering your breasts in bruises and cuts. Tongues acting as a salve, easing the sting with gentle licks. Mewling, you pushed up into his mouth. He didn’t touch you like he wanted to fuck, he touched you like he was trying to rapture your soul. Have you reborn, remade, fracture your very cortex until the only thing you remembered was him.

Bodies moving in tandem, driving his hips to a slow, agonizing grind. Simulating sex, the same motions, yet not quite there. Your head was spinning, denim stained where your cores met. “You’d forgive me, wouldn’t you? If I got too hungry, you’d let me have you-“ When you said he was going to kill you, this wasn’t what you had pictured at all. The base of his words had you squeezing down on nothing, crying to be filled. He kisses you softly, to mar you right after. “-Let me lick your bones clean, show everyone my teeth- so they’d know how delicious you were. How divine you satisfied me-“

It was sick, vile, the fantasies he spun, your lust betraying your principle. Lips molding to yours, his tongues violating each centimetre of your mouth. You gagged around the intrusion, slimy and tentacle-like; they swarmed the cavity. Proding deeper, his mouth latched as he fucked your throat. Only pulling back once you were on the verge of passing out, fist rapidly slamming against his side. Your lungs burned, black spotting your vision, fear reaped amore that seeped into the darkest corners of your mind.

His cock throbbed with need, hefty against your cunt, and you could feel each and every pulse. It’d tear you apart, larger than you thought possible; you’d never wanted anything more in your life.

Panting above you, the chuckle that left his lips was manic. “They’d wage war in envy, massacre their own kind- driven to madness that they couldn’t have you.” Laving at your collar bone, the heat in your stomach on the brink of scorching, coiling tight. You’d soaked through the fabric, wetness making it stick to your folds, “Build shrines in your name, frame your ribs in mausoleums just to admire-“ His rutting growing harsh, desperate and feral, “Worship you like religion. Offer gold and jewels- sacrifice their gods at the foot of your tomb.” Your release hits you hard, euphoria choking you. Jack, close behind, cumming with a hollowed groan, the aftershocks making his hips jolt. Unrelenting, when his pace fails to cease, not giving you a chance to recover.

“You’re cruel to me, my lamb-“ Arms cocooning you, he lifted you off the tile, trapping you to him. His words pierce through the fog, “I- I don’t understand.“ Huffing out his nose, he laughs, exasperated. “You think I couldn’t see you? Hiding behind corners, following me around like a needy pup.” The admission floods you with embarrassment, pouting as you try and avoid his gaze. “I thought you were-“ he interrupts you, amused. “Blind? How quaint.”

Mocking and adoring all at once, you were so fun to play with. “It was adorable, you know. Pretending you weren’t there, watching you stumble and apologize.” He leaned in close, mummuring against your ear, “Pretending it didn’t have me starved.”

The cadence sends goosebumps down your back, shoulders bowed while you whine. “Always so kind, hm? Don’t worry, even if my sight did not lead me-“ kissing down your neck, he continues. “-There are plenty of other ways to indulge, are there not?” Leaving hickies in his path, nicking your fevered skin, “Sound.” Teeth grazing, before sinking in, your lips parting in a sharp gasp, “Jack.” Trailing further, slipping his hands from under you, and gripping your hips. Hard. His talons penetrate the fat of your ass, drawing blood. “Touch.” Pain and pleasure laced, and all you could do was lie there and take it.

Crawling down your body, bruises blooming over your abdomen. Mouth dragging over your tummy, your navel and pelvis. He snags the waistband of your shorts with his canines, jerking his head back harshly and shredding them off you. He borderline growls when his eyes land on your pussy. He thinks they should hang paintings of your cunt at the fucking Louvre. Puffy and weeping, beautifully delicate as he runs the pad of his thumb up your slit. “And-“ collecting the syrup, his grin stretched wide, a smirk that had you gushing,

“Taste.”

He dives in, lapping at your aching clit with fervour. It was too much, too fast. Convulsing, your hands shot to his hair, grabbing at the messy locks. Thighs snapping closed, bracketing his head. His tongues were everywhere, nose buried in your mound, wet squelching filling the room. “Oh- ngh- fuck.” You were crying, screaming as if you were being murdered. He uses your waist as leverage, thrusting you into his mouth. The tendrils reached deep, fucking you rough while his nose grinded on your sensitive bud. They scissored you open, devouring you whole, and you felt dizzy. Arching, your heels dug into his back, “S’too much- Jack, please- I can’t.”

He groaned into your heat, your pleas making him rut against the floor. You were shaking something fierce, the pressure building in your gut becoming unbearable. “W-wait, please- please, feels weird-“ His tongues were hitting your spot over and over again, eyes rolling back as your body went taut. The orgasm was cataclysmic. Your cunt pulsed wildly, liquid splurting out. It coated his jaw, spraying across his face; you couldn’t even think. Brain completely emptied and ears full of cotton, Jack still gulping down your spillage. He pulls off of you with a sticky smack, breathing heavy, “Messy girl.” He taunts. Sitting up, he grabs the back of his hood, throwing it off in one swoop.

Shoulders sculpted, sweat beading down the contours of his chest, and you stared shamelessly. Gaze drifting from his flushed and heaving pecs to the divots of his V-line, happy trail peaking over his belt. He tugs at the buckle, the metal clasp falling open with a clink. Popping the zipper, he wrenches his cock free, and the sight made your eyes widen. The head drooled with pre, sitting dense in his hand, it looked like it weighed pounds.

There was no way that thing was fitting inside you. “I don’t know if I can…” Trailing off, hesitance contorting your features. “It’s going to hurt.” Blunt and matter-of-fact, and you knew he wasn’t boasting. Not for ego or otherwise, it was simply a warning. “But you’re strong, I know you are.”

Yanking you by the hips, he settled between your legs, lining himself up. “Remember to breathe, my flower.” Soothing you, as he nudges his cock against your entrance. The tip struggles past the tight ring before sinking in, the stretch making you hiss. Your fists are balled up at your sides, tears immediately gathering at your lashline. Whimpering, it felt like he was ripping you in half. “Shh, I know- doing so well. My brave girl.” He hushes you gently. Gathering your hand in his, he presses your palms flat and intertwines your fingers. “Squeeze when it gets too much.”

Rocking forward, he pushes in an inch, your pained whine bouncing off the walls. “Just focus on my voice, can you do that for me?” Forcing your lids to stay open, you nod, “Okay.” But as his hips buck barely a centimetre, your panicked yelp stops him in his tracks. “It- it hurts- I can’t.”

Hiccuping, you were quivering like a leaf, face scrunched uncomfortably. Cooing low in his throat, he drops his head closer. Tongue collecting the salt on your cheeks, “Poor thing, why don’t we play a game? To distract you.” You sniffled, “A game?” He hums, nose brushing yours. “When I move, you’ll count.” Explaining slowly, he kisses you, reassurance mixing with saliva. “Do you trust me?” The question whispered, sacred against your lips, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”

With your green light, he begins to thrust, carefully and reverently. Shaft glistening with your slick, he slides deeper. “One.” You sighed, breath fanning across his skin, “That’s it, good girl.” You felt like silk around him; it was intoxicating. His length is dialating your walls, “Two-“ The once prickling twinge had started to dull, melding into a warm simmer amidst your thighs. You clutched his hand firmly, “Ah- three.” Gliding in and out, probing further. He grunts, restraint wearing thin. “Four.” He was hardly halfway, and you swore he was in your lungs. Jack shuddered over you, vein prominent against the lines of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Jaw slack, his spit dribbling onto your skin, carnal and dangerous. His teeth bared as he let out a strangled keen, “Forgive me, my sweet.” His hips were jerking before you could even comprehend what he’d said. Slamming to the hilt, and you wailed. “Gods, you feel- fuck-“ He panted, head flung back. Tremoring violently while he held you flush. You went limp, the sensations overwhelming you, fully speared on his cock. So impossibly filled, the last of his control had withered to ash.

He fucked into you like an animal. Hard and fast, brows furrowed in ecstasy. Bruising grasp on your waist, using your pussy as a sleeve, he raises you. Bouncing you as if you weighed nothing. One hand tugging at your wrist, the other keeping you steady. “Feels so good- can’t fucking stop.” Your back bowed, helpless. Shockwaves sparked up your spine each time you sank on his cock. Molten iron pounding against your cervix, branding your cunt with his lust. The climax takes you by surprise, whiting out your vision. You clenched on him so hard he could barely move, glands pulsing as he stuffed you.

The sticky lacquer is pumping you full, leaking out and puddling on the bathroom floor. Tongue like lead in your mouth, you slurred, “J-Jack- ngh.” He doesn’t even blink, slipping you off, he flips you. Your arms were jelly, crumbling onto your chest, face pressed to the cold tile. Ass propped by his claws, he slides back inside in an instant. Sanity draining with each second, he couldn’t feel your warmth.

Your body jolted roughly from the power of his thrusts, drilling into you with abandon, frantically chasing his release. His veins had been flooded with magma, broiling him alive. Thumbs kneading at your flesh, spreading you wide, he lets out punched groans when his balls slap against your clit. A milky ring is forming at the base of his shaft, gluey and opaque. Lewd plaps filling your ears, his palm pressed your arch down into a perfect semi-circle, driving deeper and deeper, “Christ- you take it so pretty, my lamb- fucking made for this weren’t you?” You scratched at the foundation, delirious, he was so strong. So big, fucking his authority into you, ruining you for anyone else.

Your eyes crossed- stomach bulging from his girth, you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, sobbing as drool leaked out of your agape mouth. Jack was mounted on you like a dog.

Lugging you up, manhandling your boneless form, he bends you over the sink counter. Chiselled hips pummeling you from behind, his flexed bicep locked around your throat. The mirror had fogged with condensation, the tap sputtering from the ruthless tempo, and you barely recognized yourself. It was pornographic the way he had you, something you’d see on the front page of an exed out website. And he wasn’t faring any better, dishevelled strands stuck to his forehead with perspiration. Skin dewy, globs of slick and cum dripped down your legs, he sounded gone. Huffing, “Made for me, made to be bred- should I keep you like this?” His pace quickened, close to the edge, “Keep you full, begging for my cock? Chained and desperate- you’d like that, no?”

Your brain failed to form a cohesive thought, high on the pleasure, “Ah- p-please-“ The response fuelled his rut; he needed to sear his print onto your flesh. Stain you like possession, sovereignty over your spirit, heart and womb. Jack snarled, seething, and he yanked your head back. The climate is sweltering, pressure on your airways tightened, “Words, girl.” He was so mean, abusing your poor cunt. “Yes- please, want it. Wan’ it s’bad.” Shrill cry, leaving your lips.

This wasn’t sex; it was ownership.

His release paints your walls lava-hot, stars bursting behind your lids. Before the afterglow has a chance to reach you, he throws you over his shoulder. Kicking the door open with his foot, the hinges screeching loudly, and you dangled almost lifelessly in his hold. Stepping into the room with little ceremony, he tosses you on the mattress, landing with a bounce.

He was gorgeous, the crescent light peeking through the curtains, tongue running along his sharpened canines. Sultry as he crawled between your thighs, up your body, famished. Prowling, eyeing you like sweet prey- he had you under him for hours. It was ritualistic, claiming and methodical; his devotion clung to you in smoke. Whispering scripture against your skin in languages older than the earth itself. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from your yielding body, refusing to stop until you’d forgotten your own name.

You were a mural of depravity, illustrated in fever. Aphrodisiac tinted with Jack as your artisan.

Ankles by your ears, you had lost count of how many times he’d made you scream, the bliss blending, and the only thing that existed was him. All encompassing, and drilling into your oversensitive pussy. “S’too m-much- I can’t.” His chuckle mocked, “Too much? And here I thought you wanted to be mine-“ He was bullying you, cruelly pressing down on your bloated tummy. Weeping tip knocking mercilessly into your soft spot, you flailed against the sheets, twitching and whining pathetically. “Please, I can’t- I can’t-“ babbling, you gushed around his girth, completely drenching his abs. He had fucked you dumb.

Snickering, he snaps his hips forward, pelvis flush and grinding on your puffy clit. “Liar.” And he began jackhammering into you, unrelenting, his weight folding you in half. The headboard slammed against the wall vigorously, pictures tumbling off the nightstand, mattress squeaking every thrust. Its movements were so harsh that they left indents in the plank flooring. His muscles rippling with exertion.

Claw hooked beneath your knee, his free hand reaching up to strike the bedpost with a bang. It splinters under his strength, and you moaned like a whore. “One more- give me one more, my life.” He grunted, panting and burying his face into your shoulder, the linen shredded to bits.

The frame was thrashing, creaking noisily with warning. His cock swelled at the base, the stretch burning as he forces it passed your opening. Knot stuffing you full, filling you to the brim, and you writhed hysterically- digging your nails into his back. Shallow scrapes littered his skin, from his shoulder blades to his tensing arms. “Mmph- oh god, m’cumming- Jack-“ It blazed from your head to your toes, igniting everything in its path, thrumming in your blood. Teeth sunk in your neck, growl vibrating to your lungs, his inflated girth trapping his seed deep.

Mahogany cracking sharply, the wood giving in and collapsing. The bed was slanted, haphazardly held up by one leg. And Jack is already licking the wound clean, kissing the area softly. He sighs, “… Apologies.” Strangely guilty, the change in demeanour gives you whiplash.

You didn’t know what he was apologizing for, whether it was the marks that scattered across your flesh, or the ruined guest room- either way, you could tell he meant it. Covered in bites and bruises, and you’d never been happier. He takes initiative, carefully scooping you up and rolling your bodies over slowly. Tucked against his chest as your breathing evened out, still connected. You assumed you’d be stuck here for a while. The primal heat finally dying down, the sun began to gleam over the horizon. Your limbs felt like lead.

Sleepy and warm, you broke the silence, “Would this be a bad time to tell you I have a crush on you?” The confession was framed as a joke, yet your vulnerability lingered in the air that followed. He exhaled through his nose with a huff, an almost laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching just a tad. “You are by far the strangest human I’ve ever met.” Giggling quietly, you cuddle further into his chest, “You would’ve eaten me if I wasn’t.” Your words make him pause, shame creeping in. Looking up, you can see the storm starting to brew in his head. “I was kidding, twas’ just a joke.” And he scoffs in disbelief,

“You should hate me.”

“Too bad I don’t.”

It was bothering him. No matter how stone-faced he was, you’d realized you had learned to read him. “Jack-“ He cuts you off with a disgruntled hum, “You don’t even know what I am, what I’ve done-“ Leaning up, you kiss him. Sweet and slow, letting him feel your trust. “I let you into my house when you’d say like- two words a day max. Plus, you looked like the boogeyman when you showed up that one time. And-“ You peck his jaw, continuing, “I still thought you were cute, so.” Jack stares at you as if you’ve grown three heads.

“Your self-preservation is severely lacking-“

“Answer my question, beasty.”

He raises a brow at the nickname before responding anyway. “… No, it would not.” You were admiring him, your gaze fond. “So…” Trailing off, expectant. Tilting his head in thought, while his hand pets the small of your back. “So?” He kind of reminded you of a stray cat, a very large, very dangerous stray cat. “Do you- y’know.” You mumble, shrugging. The expression that overtakes his features makes you snort. He seemed so offended, “If you’re asking if I care for you, the answer should be obvious.” He says it like you’ve insulted him, borderline pouting. Though if you told him that, he’d deny it with fervour. Perhaps it was in bad taste, but the rollercoaster he’d put you through demanded vengeance. “Which would be?” Drawling, you teased him. Jack’s deadpan somehow deepened, and you pressed.

“Say it- you like meee-“ And he blinks at you. Amused, he nods, “I do.” Something so plainly stated, so sure in his ways. It made your stomach flutter. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome, I’d be mad if anyone less pretty broke my bedframe.” His entire body freezes under you, sockets widening for a millisecond. Worry passes through your thoughts, going to ask what you’d said that had made him uncomfortable- you paused. The grey hue of his skin didn’t really allow for blush. Or so you thought. Because as he tilts his chin down just the slightest, the faintest hint of blue dusts his ears. You gasp,

“Oh my god, are you blushing?-“

“I beg of you.”

Interrupting you, his eyes shut. Holding you stiffly, as a lightbulb goes off in your head. He was flustered. Squinting at him, you were in shock. Jack had bent you six ways to Sunday after showing up covered in blood, scaring you half to death, and he couldn’t handle being called handsome? Swiping your thumb along the crease under his eye, you cradled his face. “I don’t know about you, but I actually think you’re quite dashing.” His lashes flutter open, memorizing your grin, the gentle lilt of your voice. “Rest.” Chiding you with a tut, he cups your nape, pressing your cheek back down. Skin on skin, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, closer than close, really.

Maybe there would be hardships, sleepless nights and times he’d chip at your heart. And maybe he’d mend it with guilty hands, hollowed eyes when he begged in atonement. However, that was for future-you to stress about. So for now, you’d lie your head and listen to the thrum in his chest. Safe in his embrace, more protected than you’d be anywhere else. Your love was filled with tongue-tied confessions, clumsy and unsure. That was okay, though.

Because he was yours, sharp teeth and all.

➽──────────────❥

➽──────────────❥

Far from the dregs of modern society and the plight of humanity lay your home. A reclusive–much like you–modest cabin, nestled amidst towering oak trees and far off the main trail. It had taken you a few years to establish your self-sustaining sanctuary, but now it was a thriving homestead.

Vibrant green leaves sprouted up in even rows of dirt beside your house, a few paces away from a fire pit you had dug yourself one Spring evening. You would, of course, travel into town for luxuries like AA batteries and processed chocolate, but your trips became few and far between–eventually optional. You found yourself leaving less and less. You didn’t miss the drone of rush hour traffic, overly congested sidewalks, empty night skies, or ever-climbing prices. 

If anything, the quiet felt earned.

As your disdain for your old way of life grew, your want to stay dwindled until you ditched it all and went off the grid. 

Everyone assumed you would last a week, perhaps a month, and you hated to admit you had held similar sentiments. The initial move was hard, but once you had set up a decent router and a generator, you became settled much more quickly. 

Settled.

That was the word you used, anyway. 

The only absence you felt was a social one. As days of silence stretched into weeks, the realization of your isolation became harder to ignore. Your shopping ventures hardly fulfilled your needs, filled with mindless small talk and passing remarks purely for the sake of politeness–and in hopes of earning a tip. The remaining connections of substance you did have all but eroded with the separation, not only physical but emotional as well. Quitting your job all but severed your connection to former coworkers, up and leaving your friends had earned you their ire, and your family was a complicated mess that all but caved in on itself after your decision.

So, there you were. Your best friend may have well been the ground hog that had made itself a home beneath your porch, and your only conversation came from the few and far between hikers in dire need of directions. 

They never stayed long, and you never asked them to. 

It was, at least, easy to be of service; the criss-crossing of trails was familiar as all of the forests’ odds and ends were second nature. That muscle memory carried you from your cabin and down the steep slope of your backyard. 

The grass around you grew slim and short from the limited sunlight that made it through the thick canopy of trees. Sparse green patches faded into smooth pebbles and sandy mud as you closed in on the shallow stream cutting through the woods. It was just deep enough to house small fish with a healthy population of frogs at various stages of life. Because of its frail inhabitants, you avoided fishing there–however, the water did attract a decent amount of other wild animals ripe for hunting. 

That wasn’t your particular intention today, instead you were simply scouring the area for any plants you had yet to harvest. So, donning chunky rain boots and worn gloves you began searching. Parting shrubs and shifting stones you were greeted with the expected wriggling earth worms, scurrying ants, and–

Heavy steel-toed boots.

You froze.

Huh?

Before you was a huge pair of work boots, made of worn black leather caked in mud with straps galore. Tucked into them was black cargo pants, plentiful with pockets which were all stuffed full. As if that was not enough storage, a utility belt hung from his waist. In one of the loops a serrated hunting knife caught your eye, stirring some surprise and apprehension. 

You hadn’t heard him approach.

Taking a tentative step back for your own safety, you weren’t sure what was more shocking–the appearance of another person or the fact that they were decked out in tactile gear like the world was about to end. 

How odd this truly began to set in. How had you not heard anything? Why was he so close? 

Your heart rate picked up a bit as you stood up, eyes flitting from his black belt to his black hoodie–

Wow. This guy had a favorite color.

Underneath his baggy sleeves was, you guessed it, black gloves which seemed to be pulled over bandages of some sort. And then–best of all–was a dark blue mask, stained with heavy black tear streaks.

Great. Just great.

You had been discovered by an edgelord with a knife which was basically a would-be serial killer–assuming you were his first victim. If that were the case you were fucked. 

For one, he had no discernable features, save for a mess of dark curls peaking out from beneath his hood. And, secondly, he was huge.

The stranger was easily the tallest man you had ever seen, pushing seven feet tall with wide shoulders and a soft stomach. 

He didn’t move.

He didn’t shift.

He just…stood there.

“Hello.”

He spoke firmly, his formal voice much smoother than you would have expected.

“Hi…” You croaked out in turn, wishing you had brought a more substantial weapon with you than a spade. Clutching the shovel like a life line you did another rapid once over. He was at least a head taller than you and could probably snap you in half like a twig. Swallowing the lump in your throat you waited anxiously for his response, a bit too scared to prompt him yourself.

“You live near here.”

His choice of words left you dumbfounded. He stated it, like it was a fact–which it was, technically–but how the hell did he know that?

“Yes, I do.” You replied, the words coming out more like a question than an answer.

A hum of understanding left him, a deep rumbling vibrato. He raised his hand stiffly, more like an animatronic than a man. It paused midair, fingers twitching once before settling, pointing at you.

“Food.”

 “Yeah…?” What the fuck was wrong with him.

“What do you do for food?” he continued. “Is it…easy to hunt? Have you ever been interrupted?” 

The question seemed oddly pointed considering the awkwardness of his wording, but you found yourself answering anyway.

“I grow my own stuff–tomatoes, carrots, easy stuff mostly. It's not the best place to catch anything here” you gestured towards the stream. The stranger simply tilted his head in response. “But uhm, no. If you go after animals it's not like another one is going to stop you from doing it or anything.”

He tensed–subtly, but surely.

Like something in your answer hadn’t aligned with what he expected. “I see. I mean, more so, have you ever been interrupted by people?”

That got a laugh out of you.

Not because it was funny–but because it wasn’t.

“Oh god no–I mean, not really.” You tried to recover, still on edge. “People, like, rarely come through here. Usually just hikers and stuff, so they don’t go off the trail.” 

Your explanation seemed to please him this time, earning you an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad I could help.” Your response carried more warmth than before, offering a small smile you hoped he returned beneath his mask. 

“Yes.” 

He turned to leave, taking a few steps before pausing.

Then–he turned back. 

Not at your face, just at you.  

“I’ll see you around…”

“I’ll–”

“I’m Jack.” 

Taken aback by the awkward interruption, silence fell between you both for a few painful moments.

Then, your laughter broke the tension, easing him to relax his shoulders–just slightly. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

He didn’t respond right away, he just stood there for a second longer than necessary.

Then, without another word, he left.

~~~~~

“Shit.”

You cursed under your breath, seeing that the pale thread had somehow–yet again–worked itself into a nasty knot. Reaching for your seam ripper you tore the string and pulled it from your shirt which, by now, had more holes then before in your repeated attempts to fix it. It seemed that sewing really, really wasn’t your strong suit. 

It was early in the evening and although sunlight was fleeting there was very little you had to do outside, so you got some much needed chores out of the way instead. Getting up from your seat to grab a new sewing needle in hopes that would make up for your utter lack of raw skill. Just as you reached the small round table that had become an overgrown junk drawer, you noticed how dark it seemed. Gazing up at the orange glow of the setting sun from a window at the far end of your living room, you knew it should have been brighter outside. Looking to your left towards your front door you jumped for a moment, before sighing in dismay as you saw the culprit.

Jack stood on your porch, peering in through the front window and blocking out most of the light with his massive frame. Today he donned a navy pull over and a black canvas jacket rather than his usual ratty hoodie–he must have been feeling adventurous today.

Waving at your friend through the glass he stiffly returned the gesture, staring a moment too long before you opened the door to greet him.

“Can I help you?” You asked, a joking lilt in your voice. As odd as this was, you had come to learn this was simply how he behaved and you were admittedly glad he had stopped by regardless.

“No.” He deadpanned, closing the distance between you two and getting a bit close to the point where you had to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. Something about it brought a faint flush to your cheeks and suddenly shy, you cleared your throat to urge him on. “I needed to come by.”

“And you didn’t knock because…?”

“You were occupied.” 

“Riiight…”  You couldn’t help the sass that slipped into your voice, simply rolling your eyes at his peculiar formalities. “Well, if you’re going to watch me, why not just do it from inside the house next time?” You attempted to crack a joke, raising your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Alright.”

Taking your sarcasm as instruction, he brushed past you with impressive ease and stepped into your living room. 

He looked comical, trapped by low ceilings and smaller furniture made to accommodate one normal sized person. Rather than looking at the surroundings he walked to one side until his foot nudged a table, placing a hand on it and feeling the layout of the room's outer edge as he took even steps around the perimeter. 

“...Jack?”

“I am mapping it.”

“...Mapping it?”

“Yes.”

Right. Of course he was. 

In his exploration you noticed a faint trail of blood at his feet, causing you to lurch away from the door towards him until you realized it was just a rabbit clutched in his free hand. 

Well, the remains of a rabbit. 

It was very dead–hunted and cleaned, hanging limply in the man’s grasp. 

There were no tears or evident damage to its flesh. No uneven edges. Just a clean, precise opening like someone had performed an operation rather than a hunt. 

“I didn’t see you this morning.”

“Hm?” you asked, missing almost all of what he said as you focused back in.

“You weren’t by the stream earlier today.”

“Yeah, I–”

“You are there most mornings.”

The statement landed heavier than it should have. 

Ah, right. Running into Jack by the river had become…routine. Not something you had planned, not something you had even acknowledged aloud, but something that happened all the same. You would check on your traps, and he would be there. Or he wouldn’t–and then he would be by the time you left. 

“Right, sorry about that.” You said, a bit more carefully now. “I usually meet you after I see if I caught anything–”

“I know.”

Right.

You glanced at him, then away.

The obviousness of your explanation left you a bit embarrassed considering you usually passed him with blood stained pants and some collection of dead animals.

“Well, I don’t typically have any luck after it rains and since it did yesterday, I thought I would wait until tomorrow morning.”

“You were gone longer than usual.”

That…was not what you said.

You blinked, stunned for a second, before forcing a small laugh. “Yeah, well–I guess I got mixed up. The days sorta blend together, ya know?”

Your explanation seemed to satisfy him, prompting a small nod. Silence settled again–denser, this time.

Then he stepped forward, almost proudly brandishing the rabbit out to you.

“I brought you meat. I wasn’t sure if you would have anything to eat.”

The sentiment brought a smile to your face, and the realization that he was thinking about you, worrying–well it made your cheeks turn red all over again. 

Man since when were you so easy?

Turning away you quickly composed yourself, taking a quick breath and clearing your now busy mind. “Thank you, Jack. That’s very sweet of you.”

He stilled.

Not just paused–stilled.

Like the word was unfamiliar and had caught somewhere it didn’t belong.

“Sweet,” he repeated, quieter now. 

“...Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then he held the rabbit out further.

 You took a step closer, now only a few inches from him. Your hand hovered for a moment–hesitation flickering–before something in you pushed forwards. Just for a second, you brushed your knuckles over his. 

Cold.

Not freezing, not entirely unnatural.

Just cold.

His grip tightened–only slightly–and just for a moment.

But still, enough that you noticed.

You stilled now, and he didn’t let go right away.

Instead, his head dipped–just barely towards you–as if he were staring at the point of contact.

“It's still warm,” he murmured.

A shiver ran down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“Yeah.” you said quickly–maybe a bit too quickly–pulling your hand away as you took the rabbit from him. “That’s–uh, that’s kind of how it works.”

He released it immediately, but didn’t move away, simply lingering in silence.

“I’ll make it for dinner–beats having just vegetables and bread.” You turned slightly, trying to busy yourself, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up for no good reason. “You can stay–only if you want, of course…”

You hesitated, “you know, just like, a thank you.”

There it was, laid out plainly.

The want.

Your home had been empty for far too long.

“...Alright.” He replied simply.

But he didn’t move, not right away at least.

And when you glanced back at him, you realized he wasn’t looking at the rabbit.

He was looking at you.

~~~~~

The news was bullshit, meteorology was a lie, and your weather app clearly had a personal vendetta.

What was supposed to be a brisk fall day with “light showers in the afternoon” had quickly transformed into a torrential downpour early in the morning. 

It was just your luck, however, that it had happened to start after you had left without anything to protect you from the elements.

Seriously, the converse you refused to let go of had seen better days and the thin, worn canvas had left you with wet socks and an annoying squish following every step.

The dense foliage above you did little to stop the rain, simply delaying the inevitable; fat droplets of water slipping down leaves and soaking through your clothes one patch at a time.

Once the storm had started, you considered turning back. If you had any animals they would surely still be stuck tomorrow, and any herbs or berries certainly weren’t going anywhere. And yet, you stayed. 

Old sneakers sunk into the damp earth with every step, carrying you down a path your body knew better than your brain did. Each day, the same path, the same time, the same—

You slowed. 

The same stream came into view through the trees. Its once steady trickle was now a roaring current, moving fast enough that it had consumed the surrounding bank. There were no fish in sight, not a single lingering tadpole, not even an earth worm or two seeking reprieve from the wet soil. 

The woods felt…empty.

The only life there was you. 

“You’re late.”

You froze.

Turning towards the source of the voice you were unsurprised to see Jack standing there. 

He was, of course, eerily still and as tall as ever. His drab clothing—consisting of his usual black cargo pants, but a new dark rain jacket—blended in with the dark atmosphere. His mask which was no longer as disconcerting had become a smeared mess of black…well, whatever that crap was. If he had been more diverse in this choice of clothing, it most likely would have been a stained mess.

He didn’t move closer.

He didn’t wave.

He just watched. 

“I—” you let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “I wasn’t planning on coming, I thought about going back when the rain started,” you explained with a soft laugh. 

“You always come.”

Well, he was being rather blunt.

He wasn’t accusatory, or upset, or even curious. 

Just…certain, if you had to try and place it.

You swallowed.

“That’s not—” you started, then stopped, because arguing felt pointless for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. You weren’t even sure why you cared so much—or why he did either. 

“It rained yesterday,” you tried instead. “I told you I don’t usually check traps after rain.”

“Yes.”

He said it immediately. 

Of course he did, of course he remembered something so trivial. 

You shifted your weight, shoes squelching slightly in the mud. “So… I’m not late, then…Technically.”

A pause, filled by the dull pitter patter of the rain.

Then—

“You are late.”

Again, he wasn’t arguing per se, just repeating his point. Firmly.

Something in your chest tightened.

“Jack—”

“You are later than usual.”

Ah.

There it was.

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head a little. “Sure…alright. I’ll meet you in the middle, I’m later than usual.”

“I am correct.”

That—unfortunately—made you laugh.

“Don’t test your luck!” You said, a giggle slipping out despite yourself, while he simply cocked his head in response.

“I’m not testing anything.”

Oh wow, had he never heard of sarcasm? Thinking back, you really didn’t think he had. You couldn’t remember a single time he had been sarcastic. Or joking. Or…wrong. 

Maybe he was raised Amish or Mormon or something. 

The thought of it made you laugh again, cutting through the damp chill settling into your bones. “You’re…you’re something else, Jack.”

He tilted his head and stared in your general direction.

You didn’t think he understood the tone—maybe even the phrase itself—or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

Another beat passed, filled only by the sound of rain hitting water, slipping from the leaves above and pelting the fabric of both your clothes. 

Neither of you moved.

“You’re going to get sick standing out here,” you said finally, gesturing toward him. “You’re soaked.” As if you were one to talk—at least he had on a jacket—but he had seemingly been out here much longer than you.

“No, I won’t.” He didn’t hesitate,  but he wasn’t challenging you, he was just overly confident in his immune system.

“And why’s that?” 

He paused, taking the time to think for once, “…I have a good diet. Lots of protein. Vitamin C…”

A dry chuckle forced itself past your lips, eyebrows raising in disbelief—obviously you had been mistaken, he did understand a joke.

“Right.”

“Right,” he echoed, slower now, mulling over your response. “You don’t believe me. You should. I’m a doctor.”

“A doctor of what, vitamin deficiencies?”

“No, but, I know I won’t get sick.”

“Uh-huh…” Losing interest in his antics you gazed around; the rain only seemed to be getting heavier. Your hoodie was losing the fight, the cold was settling in deeper now—sharp at your fingertips, creeping up steadily into your arms.

You rubbed at them absentmindedly, only to realize a moment later that Jack seemed to be watching you do so. 

“We should move somewhere, get out of the rain…” You peered over your shoulder, briefly considering the walk back. The idea wasn’t particularly appealing—not with your socks soaked through and your shoes heavy with mud.

“Yes,” Jack agreed, offering nothing else.

“There’s a rock overhang, like a cliff thing a bit further up..” you said, nodding upstream, your arms crossed tight across your chest for warmth. “It’s not much, but it’s better than this.”

“Show me.” 

He didn’t look where you pointed. 

At his instruction you pivoted, making your way along the uneven edge of the stream. It was different then you remembered—the rain had chewed at the bank, reshaped it into something unfamiliar—and it took longer than it should have to find a place narrow enough to cross.

Even then, it was a stretch. 

Athleticism failed you at the worst possible moment; your foot slipped on the slick edge, and you pitched forward, barely catching yourself before faceplanting into the mud. 

“You tripped,” he dead panned. 

“Yeah, well…yeah..” You mutter, pushing yourself up with a wince. The feeling of the mud made you cringe—it was smeared across your palms, your sleeves soaked through and clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

Before you could turn fully, a shadow fell over you.

“Jesus—”

The word caught as you looked up.

Jack was already there.

Too close.

You hadn’t heard him move.

Reaching down, he took your hand. Firm—yet careful. His grip was steady, almost deliberate, as if he’d done this before.

A gloved thumb pressed lightly against the inside of your wrist, lingering just a second too long over your pulse, before sliding down to cup your knuckles. He rotated your wrist slowly, testing the joint with quiet precision, pushing it gently in different directions.

“What are you doing, Jack?”

“Does it hurt?”

He ignored the question entirely, his other hand coming up to brace your forearm—fingers spanning it easily, thumb pressing into muscle like he was mapping something out.

The faint smell of iron flooded your senses which was odd, given that you weren’t bleeding. Jack didn’t seem to be either.

“No, it doesn’t,” you huffed, trying to pull away—

His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, not in an attempt to pull you back. It was just strong. A warning.

“I told you,” he said evenly. “I’m a doctor.”

You weren’t quite sure how to respond, simply pulling your arm back again—this time he relented and let go. “I’m okay,” you said, brushing uselessly at your sleeves. “Thank you…”

The gratitude felt strange on your tongue.

He only hummed.

The rest of the walk seemed much longer than you remembered, almost painfully so. Maybe it was the slog through the mud.

Or the way you kept adjusting your pace without realizing it.

Or maybe it was him.

You weren’t quite sure what to call Jack.

That uncertainty didn’t help when he started trailing behind you—not beside you, not even a step back, but several paces removed.

Far enough that it didn’t feel like walking together.

Far enough that, if you didn’t know better, it would feel like being stalked, rather than followed.

And yet—

Close enough that you could feel him; his looming presence, his stare bearing into you. 

Watching.

You couldn’t quite hear his footsteps, and yet you always knew when he stopped.

You turned, glancing back. “What’s up?”

“You slipped.”

Did you?

You frowned slightly, thinking back. The ground was slick, your shoes useless against the mud. “Uh…yeah, I guess?”

“You shifted your weight to avoid falling,” he said. “Your steps changed.”

“…I mean, yeah. That’s kind of how it works?”

Silence.

He just stood there, staring—not at your face, but lower, like he was watching the way you stood, the way your weight settled into the ground.

Waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure.

You exhaled, a little sharper this time. “Come on, Jack.”

The remainder of the walk was a silent slog, all to something that wasn’t quite worth it.

The overhang wasn’t much.

Just a jut of rock where the earth dipped slightly, enough to block the worst of the rain. You stepped beneath it with a sigh of relief, shaking out your hoodie a little and pushing damp hair from your face.

It took a second to realize he hadn’t followed.

You glanced back.

He stood just outside, letting the rain hit him. 

“Jack?”

He just looked at you.

“You can come under here, you know,” you urged. “That was like, the whole point of us coming here.”

“No. I am fine.”

You stared at him for a second, shaking your head in dismay.  

He was unbelievable.

Stepping forwards you grabbed his sleeve, “c’mon, get in here you idiot.”

You tugged and, surprisingly, he moved. 

There was no resistance—or even allowance—just letting you.

The second he stepped under the overhang, the space shrank considerably; you hadn’t really accounted for how big he was.

Or how little space there was.

“Okay, wow,” you muttered, instinctively stepping back—only to hit the stone almost immediately. “That’s—great. Love that.”

He stood directly in front of you now—too close.

You could feel his breath, the warmth radiating off him, and hear the faint beating of his heart.

And yet, there was no point of contact between the two of you. 

But close enough that you could see the individual drops of water clinging to his mask, gathering before falling down in heavy clumps. 

And close enough that the faint metallic scent you’d noticed before was stronger now, mixing unpleasantly with wet earth and damp fabric.

Your breath hitched—just slightly.

“Jack, what is that—“

“You are cold.”

Again—not a question, just an observation.

“I’m wet,” you shot back. “That’s kind of how that works.”

There was a tense pause, and then his hand lifted. The movement was slow and deliberate, but still awkward like it had been before. 

“May I?”

Your brain stalled and your body stalled.

“…What?”

But he was already closer now—if that was even possible—closing the last of the distance between you two. His chest brushed against yours, his hand hovering just short of your arm. 

You could say no, you probably should.

Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke without really thinking. 

“…Okay, sure.”

His fingers closed around your wrist–firm and still.

The same as before.

But now—without the muck of mud and the pelting of the storm–you could feel it properly.

No warmth, no give, no subtle pulse. Like a corpse.

He tilted his head, focusing on the contact.

“You are shaking.”

“I’m cold,” you repeated, quieter this time.

His other hand moved, settling—awkwardly, uncertainly—against your sleeve, like he wasn’t entirely sure where it was supposed to go; like he was trying to recreate something he’d seen before.

The space between you disappeared completely, lost to the mingling of your heated breaths and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

You could feel the shape of him now—solid, unmoving, too still to be natural.

“…Jack.”

“Yes.”

“You’re, uh—” you swallowed, heat creeping up your neck despite everything. “You’re kind of—close.”

“I know.”

That did not help.

At all.

You let out a small, strained laugh, trying to lean back again, still stuck by the unyielding stone behind you. “Right. Of course you do.”

He didn’t move away, didn’t loosen his grip; if anything, his fingers tightened—just slightly.

“Your pulse increased.”

Oh my god.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when people invade other people’s personal space.”

He thought for a moment, “I can let go.”

He was right. He could let go, you could ask him to stop, either of you could move away.

But you didn’t, and neither did he. 

“...No.” You finally said softly.

That short answer seemed to appease him. 

A heavy silence fell immediately, your gaze shying away from his.

His, however, stayed; unrelenting, just like his grasp. 

The rain didn’t let up for a long time.

And–not even for a moment–neither of you moved.

~~~~~~

It had been days since you had last seen Jack.

Although there wasn’t any obligation to meet up, the fact that you saw one another everyday was an unsung ritual. Whenever you were late—let alone completely absent—Jack wouldn’t let you forget it. And then he had the nerve to stand you up for the last three days. 

Not that you were counting.

But you kind of were. 

At first you had thought maybe he did get sick from standing out in the rain like an idiot. The glory of “I told you so” lasted a mere 24 hours before you began to worry that he was avoiding you on purpose since that rainy morning you spent huddled together. 

Then, since this morning, for your own wellbeing you had half convinced yourself that he was being held for ransom somewhere.

The other half was still toying with the much more realistic possibility that he no longer wanted to see you.

The weight of that hurt more than it should have for losing an…acquaintance wasn’t quite right. Neither was a friend or neighbor or anything else you could think of. 

You made a habit of seeing each other every day. You worried for each other. You provided for one another. 

Whatever the word for that was would be most fitting. 

Disconcertingly, your uncertainty and grief had left you unable to sleep the last few nights.

Tonight, you found yourself on the porch of your cabin. A thick wool blanket was draped around your shoulders for warmth, countering your thin flannel shorts and baggy t-shirt. A long abandoned book lay open on your bare thighs—although you had quite enjoyed it the last few days, it was comparably much harder to read by moonlight than desk lamp. 

Instead, you found yourself engrossed in the perplexity of the surrounding forest.

The silence had first set in three days ago. The woods around your cabin were usually a symphony of life—the chirping of crickets, the hoot of an owl, and the rustle of small creatures in the undergrowth. But, as of late, there had been nothing. 

An absolute, unnerving quiet that pressed into your very bones, somehow making you feel so much smaller and yet infinitely exposed all at once. The air itself felt thick, charged with static energy that made your skin prickle, 

The woods itself, and all of its inhabitants, seemed to be waiting with baited breath. 

The immense weight of the change felt crushing, nearly unbearable, as some primal part of your mind urged you to flee back inside.

You didn’t listen.

Instead, you nursed your cup of tea that had long gone cold, examining the uneven treeline. The storm had been bad, leaving branches scattered and once tall oaks splintered in half as maws of pale, exposed wood. 

It had been hell to navigate even sparse patches of forest. 

Examining a particularly gnarly branch, something stirred in your peripheral vision. Off to the right, a blotch of inky black emerged from the dense wreckage of foliage. 

Whatever it was walked with an odd gait, long uneven strides as it hunched over. The thing was tall, similar to a bear walking on its hind legs but too thin and coordinated to be so. It was impressively silent and balanced, maneuvering with ease at almost an alarming pace. 

It approached you quickly—in fact it was making a b-line straight for you—fear set in momentarily until you saw a familiar glimpse of the navy. 

Jack. 

Your it was a he, and he had picked the worst possible time to show up at your doorstep.

You discarded your book alongside your tea and frustration, alarm setting in at his absence and sudden reappearance. 

“Jack!” You took a few steps from your porch, meeting him.

You grabbed at his arms, panicking when you felt something wet as the overwhelming smell of something metallic filled your lungs. 

Your fingers tightened,  the thick, coppery tang of blood flooding your senses. His navy hoodie was drenched, the fabric heavy and clinging to his frame, but beneath the dampness, his skin burned like a furnace. His breath came in ragged, uneven pants, each exhaling a ghost of steam in the cool night air.

He felt beyond feverish and was borderline boiling.

"Jack, what happened? Are you hurt?" Your voice trembled, but you forced yourself to meet his face—though there was nothing to see. 

His eyes were empty voids, hollowed out and shadowed, yet somehow, you felt his gaze on you—intense and starving. His lips parted, but no words came, only a low, guttural sound vibrating from his chest. 

His grip on your arms tightened, almost bruising, as if he were afraid you might vanish. He tried to choke something out, the beginning of what sounded like a no that was quickly interrupted by a guttural groan.

The silence stretched, thick with the weight of tension. You couldn't place it—there was something primal in the way he leaned into you, his body trembling not with pain, but with something else entirely. His fingers twitched against your skin, restless, desperate. Then, without warning, he yanked you closer, his face burying into the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed your pulse point, not biting, but teasing, testing. 

A shiver wracked through you; half fear and half something dangerously close to anticipation.

"You're bleeding," you whispered, though the realization felt distant. Your mind was hazy, but somehow your instincts made it clear; he wasn’t the one in danger. 

You were.

“It’s not mine,” he finally rasped. The explanation was minimal and no less troubling than your assumption.

He, however, didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

His hands roamed lower, mapping your waist, your hips, like he was trying to memorize all of you. The blanket around your shoulders slipped, pooling at your feet as he crowded you against the cabin door. The rough wood pressed into your back, his body flush against yours, leaving no space to breathe—or think. The metallic scent of blood mingled with something else; something darker, muskier, something that made your stomach twist and tighten all at once.

"I can smell you," he gasped, his voice raw, cracked. "All of you." His knee slid between your thighs, pressing up, and the friction sent a jolt through you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he rocked forward, slow, deliberate. The movement was predatory, possessive, and yet, there was no malice—only need. Raw, insatiable need.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. You should have pushed him away, should have screamed, should have run—but you didn't. 

Instead, your fingers tangled in his blood-soaked hoodie, pulling him closer. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. And when he finally crashed his mouth against yours, you met him halfway, tasting blood and something far more dangerous on his tongue.

His mouth was a maw of sharp, uneven teeth. 

Despite his ferocity he didn’t kiss you just yet; he tasted as if you were his last meal. His tongue was a wet, hot invasion that scraped roughly over yours. It was wide, long and eager. In the mess of it all it felt overwhelming, until you realized he had not one but three, all of which seemed determined to map out the inside of your mouth. Some stranger's blood left a coppery tang behind, mixing bitterly with the lingering flavor of your tea. 

His hands were everywhere, rough and calloused, gripping your waist with bruising intensity before sliding up to cup the back of your neck. He pulled away from your lips with a fervent gasp, tilting your head back and exposing the length of your throat. The sharp prick of his canines sent a thrill though you as they graced down your skin, stopping just above your collarbone

He didn't bite down hard enough to break the skin—not yet—but the promise of it was enough to make your knees weak.

Slowly, agonizingly, he broke the kiss. A line of saliva and blood connected your mouths for a split second before he pulled away. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, and then his gaze dropped to your neck, his mouth twitching as he inhaled deeply.

"You smell like mine," he murmured, his voice low and rough. Though the words sounded like nonsense, you were too enthralled with him to care. He buried his face in your neck again, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collar and down to your chest.

His hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt, palms rough and calloused, burning against your bare skin. He didn't try to rush. He took his time, mapping every inch of you with his tongue and his fingers, every movement slow and deliberate.

Eager fingers traced the line of your spine, sending jolts of electricity through you. Growing impatient with the amount of fabric between you two he pushed your shirt up, nearly moaning at the realization that your breasts were bare beneath. 

He cupped your chest, thumbs pressing into sensitive peaks as he found your nipples. He rubbed the nubs between calloused fingers—his touch firm, but not gentle. It was rough but undercut by an unexplainable intensity and a careful awareness. Every ounce of his self control was being put into not ravishing you. 

He wanted to go slow. He wanted you to enjoy this as much as him, but his patience was growing thin and if he couldn’t take his time, he would simply revere you instead.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. The word was barely audible over the rustling of the wind, and the mingling of your heated breaths. He finally looked up, staring at you as he caught his breath.

He pulled you closer, his mouth finding yours again—but this time it was different. It was less aggressive, less messy, but somehow more desperate, and just as insistent. His hands abandoned your breasts, one tracing the curves of your ribs while the other guided your leg around his waist, his strong hold supporting your thigh. 

Rough denim bit into your exposed skin as his leg moved up. His knee pressed against the inside of your thigh, pushing higher, and you felt the heat of him radiating through his clothes, searing against your skin. Once he felt your own heat, the sure sign of your excitement as dampness on his thigh, he nearly lost it. 

Nails dug into the fat of your leg, urging you forwards and back over and over as he set a sloppy rhythm. The hefty weight of his hard cock dug into your hip—long, thick, and warm. The length was intimidating, your stomach twisting as you fathomed how something that size would even fit inside you.

Between moans, he panted out “I need to be inside you. Please.” His hands were already fiddling with the button of your jeans without waiting for a response 

The idea was, admittedly, equal parts terrifying and appealing. Despite your complex–yet heated–feelings for Jack, he was large and not to mention exceedingly eager as he moved down your body. 

His intimidating frame melted into yours while you pondered the logistics of how you would survive someone of his size inside you without proper preparation, regardless of how embarrassingly wet you had become. 

In the midst of it all you didn’t notice his rough hands tugging down your shorts until you felt cold air nipping at your exposed skin. By then you were spread bare before him, thighs parted as the warmth of his tongue met your exposed lips.

The feeling was oh so foreign.

Your time alone in the woods paired with how unnatural he was had you shuddering from mere licks.

You really were easy.

Self deprecation came naturally as something about his inhumanity stirred something deep in you. That excitement–prior to now–had been unbeknownst to you and now that it had been sparked, it quickly grew into a roaring flame. 

Shaking hands found their way into dark curls, tugging and urging for something–you weren’t quite sure what.

However, Jack was. 

One of his tongues–lengthy and feverishly warm–parted your folds, hungrily lapping up your slick.

“Shit!” You exclaimed, left breathless as the appendage slipped inside you, longer and thicker than you had expected, larger than you had even thought to be possible, too much to be human.

It was only dawning on you now–with his head nestled between your thighs, some stranger’s blood staining your legs from his cheeks–that Jack was something else.

You weren’t sure how you had overlooked the signs, or even failed to notice after seeing his lack of eyes and rows of jagged teeth.

Perhaps the isolation has rotted your brain.

Maybe it was something more taboo. 

All of your aimless pondering came to an end as something else slipped inside you, all fruitless attempts to figure the enigmatic man out drowned out by the feeling of being absolutely and wonderfully full.

Two of his tongues were inside you now, burrowing deep enough that you swore he could taste your cervix.

Jack seemed unfathomably grateful for the meal, stretching you out and curling up until a shaky gasp escaped your lips.

“Jack!” Your plea rivaled reverence as your legs parted more, beckoning him in further to the sweet spot he had stumbled upon.

It was spongy to touch, somehow softer than the rest of your slick walls and every time he nudged it the pressure elicited a delighted squeal  from you.

With a renewed vigor he continued the ministries, unrelenting in his attempts to make you squirm.

The pleasure had you struggling to see straight, heat quickly mounting in your abdomen as you tightened around him. It all felt like too much–his tongue's too thick, the escalation of events too quick, the lack of communication too daunting.

And yet, selfishly, needily you forgot all apprehension.

“Puh..Please don’t stop!”

Your whine was dulcet to Jack, the sweetest thing he had ever heard. It drew a deep growl from the depths of his chest, a subtle rumble that sent pleasant vibrations through your sex.

That was enough to push you over the edge, crying out as your vision became spotty.

Heat spread through your shuddering body, spine tensing and arching as you were eased through your orgasm.

Jack’s unrelenting ministrations drew out your pleasure, urging more from you–more moans, more cries, more cum.

Even as your shakes subsided and muscles went lax he didn’t stop. Instead his jaw opened, more than it should have been able to, and his third and final tongue found its way to your swelling clit. 

It became too hard to see, too hard to comprehend. Your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering until they shut as his tongue splayed over the sensitive nub. He worked quickly, sloppy circles causing your thighs to shake.

Pressure began mounting again, a knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten as your legs finally snapped shut–or as close as they could get to it–over his pointed ears.

Another growl rumbled through Jack, two hands coming up between you both to force your hips open again. Calloused fingers dug into the plush of your inner thigh, pinning them in place. 

His work had left you both a mess, blood and cum smeared across your legs and his cheeks, slick separating you both by a few glistening strands as he pulled away to speak.

“Don’t move.”

“Okay…” You whimpered before you knew what you were saying, arched your back without really meaning to, tugged at his hair absently in hopes you would return to your sex. 

Of course, your wish was granted.

It felt right to have his tongues slip back inside you, in the brief moments without them you had felt empty.

The realization made your cheeks flush, parted lips coming together so you could gnaw on the bottom one.

A small part of you was ashamed for succumbing to your urges, for indulging so blatantly, for not questioning what Jack was or why this was happening.

You no longer cared that he had been gone, you didn’t mind the mess he had arrived in. 

You were simply glad that he was back.

The realization, although late yet again, eased your pounding heart and foggy mind, allowing you to slip fully into the throes of pleasure being readily given to you.

Jack worked you through orgasm after orgasm, not giving you a moment of respite, eating you out like a man starved.

He only stopped when your clit had become so sensitive his breath made you twitch, and when the mess coming from you was more cum than slick.

As he pulled away your hands fell from his head, slipping down his neck and over broad shoulders to tug at his hoodie.

You wanted him closer, but you also wanted it off.

To compensate for him having to pull away you wrapped your now weak legs around him.

Your attempts were futile as Jack seemed to have other plans for you both.

He wrapped one arm around you, effortlessly holding you up as he pulled you away from the wall before beginning to set you on the ground.

In your haze it took you a moment to notice that this wasn’t a temporary resting place.

“Jack..!” You cried, half whine, half scold, as he pulled the soiled sweatshirt off of his head.

The sight left you breathless for a moment, his hair a mess from your tugging, his face and neck flushed. His bare chest was soft but noticeably strong with defined biceps covered in a thin layer of hair that was also prominent on his messy happy trail. 

Although you were waiting for an answer, your only form of acknowledgement seemed to be him pausing, arms still stuck in his sweatshirt as it hung limply in front of him.

Right. He was still like that.

“We…we are not having sex on the floor.”

“Yes, we are.”

You were dumbfounded by his blatant refusal, your mouth hanging open dumbly for a moment. “No we are not!” You shot back.

He stopped this time, pondering your demand and surprisingly asked, “why not?”

Splinters? Shame? Discomfort? The front door being wide open? 

You could think of a myriad of reasons why it was a bad idea, and yet worlds failed you, as all you could muster was a “because I said so.”

Another beat of silence, followed by a soft plop as he finished taking his top off, before he finally relented. “Alright.”

Jack seceded from impatience it seemed. He closed the distance between you both again, scooping you up as he pressed heated kisses down your neck, across your breasts, up your shoulders–wherever his mouth could reach. 

Setting you down on the couch he settled on top of you, his legs hanging over the armrest due to his height. His free hand undid the button of his cargo pants before he shifted and kicked to get them off. He cursed under his breath as he struggled, the arm holding him up trembling–not from exertion but from desperation.

His face was a deep red, sweat beading on his forehead and collar, a soft whine escaping every time your body simply brushed his. 

When his pants and boxers were finally off, the last of his control seemed to evaporate. A heady groan escaped his lips, hard cock now curling up towards his frame and resting on your lower stomach. 

It was long and thick, something you would surely struggle to maneuver even with both hands. Your stomach fluttered, thighs squeezing together as you eyed the veins running from his swollen head down to the bulb situated at the base of his dick.

Before you could really think of what it was, restless hands pushed your legs apart and up to rest over his shoulders, granting him access to your sex. Guiding his length between your folds, precum dripped over your entrance before he pushed in.

With a few shallow thrusts he bottomed out, forcing the monstrous size into you so quickly you saw stars.  

_____

The pain was sharp, a violent intrusion that stole the breath right out of your lungs, but it was swiftly swallowed by the overwhelming fullness. You clamped down around him instinctively, your nails digging into the soft skin of his shoulders as he held himself there, buried to the hilt inside you.

You screamed, a sound that tore itself from your throat before your brain could even process the sudden sensation. It wasn’t pain—not exactly—but the kind of stretch that threatened to ruin you, a bone-deep ache that radiated outward until you felt impossibly wide, impossibly full.

“Jack…!” The syllable was barely a breath and hardly a plea–you weren’t asking him to stop, you weren’t begging for him to move, you just wanted him.

He stilled above you, his body vibrating with the effort to remain steady, his hands planting on the cushion next to your head to anchor himself. He panted, his chest heaving against yours, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. 

"You're so tight," he rasped out, his voice guttural and wrecked. "You're... so tight." 

He didn't move immediately, just rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged, hot pants that fogged the space between your faces. The sheer scale of him was staggering; he felt impossibly large, stretching you wide in ways that no human ever could. A heavy, musky scent—the same one that had filled the air earlier—wafted off him, thick and primal.

He leaned in, pressing a clumsy, desperate kiss to your mouth, tasting of blood and salt. 

"Take it," he commanded, though the words were barely a whisper. "Take all of it." 

Slowly, agonizingly, he began to pull back. 

The friction was maddening, the drag of his length against your sensitive walls sending sparks of electricity shooting up your spine. When he bottomed out again with a deep thrust, your back arched off the couch, a loud moan tearing from your throat. 

Each movement was deep, a heavy impact that rocked your body upwards. He was relentless, hips pistoning against yours with a brutal rhythm that had your head spinning, your vision blurring at the edges. 

Your nails scraped down his back, leaving angry red trails against the soft skin of his lower back, the only mark you could leave on him. 

"Oh god..." You gasped, your voice cracking, drowning in the sensation of him, stretched to the limit by his sheer size. 

"Jack... please, don't stop," you whimpered, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.

You didn't need to ask twice.

He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic. Each stroke was deep, claiming every inch of you, hitting that same spot inside you that made your vision blur and your toes curl. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingled with your moans and his guttural growls.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky rasp. "You're taking it so well. So tight."

He shifted, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot harder with every thrust. The pressure built rapidly, a knot tightening in your lower belly until you were gasping for breath, the pleasure becoming overwhelming.

"You're going to cum," he noted. "I can feel it. You're clenching around me." The bluntness of his words drastically opposed the quiver in his words and the heavy breath between each syllable. 

His hand moved down to your clit, rubbing rough circles over the sensitive nub. The dual stimulation pushed you over the edge faster than you expected. 

You cried out, your body seizing as a powerful orgasm rippled through you, your inner muscles clamping down so hard on his cock that he hissed.

"Just like that," Jack urged, his face twisting in pleasure. He spoke breathily, nails leaving angry red marks as he forced your hips closer, half bouncing you onto his cock as he continued moving;  driving into you with deliberate precision, his pace increasing as he chased his own release. 

"You're mine," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy on your ear. 

His knot began to swell, a thick, bulbous base that pulsed against your sensitive skin. It was an alien intrusion, a part of him that you were learning to accommodate–the friction creating a fire that burned in the very marrow of your bones. 

"Jack, it's too big..." You whimpered, your hands grasping at his shoulders. You felt your stomach drop, sure that you wouldn’t be able to fit it–it was a miracle you had taken as much as you had already.  

"Shut up and take it," he commanded softly, his voice laced with a dark, possessive need. "You can take it. You're doing so well." The praise was choppy, foreign coming from him, but well earned regardless. 

He pushed forward, forcing the knot to expand, locking him inside you. 

You cried out as your body was somehow stretched further, more than it had ever been before, the knot catching on your rim, and then sliding in with a pop. He was trapped inside you, a massive weight that filled you completely, leaving you no room to breathe, no room to think, only to feel the incredible pressure and the pulsing heat of him. 

You gasped for air, your body trembling violently. 

"Good girl," he purred, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the roughness of his actions. "You took it all. You took all of me." 

He rested there, his forehead resting against yours, the action oddly tender but far from unwelcome.

"You're so full," he continued, whispering in awe while his thumb stroked your cheek. 

The sensation of his knot trapping you was intense, a feeling of being completely possessed, of being locked together. 

"I'm full," you echoed, your voice barely a whisper, unable to process the magnitude of the experience. 

"Good," he said, and his hips gave a small, experimental roll. 

You jolted, the movement sending shockwaves through your body, the knot rubbing against your sensitive walls. 

"Jack..." 

He chuckled darkly, tentatively, his breath hitching his chest. 

"Did you like it?" 

You didn't answer, too overwhelmed by the sensation to form words. You could only arch your back, a silent plea for more, for everything. 

He seemed to understand.

Jack started to move again, grinding his hips slowly and deliberately, the knot catching and releasing, sending you into a spiral of pleasure that made your head spin. 

He seemed to be enjoying himself, his own release imminent, and the knowledge that he was trapped inside you– unable to pull out until he was ready–added to the immense heat and sheer alien nature of the creature you were sharing a moment with. 

Your mind began to wander, twisting into a dark, erotic dreamland where you were nothing more than his vessel, his mate, his everything. 

He was lost in the sensation too, his eyes fixated on where his cock was buried deep inside you. 

He felt your walls clamp down on him, milking him for everything he had. 

"I'm going to fill you up," he announced, as if to inform you. 

His formality forced a dazed giggle from you.

His hips snapped forward one last time, and his cock throbbed violently. 

A stream of hot cum flooded your insides, the sheer amount of it was staggering. 

"Jack!" You screamed, your body tensing, your eyes rolling back. 

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body as a stream of hot cum filled the emptiness of your womb. 

He pumped his hips erratically, after every thrust, the room seemed to shrink, the world outside seemed to disappear, you were just two bodies locked together.

You, Jack, and what you had together was the only thing that mattered.

The flood continued for what felt like ages.

Eventually, he slowed, his breathing returning to a more normal–albeit heavy–pace. 

The knot deflated slightly, but remained swollen, preventing him from pulling out. 

He pulled his face from your neck, looking at you with adoration, but also a dark hunger. 

"You're covered in me," he said, your body glistening with sweat and smelling strongly of him; your legs spread wide on the couch, your thighs sticky with a mixture of your own juices and his.

He lowered his head, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You're mine now.”

He reached for his sweatshirt and wiped his face, removing the remnants of his earlier meals–a mixture of your fluids and foreign blood.

You had a clearer look at his face now.

He had a strong jaw, well defined cheek bones and traces of wispy stubble on his chin. Despite his lack of eyes you could feel the intensity of his gaze and the reverence which he had for you. The man was adoring, relishing in the sight of you laid bare before him, especially fond of the point where your bodies met. 

“Thank you…” you muttered, breaking the silence, tugging softly at his neck to draw him closer.

“You’re welcome,” he replied simply.

once you reach the top of the steps leading up to the playground, you see him sitting on that horse-duck spring monstrosity. he’s balancing the joint that he pre-rolled in his room on his index finger, nearly dropping it when he sees you approach.

“that was quick,” he chuckles as he puts the joint between his soft lips, leaning back to let you sit on his lap, “i barely got here.”

“didn’t wanna keep you waiting.” you lean in and kiss him on the corner of his lips.

“don’t mind waiting for you.” the smile on his lips is soft and sincere, he takes out the joint, holding it between his fingers so he can kiss you deeper, the full pout of his lips on yours. his surprisingly strong arms, the ones pulling you in for tight hugs all the time, adjust you on his lap, making you straddle him properly.

“it’s digging into my back,” you complain, losing balance and nearly toppling over as the spring ride moves back and forth under you, “agh, we should’ve just gone on the slide.”

“nah,” he smiles mischievously, gripping your hips tightly as he keeps you from falling, “we went on the slide last time.”

his hands are warm on your skin, pressing into the flesh of your hips. kneading you, feeling up under your loose hoodie with one hand, the other one places that joint back between his lips, rummaging in his pocket for the lighter that he brings to the rolled up end of it, lighting it up and taking a drag. his face glows orange for a few brief moments before he pockets the lighter again. smoke oozes from his slightly parted lips, so very slowly as you shift in his lap again, avoiding the spring ride’s head poking into your back.

“come here” he murmurs before taking another drag and grabbing the back of your head to pull you in. your lips slightly part in front of his while he blows the smoke into your mouth.

the first time you did it, you choked, sputtering and coughing out the smoke for way too long. many months have passed, many instances of his mouth pressed on yours, tongue gliding over your lip while the intense smoke trailed into your mouth. it was the only way you would accept getting high back then, testing your own self control in stopping yourself from just fucking him right then and there.

“good?” sebastian opens his eyes to see you blowing the smoke out, and if he hasn’t been hard before, he definitely is now. his erection is pressing against your barely there shorts, rubbing on your warm clothed pussy. so what if you nudge him a little, moving your hips to grind on him? so what if your skin is getting hotter by the minute, more tingly with every shot of smoke breathed into your mouth? both of you knew way before coming out here that it's not going to be just a quick smoking session, and so far everything is moving in that direction perfectly.

once the joint is finished, having been slowly passed back and forth between you, sebastian’s free hands waste no time. with his feet firmly planted against the ground to keep you somewhat balanced, he’s free to feel you up under your hoodie, sneaking those clever fingers under the tank top that was underneath.

“too much,” he murmurs, lifting your top up, uncovering the body underneath, and immediately diving in to leave pretty kisses along your ribs, nipping you gently while his hands work on ridding you of unnecessary clothes, “get this crap off, fuck, you're so pretty lemme see you.”

as soon as the hoodie lands on the ground, he bunches up your tank top and pushes the fabric into your mouth, making sure you bite down on it to keep it up. those slender fingers of his circle your pebbled nipples, making your body arch into him, your hips grind against him harder. he curses, grabbing your hips to pull you against him faster, rubbing his taut crotch against you while his tongue swirls around one of your nipples.

“you gon’ let me do this?” sebastian’s obsidian eyes focus on your scrunched up face while his tongue keeps going, the hums from his mouth vibrating against you, raising the temperature between you exponentially.

“mmmph y-yea of-ah of course.” your mumbled words come out a little slurred, spoken around the fabric of your shirt. you’ve never been strong enough to even want to say no to him, not when he’s so pretty, those eyes wide, looking for permission to continue.

with a satisfied smile, he reaches down to slide your shorts to the side, patting the inside of your thigh to spread them a little wider so he can feel you. his fingers rub your sweet little clit through your panties, torture through the cotton that's already warm and damp. the beautiful friction is almost enough to make you forget the digging in your back, that uncomfortable sensation still getting you a little antsy, but while you squirm and huff, sebastian’s been working on the buttons and zipper of his jeans.

one sneaky look down at his crotch and you realise why you're not feeling his erection against you anymore. cradled in his careful palm, his cock already leaks beads of precum on the dark fabric of his jeans, staining them as soon as they make contact. desperate, his breath is heavy on your neck where he kisses you messily, leaving wet trails of saliva as his tongue soothes dark little marks he sucks into you. so your own fingers take initiative, moving from the back of his head down to pull your panties to the side, making them join the bunched up fabric of your pyjama shorts. sebastian looks down, groaning. the warm lighting of the playground and the cool moonlight that give your skin a soft glow in the dark are not enough to see, but his vision always zeroes in on the soft flesh of your pussy whenever you bare yourself for him.

your gentle fingers tease your clit, slow circles mirroring the slowness of your blinks. time feels like it's stopping for the two of you, and though your thighs are getting a little numb from the position you're sitting in, the tingling on your skin takes your mind away from it. the two of you move in tandem, replacing your hands onto each other, his fingers gently part your soft folds to tease your sensitive cunt, and your hand wraps around his cock, slowly stroking him while listening as his breaths come quicker.

"so wet…" he murmurs, looking down at how close you two are, pressed against each other despite you leaning back to give you space so you can touch him.

you hum in response, not opening your mouth while he slowly pushes a finger inside you. it takes all in you not to clench immediately, staying relaxed when the back of that horse thing is digging into you isn't the priority. sebastian nuzzles his face into your breasts again, kissing, biting, sucking your nipple into his mouth until he can slide in another finger, feeling you buck your hips against his hand. he lets you ride his fingers a little, curling them in your cunt until you're whining softly and abandoning the rhythm of your hand on his cock.

it's desperate. you need to feel him, so you guide his tip towards your pussy until he gets the hint.

slowly, he pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean, making you shudder as you watch his lips wrap around those long pale digits and leave the sheen of his saliva on them. ne nods, come on, and you follow, letting the bunched up shirt fall from your mouth as you're lifting your hips off his lap until you can rub the sticky tip of his precum-leaking cock against your soaked pussy. he's hissing at the sensation, warm tightness enveloping him once you start lowering yourself, holding onto his shoulder for balance.

desperate, you move to cup his face as you sink lower, lips meeting in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. you swallow his groans, changing the angle with a sweet little gasp as you lean into his chest and he wraps his arms around your torso to keep you as close as possible.

there was urgency in how badly you wanted to feel him inside you, and now that his cock is snug in your cunt you just want to keep him there. a welcome intrusion, warm, veiny, twitching like he's impatient, but when you pull away from the kiss all you can see is his blissed out smile. sebastian's eyes are closed, lips stretched in a soft curve that has you going so soft for him, and he's humming with pleasure as your warm walls envelop him. you could stay like that for the rest of the night, truly. you could, that is, if tension wasn't coiling in your abdomen, threatening to make you go insane if you don't feel him fuck you soon.

"seb…" you moan out, shuddering as he tightens his grip around your waist and starts to rock you against his lap. your fingers tangle in his hair instantly, the only source of balance as moves you, tilting his hips while the horse thing rocks under his ass.

it feels dangerous, like you're going to tip and fall at any point, but he's got you in his arms, bouncing you on his cock and soon making you forget that your feet are not even on the ground, no part of you is.

unsure if it's the high or just the feeling of him dragging you onto his cock, you stop caring about the squeakiness of the springs, the rocking motions underneath you, focusing instead on the warmth of his body and how his tip pushes into your soft walls. the nights have been cool lately, colder breeze starting to chase away the heat of the day for a while now, but the heat between you won't be chased away. not while sebastian's hands are gripping your hips and pulling you against him like they are now.

desperate. he's needy to feel that friction when his cock buries into you over and over again, to hear the slick sounds of your pussy meeting his base through the wet pooling around his balls until it's the only sounds you can hear in your swirling mind. his touch is the only solid thing, and you're not sure in the moment that you would ever come down from this feeling. sebastian's fingertips dig into you harder, your lips pull sounds from his throat as you kiss along his jaw and down to his neck where his adam's apple bobs under your lips. the taste of skin… the smell of weed sticking to the two of you meddling in the heat of your bodies, the softness of his skin.

your bare breasts rub against his chest when he speeds up, needy as he slams you down against his cock like he will perish if you don't tighten around him right then. you know, even in the half-aware state that you're in right now, you know he's looking for that hitch of breath in your throat, that stifling of moans when you're afraid you'll be heard but it feels too good. your tightening cunt squeezes his cock as you moan into his neck, pressing so tightly against his skin so the sound doesn't escape.

when you cum, tightening your hands in his hair so he feels the intensity of your sensations tugging on his scalp, you can feel his smile widen, his breath quicken, his hands tighten on your hips. fucking you through it, you know, he's feeling the wetness coating his cock, the warmth of your cunt sending him over the edge soon after you.

desperate… he's chasing his own orgasm as you start to relax your grip on his hair, moving your gentle palms onto his shoulder blades. the spring horse is unstable still, and you're not all too sure you're safe from tumbling off it, but sebastian doesn't falter for a second, almost like your orgasm invigorates him, spurring him on to go faster, dropping you onto his cock harder, salivating onto your shoulder while you whine into his neck.

you feel his words in the breaths on your skin more than you can hear them, hard as your heart is thundering in your chest. it feels unreal, like somewhere between a dream and reality, and yet the feeling of his body against yours is the realest and most solid thing in the world.

"fuck… fuck!" he grunts, bucking his hips up into you wildly, pulling you down harder until you feel him tense and his cock twitches, releasing his load into you while he fucks you through it.

cupping the back of his head, you guide his movements with rolls of your hips, letting him slump against you as he finishes. the back of the horse thing's neck is digging into you again, but it doesn't hurt anymore, you can barely feel it when you've got a thousand other sensations playing under your skin. you're flying and sinking at the same time. silent and loud, released and bound. sebastian's breath is warm and wet against your neck, he trails kisses down to your half-uncovered breast where he licks a couple of bites he gave you earlier, opening his eyes slowly. his lashes sweep the tops of his cheeks, opening to reveal those obsidian eyes almost swallowed by his pupils. he smiles, sweet, like he didn't just fuck the breath out of you in the town playground after getting high.

you reluctantly peel off of him, snatching your hoodie off the ground when you nearly trip over it in the dark. sebastian helps you put it on, kisses your nose when you're pouting that you have to go, and walks you to the bus stop. you can see how much he doesn't want to go, because he always gets really clingy when he smokes, and especially so after you've drained his balls. but your cat was right, tomorrow will be busy with chores. you'll feel better rested in the morning though, and maybe next time that horse-duck-bullshit won't be digging into your back when you're getting fucked. maybe next time you'll be on the slide again.

⋆˙⟡ burekforsatoru || do not modify, repost, or feed to AI. likes and reblogs appreciated, nice comments make your skin clear.

The vibration of your phone on the nightstand doesn’t wake you up — you were already awake.

It’s two in the morning, and the farm is silent, the kind of silence Pelican Town insists on building after midnight, when even the wind seems to have gone to sleep. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for forty minutes now, for no particular reason, in that irritating way the body sometimes decides it doesn’t want to rest even when it desperately needs to. That spring day had been brutal: hot and, as always, full of things to do. Crops to water. Stubborn weeds you had to pull out so your strawberries could grow. Two duck eggs had hatched, and now you had ridiculously cute ducklings to keep an eye on (definitely the least brutal part of the day).

The glow of the screen cuts through the darkness of the room like a knife. A message. Sender: Sebastian.

You take a full three seconds before opening it.

u awake?

Three seconds where you think don’t open it, and open it anyway.

Simple. No capital letters, no punctuation at the end. You know his late-night typing style by heart — it’s different from his daytime texting, messier. You’ve spent too much time deciphering his messages not to notice the difference.

The problem is that you reply before thinking.

yeah.

Send. You drop the phone onto your chest, close your eyes, and wait for your heart to stop doing that stupid thing it does whenever Sebastian’s name appears on your screen.

It doesn’t stop.

It never does, and that’s humiliating in a way you’ve learned to swallow down.

His reply comes in less than a minute.

can i come over?

There’s a version of you — the version that existed around eight months ago, before everything went to hell — that would’ve sent a clear yes without even blinking. She would’ve already been getting up, pushing her hair out of her face, checking her breath, leaving the door unlocked. That version of you was stupid in a very specific, sweet kind of way, the kind of stupid that still believes that just because someone looks at you a certain way, it means something lasting.

The version of you that exists now stays frozen with your thumb hovering over the screen long enough for it to dim on its own.

Then you type:

okay.

—✦—

It takes him twenty minutes to show up, which means he walked from his place, down Main Street with his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, across the bridge. You know that because you know how long the walk takes. You know that because you’ve made that same walk yourself, late at night, more times than is reasonable to admit.

When the knock finally comes, it’s quiet. He never knocks loudly — it’s always this restrained, almost lazy thing, as if the urgency of being here is a detail he refuses to let rise to the surface.

You open the door.

Sebastian is leaning against the frame with one shoulder, not because he needs the support, but because he’s the kind of man who takes up space like space itself is a concession the world makes for him. Black leather jacket over a faded gray hoodie, hair falling into the corner of his face in the way he never bothers fixing. There’s a new hoop in his ear you hadn’t noticed before — or maybe you just weren’t paying enough attention last time, which is also possible.

His eyes drag over you slowly, deliberately, no rush, no embarrassment. His pupils are bigger than they should be. The slightly delayed focus of someone processing the world half a second after it happens, and still looking at you like it’s a decision he made carefully.

The corner of his mouth shifts; a restrained smile, like someone calculating every move before making it.

“Hey.”

His voice around you is lower, stripped of some of the controlled coldness he carries during the day, away from you. You hate how much you like that.

“Come in,” you say, stepping away from the door.

“You smoked,” you say. Not a question.

The kitchen is dark; you don’t turn on the light. There’s enough coming through the window — the moon is almost full, and Pelican Town doesn’t have good enough streetlights to compete with it. Sebastian doesn’t sit down — he leans against the counter with both arms braced on the edge, ankles crossed, watching you the way he watches you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

But you always are.

“Always.” He says it the same way someone would say the sky is blue — a fact that exists independently of your opinion.

You nod. Keep looking at him. He keeps looking at you.

There’s a conversation both of you know you’re not having. Actually, there’s a conversation you’ve never really managed to have; you came close about three times, you remember every single one with irritating precision, and every time one of three things happened: he shut down, or you pulled away, or something mundane and stupid interrupted before any real words could come out. Now there are eight months of unspoken conversations stacked between you, and getting to the other side would require maneuvers neither of you is willing to make during the day, sober, with the lights on.

That’s why it’s two in the morning. And that’s why he smokes before coming here. It’s not the first time, and as much as you hate admitting it, you know it won’t be the last.

You came to that conclusion a while ago and kept it tucked away because putting it into words would make it real in a way that would be hard to ignore. And Sebastian is very good at making you keep things tucked away. It’s almost a talent.

“How’s the farm?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound like someone who actually wants to know about the farm. He sounds like someone testing the temperature of the room. Seeing how much you’ll let slide before saying something he’ll have to answer honestly.

“It’s good.”

“Plant anything new?”

“Strawberries. Last week.”

He nods slowly, eyes drifting over your shirt, your neck, back to your face, with that inventory-like quality he sometimes has — as if he’s checking to make sure you’re still what he remembers. Daytime Sebastian gives out attention sparingly, always seeming partially somewhere else, behind a glass wall he built and has no intention of tearing down. This Sebastian looks at you without the wall, and that’s dangerous in a way you learned to recognize far too late.

“Sebastian—” you start.

“No.” Immediate. Soft as a door shutting against velvet.

You close your mouth.

He pushes himself away from the counter slowly, with the slightly careful coordination of someone monitoring his own balance without letting it show on his face, and when he moves toward you, it isn’t hesitant — it never is, and that’s one of the things about him that ruined you from the start. Men who hesitate give you time to think. Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. Sebastian decides and acts and leaves you dealing with the consequences.

He stops at a distance that isn’t a friend-distance. You don’t step back.

“You should tell me to leave.” His tone is almost bored, almost — but there’s something underneath it that isn’t bored at all. You learned how to listen underneath.

“Probably,” you agree.

“So?” His eyes dip to your mouth and lift again lazily, like time is a resource that exists in abundance specifically for him.

You place your open hand against his chest before answering. Not to push him away, just to feel. His heart is racing beneath your palm — and for some reason you can’t be bothered to analyze right now, that’s exactly what makes you answer:

“Because I don’t want to.”

His hand comes up and wraps around your wrist — not removing your hand from his chest, just holding it there, his large fingers closing slowly around yours like he’s checking that you’re real.

Something changes in his face. Not much. Sebastian never lets too much show at once — it always comes in measured doses, carefully calibrated, like caring is a currency he spends cautiously.

But it’s enough for you to see.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he says quietly. His voice sounds different this time, rougher, less controlled.

“I know.”

“And still—” He doesn’t finish.

You smile. He looks at you for a second that lasts longer than a second should, then his thumb traces a slow arc along the inside of your wrist, over your pulse, and you feel it in your entire chest like he touched somewhere else entirely.

“You’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” he murmurs, and it isn’t cruel — it’s almost intimate, almost affectionate in the wrong way, in the Sebastian way, which is the only way he knows how to be.

“Look who’s talking,” you say.

And finally his mouth does what you’ve been waiting for since you opened the door — a smile that only appears when the walls come down, a small crack in the armor, and for one second he looks less like the Sebastian the town knows and more like the Sebastian that only exists in these dark spaces between two a.m. and sunrise.

Then he pulls you by the wrist, and whatever distance remained between you disappears.

His mouth finds yours without ceremony.

It isn’t the kind of kiss that asks permission. It’s the kind that arrives like the conclusion to a sentence that started a long time ago — no preamble, none of the polite hesitation first kisses usually have. But this isn’t the first time, that’s the problem. With him, it’s never the first time, even when months pass in between, even when you spend entire weeks convincing yourself you’re capable of being indifferent to his name on a screen.

The body has a memory of its own. Yours remembered immediately.

The hand that had been holding your wrist slides up your arm, over your shoulder, and settles at the side of your neck — thumb beneath your jaw, fingers behind your ear, holding you in a way that feels possessive and careful at the same time, like you’re something he doesn’t want to break but also has no intention of letting go of. You grab the front of his jacket with both hands, clutching the leather for no reason beyond needing something to hold onto.

He knows how to kiss. You tried to forget that and failed.

There’s a rhythm to him that neither rushes nor drags, something that makes you lose track of time in an almost irritating way — you lose any sense of how long it’s been, whether thirty seconds or three minutes, and when he finally pulls back an inch, you realize your breathing has gone shallow without noticing the transition.

“I missed you,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret only you’re allowed to know.

You don’t even notice when his leather jacket ends up on a chair neither of you looked at. The hoodie follows soon after, and you spend one useless second registering what you already know — that he’s broader than he looks beneath oversized clothes, that there’s a tattoo along the left side of his torso you memorized by accident on a night that never should’ve happened and happened anyway.

Your breath stumbles for a second. Before you can answer, his mouth is already on yours again, and this kiss is more desperate, hungry, proving that yes, he missed you, and you know that.

You always did.

His mouth finds your neck and you close your eyes.

“Sebastian.” His name leaves your mouth quieter than you intended.

“Mm?”

He backs you up slowly until the counter presses against your spine, unhurried, like he knows you’re not going anywhere — and the worst part is that he does know, that’s the ache you’ve learned to carry at a low frequency, the fact that he knows and still shows up like this, high, in the middle of the night, pupils blown wide, because he knows you’ll open the door.

You thread your fingers into his hair and he makes a sound against your skin that goes straight to some inconvenient place in the center of your chest.

It isn’t fair. The list of unfair things about Sebastian is long, and you’re adding more items to it in the middle of the night instead of sleeping like a reasonable person.

Because you always do.

“Hey.” He lifts his head and looks at you, and you realize something in your expression must’ve given something away because his own changes slightly — not much, not enough for anyone who doesn’t know him to read it, but you do know him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” A pause. “I’m okay.”

He watches you for another second. Daytime Sebastian would’ve accepted that and moved on; this Sebastian — the two a.m. version, the one without walls — frowns faintly and doesn’t look convinced.

“You can tell me,” he says.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“There is.” He says it with the calm certainty of someone who isn’t asking.

You glance away because looking at him right now, with the expression he’s wearing, is the kind of thing that makes you say truths you didn’t plan on saying.

“You only come around when you’re high,” you say. Your voice comes out flatter than you wanted — not angry, not accusing, just clinically observant, which somehow makes it worse.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

You keep staring off to the side. Moonlight cuts shadows across the sink, the kettle, the plant you’ve almost killed three times and stubbornly keep alive anyway.

“I know,” he says finally.

That’s the problem with Sebastian: he doesn’t lie. You’d expect a man who does what he does to lie, to make excuses, to build some softer version of the truth, but he doesn’t. He says the raw thing and leaves it there unwrapped, and somehow that’s harder to deal with than a lie would be.

“That’s not enough,” you say.

“I know.” A pause. “I know it isn’t.”

You finally look at him.

His face is serious. Not defensive, not shut off in the usual way — just serious, with something in his eyes you can’t quite name. He’s still close, his hand still at your neck, thumb tracing that absentminded arc over your pulse that he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing.

“Then why do you come here?” you ask.

That’s the real question, the question all the others were trying to reach. You’ve asked it before, not with these exact words, not this clearly, but the substance of it has lingered beneath several conversations that sank before reaching the end.

This time he doesn’t look away.

“Because when I’m like this,” he starts, then stops. Starts again. “When I’m like this, it’s harder to pretend I don’t want to.” His eyes never leave yours. “It’s harder to pretend a lot of things.”

The silence that follows has a different texture than all the other silences tonight.

You should say something smart. You should say that isn’t fair, which is true. Or then stop pretending during the day, which is also true. Or you can’t keep showing up like this and think it fixes anything, which is the truest thing of all and the one you’re least capable of turning into sound when he’s standing this close, thumb at your throat, looking at you without the glass wall.

What you say instead is:

“How long do you have?”

Something lights up in him.

“All night,” he says.

Sebastian’s answer is a trigger.

There’s no more room for words after that. No more room for doubt, for conversations that never end, for questions lingering in the air like smoke. All night is a promise and a threat at the same time — because you know what it means. You know what he wants it to mean.

And this time, you’re not going to pull away.

His hand at your neck slides downward, fingers tracing your collarbone before bunching in the fabric of your shirt. He doesn’t pull hard, but it’s enough. Not an invitation, but a silent command you know all too well. You don’t resist.

When your bodies collide again, Sebastian is warmth and weight and the firm pressure of his hands, one at your waist now, the other still at your neck, like he needs to anchor you there, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You’re not going to disappear.

Your mouth is back on his before you even realize you moved, and this time it’s not just a kiss — it’s a collision. Teeth, tongues, ragged breathing. Sebastian makes a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a growl, and then your back hits the counter harder this time, the impact knocking the breath out of you for a second. It doesn’t hurt. It wouldn’t matter if it did.

His hands are everywhere at once: your hip, your neck, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt to find warm skin. You arch involuntarily when his fingers brush the side of your breast, and the sound he makes in response is obscene, a rough, satisfied laugh vibrating against your lips.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Not a question.

You don’t answer with words. Instead your hands find his waist, fingers digging into bare skin as you pull him closer, like it’s possible to erase the last millimeter of space between you. Sebastian groans, mouth trailing down your jaw, your throat, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Sebastian—”

“Shh.” His hand rises, fingers wrapping gently around your throat, not squeezing, just a reminder that he’s in control, that you let him be. “Don’t talk right now.”

You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access, and the sound he makes — a guttural, nearly desperate growl — is the most honestly Sebastian thing you’ve ever heard. There are no more walls. You moan when his teeth nip at your skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to leave a mark.

“You’re gonna drive me insane,” he murmurs against your throat, voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “It happens every time. Every. Fucking. Time.”

You laugh, breathless, because he’s the one showing up at your house in the middle of the night, he’s the one disappearing without a word and then coming back like—

His hand tightens slightly, like he knows exactly where your thoughts were heading. “Stop thinking.”

And then his mouth is on yours again with a kind of need that feels like it’s been restrained for so long there’s no holding it back anymore. You taste nicotine mixed with weed, a taste you tried to forget and never could.

Your hands find his belt, fingers trembling slightly as you try to undo it. Sebastian pulls back just enough to give you room, eyes dark and glassy, breathing heavy.

“You sure?”

It’s not a real question. It’s a warning. One last chance to back away.

You don’t.

Instead you yank the belt loose in one sharp motion, the sound of leather sliding loud in the silence of the kitchen. Sebastian exhales, something between relief and lust, and then he’s back against you.

You help when his shaky hands start pulling your bra off, which ends up on the floor alongside the rest of the discarded clothes. The moan that slips from your mouth when he touches your breasts is almost embarrassing.

“Fuck,” Sebastian growls, voice rough, eyes fixed on your chest as he rolls your hardened nipples between his fingers, pinching gently. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You don’t answer. You can’t, because words disappear the second his lips close around one nipple, tongue hot and wet as it circles before sucking it into his mouth, and you arch against him, nails digging into his shoulders, the back of your head knocking lightly against the wall.

“Sebastian— please—”

He laughs, low and satisfied, before switching to the other side, giving it the same attention. “Please what?” His voice is muffled against your skin while he sucks harder this time. “Answer me.”

You should feel embarrassed. Exposed. Vulnerable.

You don’t.

“Touch me.”

His body shudders against yours. For a second he goes still, like he needs to process what you just said, then his eyes lift to yours, dark and intense, and something in them makes your stomach twist.

“How do you want it?”

It’s not an innocent question. He knows how you want it.

“However you want.”

The smile that spreads across his mouth is slow, predatory.

“Dangerous, farm girl.”

His hands slide downward, over your stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. You hold your breath while he unbuttons them slowly, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of exposed skin.

By the time your jeans and underwear finally hit the floor, you’re trembling, not from the cold, and both of you know it. It’s the way he’s looking at you, like it’s the first time, like it’s the last time, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Sebastian kneels.

Not in submission.

In worship.

You’ve always loved the way he kneels in front of you, like he’s worshipping every inch of your body and you’re the only woman in the world, because that’s exactly how he makes you feel every time he shows up. And when his mouth finally finds you, when his tongue drags a hot, wet line right on your clit, a shaky moan tears out of you. The touch of his tongue is precise, because he knows you like the back of his hand. He knows exactly how to touch you.

Fuck, does he know.

Sebastian makes a sound in response to your moans, somewhere between a growl and a murmur of approval, his hands gripping your thighs hard, fingers digging into your skin to keep you from moving.

Your legs shake when he buries himself deeper between them, tongue hot and insistent, tracing circles that make your stomach tighten, make your fingers twist into his hair and pull without gentleness. He doesn’t complain. If anything, the sound he makes vibrates against you, and that makes your eyes roll back in pure pleasure.

“Sebastian—” Your voice comes out like a sigh, a plea, a warning.

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, lips glistening, eyes dark and blown wide. “Tell me.” His voice is rough and hoarse. “Tell me what you want.”

“More.”

The smile he gives you is slow, almost cruel. “However I want, hm?”

You nod breathlessly, and he doesn’t wait any longer.

His tongue moves with an intensity that makes your back arch and your fingers tighten harder in his hair. Heat climbs through your body, and when his fingers join his mouth, sliding inside your pussy without warning, making you cry out.

It isn’t a pretty sound. It’s desperate and shaking, but to him there’s nothing in the world better than that.

Sebastian doesn’t stop.

He touches you with a skill that makes you forget your own name. You try to breathe, but all that comes out are broken moans, meaningless words, his name repeated like a prayer. His tongue moves just right while his fingers keep hitting that soft spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“You’re so good f'me,” he murmurs against your skin, voice muffled, words nearly lost in the wet sound of kisses. “So fucking good.”

You can’t answer. Can’t think. There’s only the feeling of his hands, his mouth, the way he seems determined to take you apart piece by piece.

And then—

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

It isn’t a request.

It’s an order.

And you obey.

The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, intense and inevitable, dragging you under before you can prepare for it. You cry out, legs shaking, fingers digging into his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored to earth. Sebastian doesn’t pull away. He keeps going, drawing out every second, every tremor, until you’re panting, exhausted, broken open in a way that should scare you.

But it doesn’t.

Not with him. Not now.

“Good?” The question is unnecessary. He already knows the answer.

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow, like he’s savoring every second. You can barely keep him in focus, vision blurred, body still humming with the aftermath of what just happened.

He stands, lips still wet, eyes dark and satisfied.

You laugh breathlessly, almost incredulous. “You know it was.”

The smile he gives you is arrogant. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”

You shake your head, still trying to catch your breath, still trying to exist after what he just did to you. But before you can answer, he’s pulling you back against him again, mouth crashing into yours in another intense kiss.

His cock, already exposed and fully hard, pulses against your stomach, making your whole body tremble with want. He pulls back for a moment, eyes dark, almost black, breathing heavy while he looks at you like he’s trying to decide where to start, like he has too many ideas and doesn’t know which one to act on first.

“You still okay?” The question comes out like a growl, voice rough, like forming the words costs him something.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”

You rise onto your toes and kiss him again, nibbling at his lower lip with a boldness that never used to belong to you before him. Sebastian makes a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a warning, and then he’s lifting you up like you weigh nothing. Just like that.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms around his neck, and he carries you to the kitchen table before setting you on top of it in one motion that makes you gasp. The surface is cold beneath your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed between your legs.

“Sebastian—” you start, but you don’t even know what you were going to say. It doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t let you finish.

His mouth is on yours again, hungry and possessive, while his hands roam your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every sigh. You feel his fingers slipping between your thighs, sliding inside you again, making your eyes squeeze shut.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough with approval. “All for me, hm?”

Your words disappear when his fingers move inside you again, fast and precise, while his other hand grips your hip to hold you in place. You arch, a loud moan escaping your throat, and Sebastian swallows the sound with another kiss like he doesn’t want anyone but him hearing it.

“You make the prettiest sounds for me,” he says, voice rough, lips brushing your ear. “Wanna hear them when I’m inside you.”

“Sebastian, please,” you whine.

“You get even hotter when you beg for me.” He lets out an almost wicked little laugh, running his tongue over his lips like he’s staring at the best feast of his life.

You don’t have time to think of an answer — again — because you feel him positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against you, hot and hard. You hold your breath, fingers digging into his shoulders while he pushes inside you slowly — so slowly — like he’s savoring every inch, every sound that falls from your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours, eyes closed for a second like he’s fighting for control. “You’re so tight. Bet you haven’t fucked anyone else because you were waiting f'me.”

You have the distinct feeling your entire vocabulary has disappeared and you’ve gone stupid. There’s only the feeling of him inside you, filling you in a way that makes your body shake, makes your heart beat so hard you think you might pass out.

“Answer me,” he demands. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

When he’s finally all the way inside you, he stills, giving you a second to adjust, to breathe. But you don’t want to breathe. You want more.

“Sebastian—” you whisper desperately. “Please.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “Answer me, damnit.”

His hand smacks sharply against your thigh, making you moan.

“You,” you whimper, your cunt clenching around him. “My pussy’s only yours.”

He smiles, satisfied.

“Good girl", he purrs, but he still hasn't moved, just watching you. "Just like that."

“Move, please,” you beg, almost pathetically.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he obeys.

The first thrust is slow, almost torturous, like he’s testing you, seeing how far he can go before you break. But you don’t break; you never do.

“Faster,” you murmur, nails digging into his skin.

Sebastian laughs, low and rough, before giving you exactly that.

Every thrust is faster, harder, the table creaking beneath you while he fucks you like it’s the last time, like there’s no tomorrow, like the entire world has disappeared and all that’s left is the two of you and this desperate need to lose yourselves inside each other.

You cry out. Every movement drags you closer to the edge, every kiss, every filthy murmur in your ear, every time he says your name like it’s a prayer.

“You’re mine,” he growls, fingers digging into your hip, voice so rough it barely sounds human. “Only mine. Every fucking inch.”

You should protest. Should tell him it isn’t true, that none of this is simple, that tomorrow it’ll all hurt again.

You say nothing.

Because right now, with his body inside yours, with his hands on you, with his voice in your ear, it is true.

When the orgasm hits you again, it’s stronger than before, more intense, like it’s dragging something out of you that can never be put back. You cry out, body shaking, legs tightening around him while he keeps moving, every thrust stretching the pleasure until it becomes almost unbearable.

"So good," he let out a shaky moan. "Shit— It feels so good to feel that pussy squeezing me while you cum."

It doesn’t take long before Sebastian finally breaks too, body tense, breathing ragged as he comes with a low, guttural groan, fingers digging into your skin like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. A shaky moan escapes you when you feel the hot spill of him filling you completely.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, uneven and breathless, his body still pressed against yours, sweat sliding over both your skin.

Sebastian finally lifts his head, looking at you through dark, glassy eyes, hair stuck to his forehead. “Fuck,” he murmurs hoarsely. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

You laugh breathlessly, almost disbelieving. “You started it.”

He smiles, slow and satisfied, before kissing you again, softer this time, like he’s savoring it. “I know.”

Then, with a sigh, he pulls back slightly, still inside you, one hand rising to cup your face like he’s thinking about what to say next.

“Can I stay?” he whispers.

Your heart stumbles in a deeply humiliating way. It takes you a few seconds before you finally nod slowly.

“Stay,” you whisper back.

Sebastian pulls out of you slowly before offering you a hand to help you down from the table.

You know this pattern. It’s happened enough times to feel almost instinctive by now.

You consider asking if he wants to talk. If he wants to figure out what exactly the two of you are.

But you don’t say anything.

There’s no need.

the phone is almost mocking you with how long it takes to ring, every beep longer than the one before until finally they stop and you hear that raspy voice on the other end of the line.

"missing me that much, huh?" sebastian picks up, already cocky, and you can hear the clear line of his smirk in those words, imagining him sitting at his desk with the phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder.

"must've got the wrong number, i was trying to reach my husband, not some random cocky bastard." you reply with a chuckle, closing your eyes and imagining the softness of his dark eyes, the swoop of his hair, the mermaid pendant around his neck that he fidgets with whenever he's trying to focus. "sorry for wasting your time, sir. you sound very sexy, but i must keep calling."

"i miss you too, by the way." he sighs into the receiver, and you can imagine his head shaking in mock disapproval.

"fine. i miss you. had to cut the work short because the sky opened up, i was soaked by the time i reached the front door." with one glance to the side, you see the clothes you simply peeled off yourself when you first entered, leaving them in a little heap by the bathroom door. you should probably put them in the wash, or at least hang them up to dry, but the bed is too comfortable even without sebastian lying next to you. your towel dampens underneath you, spread open as you shiver from hearing his snicker on the other end.

"thought i was the only one that could get you that wet… guess i have some competition there."

you roll your eyes, but your hand feels so good resting on the swell of your breast, you can't even pretend to be annoyed. a gentle squeeze, just like sebastian does to tease you, and your thumb and index finger roll your nipple, making your lips part with the tiniest, inaudible gasp of breath. imitating his touches to the best of your abilities, your palm cups the softness of your breast while you press the phone closer to your ear, as if that will make his voice more tangible, as if it will make it feel like he's the one touching you.

"don't be ridiculous." you scoff, masking that little gasp with exasperation.

"you love me ridiculous." he chuckles into the phone, unaware that the sound is making your eyes close with a flutter, his voice going into your veins like a drug while you tease your sensitive nipple like he would. "when are you coming back to me?"

typical… now you can hear the need in his voice. where he always used to seem happier on his own rather than around people, soon there came a point where he started lighting up whenever you walked by, and then that light became brighter, and after he moved into the farmhouse, that light woke up whenever he did, quirking up the corner of his lips into a blissful smile. but when you went away to the island? you'd think he'd never spent a day without you the way his kisses pressed desperately into you every time you came back.

"if the plants don't get swept away by this storm, i should be home tomorrow late at night. how have you been coping today?"

sebastian laughs, but you can hear he's tired. you can hear his sigh which usually comes with one large hand dragging across his face, rubbing his eyes. "it's alright. nothing's dead, it's just been so damn sunny today i had to reapply spf like a million times."

"a true hero, nobody has ever been as brave as my husband." you giggle, releasing your breast and letting your fingers take charge, trailing down your body to where you feel warmth pooling between your thighs. "and how is sebastian today?"

he sighs, a long, dragged out sound like a long zipper being undone, spilling the tiredness from his mouth. "just…" he trails off and you wonder if he misses you like you miss him, if the house is empty without your fluttering steps across the hardwood floors and the humming while you made dinner for the two of you, if he feels the emptiness like a large cavern that never seems to get warm enough no matter how much firewood is burning because the source of your warmth isn't a fire, but a person. "the days are dragging when you're away… and i can't sleep very well alone in the bed."

you snicker through the slight rustle over the phone. "and how much of that is because i'm not there when you wake up in the middle of the night horny as hell?"

sebastian sighs, clearly trying to make it seem like you're wrong, but he chuckles like you caught him in a lie. "don't act like you don't fall asleep like a baby afterwards, too… and i swear sometimes i can feel you rubbing against me before i even try anything. you're not innocent in this." his accusatory tone makes you gasp in faux offence, and you might even consider defending yourself… if your hand wasn't almost subconsciously dipping between your thighs as he spoke to you, fingers slowly sliding between your warm folds to trace barely-there circles on your clit.

"i can absolutely stop doing it, if that's what you want…" you can't take the grin out of your tone, though, not when it's so easy to feel the vibrating of his voice through the phone that's pressed between your shoulder and ear, like you're trying to feel him as close as you can though you're so far away.

"that's not what i said." he murmurs, sounding like he's struggling to get the words out. you spread your legs a little wider, making space for the width of your palm to fit between them as you slide your fingers up and down your slit, slowly, as you close your eyes. "i like it whe you do that," you hear a little huff of breath, like a small smile that escapes him into the receiver, "when you pretend you're asleep but i can feel you giggling. waiting for me to touch you… i can tell exactly where you want me to touch just by your breathing."

"so attentive." you chuckle. now, your fingers glide a little easier, you're getting wetter as you imagine his fingers instead, so deft in the way they play you, the perfect pace, the prefect pressure, drawing his initials over your sensitive little clit just to hear you whine a little before he can slide those long fingers inside you. "how did i ever get so lucky, huh?"

his chair creaks slightly, you can hear him shifting in his seat. no doubt, he's been spending more time at his desk, staring at that bright screen in the dim corner of the room now that you're away. no doubt, he forgets to take breaks and ends up looking like a question mark slumped over his keyboard, frantically typing and checking and typing and double checking and typing… no doubt. you can picture him how he'd look now, leaning back with his legs outstretched, overcompensating for the hours hunched over, one hand over his face to soothe his tired eyes. most evenings you kiss his eyelids, enduring his tickling when he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, but it's all worth it if he uses that time to rest from cursing at lines of code. you imagine him like that now, with his shirt riding up, uncovering one hip, a little bit of skin, enough to make you shiver and press your thumb a little firmer against your clit.

"lucky? nah…" he chuckles and shifts again, the chair creaking as he sighs, "i'm the one who got lucky here." you roll your eyes at that, already preparing to be clever back at him and open your mouth to say something, but you can hardly say anything without giving away how good it feels as you imagine his fingers instead of yours, slowly teasing your pussy, dipping inside ever so slightly giving you the taste of how it feels as his smooth voice comes out of the phone at your ear. "i'll show ya just how lucky i feel when you get back. been missing you a lot." he almost whispers, voice lowering as if he's afraid someone might overhear.

you push two fingers fully into your pussy, biting back a moan as your knees slightly close at the sensation. you need to keep him talking, need to listen to him speak about anything really, anything that could take your mind off the fact that it's just your hand and your needy cunt sucking in your fingers like it craves better ones, the ones that know how to press all your sweetest buttons until you're unravelling on them like a spool of yarn. but for now, you can imagine. his breath is a little stutter into the receiver, enough to make you forget about keeping quiet, enough to make you exhale as you drag your fingertips along the warm, spongy walls inside you.

"are you…" you blink a few times as your ears perk up at the sound of the huff that comes from the other end. you know that stutter all too well, the sound coupled with his eyes rolling back when you change the angle of your hips whenever you ride him in that same chair he works in all day, or when you tug on his hair as he flicks your clit with his teasing tongue. it's the same stutter, the same breath hitched in his throat, that pushed the exhale out of your mouth and a smile onto your face. "you're touching yourself, aren't you?"

"you're one to talk… i heard that little breath. you knuckle deep already? or are you just rubbing yourself?" he chuckles, but the undertone of his teasing words is a little breathless. no doubt, he's imagining what you look like sprawled out on the bed, surrounded by the dimmed light as the storm rages outside. "or maybe you're riding a pillow, got something instead of your pretty hands…"

"just my fingers." you confess, chuckling as if caught red-handed, which… well, you are. "don't feel the same as when you do it, though. you touch me better."

"same here, baby." he inhales sharply. "what i wouldn't give to feel you 'round my cock now… my hand tries but… yoba, you feel better than anything."

something about the way he praises you while breathing down into the receiver has you speeding up, you can almost imagine him there, breathing into your neck while his arms wrap around your body and he makes you feel how much he wants you. how much he misses you. how much he needs you. so you curl your fingers up, mimicking what he usually does when he's with you, and you can hear him breathe harder, fucking his fist in absence of your pretty cunt. you moan out as he chuckles, beyond amused by the fact that neither of you is handling this time very well without the other.

"what… what are you thinking about?" you ask, breathlessly, as you work your fingers in and out of you a little faster, lifting your hips up to get that perfect angle.

"you."

"be a little more fuckin' descriptive, damn." both of you chuckle, the sound blending into one cohesive melody.

"so bossy… 'm thinkin' about you riding me… fuck, you look so pretty when you ride me. in this chair, especially in this chair, it creaks when we go fast— i love it when you go faster."

"mmmm you always want me as a distraction, don't ya…" you tease, rolling over to your side, folding a leg over your arm that reaches down, rolling your hips towards it.

"the best damn distraction there ever was." he hums, gasping a little just as you hear the rustling on his end, the sound of his belt buckle hitting the hardwood floor as he flings his jeans off, surely getting more comfortable as he strokes his cock with the image of you in his mind. "love it when you just come up to me and make me take a break. make me unwind with your tits in my face." he groans, and you let out a sweet moan at the memory of his lips closed around your nipple when you roll those hips against his. "what are you thinkin' about?"

"right now?" you sound softer, voice weaving in and out of pretty sighs and moans as your digits fuck into your pussy, hooking upwards to hit the spot that has your toes curl.

"when you started… what made you start touching yourself?" he insists, the tone of his voice shifting slightly to show how much he needs to hear you say what you're imagining.

"well…" you start, rubbing your clit with the heel of your palm, weak, slow circles that do more to torture you than to get you off, "at first i was jus' missing your voice… then i thought of how you touch me," a little whine leaves your pillowy lips, and a little groan reaches you from the other end of the line, along with the sound of him stroking himself faster, "and… how clingy you get sometimes… needing to grab me and have me all to yourself… "

"what would you have me do if i was there now?" it sounds like his phone is even closer to his lips now, head lowered and chin nearly touching his chest as he furrows those brows, a look you know very well by now, whether or not you can see it.

"anything… anything i just miss you, want to touch you, want you to touch me." whining into the phone you curl your precise fingers, making your eyes roll back behind closed eyelids because the sound of sebastian's breathing in your ear makes it almost real, and your hand almost doesn't feel yours anymore. he lets out a deep groan, then a curse, then sharp breaths, all of them lodged into your brain as you angle your palm just right, brushing over your clit as you tighten around those two fingers that have you burying your face into the mattress. he's babbling over the phone, out of breath, words disappearing somewhere between his lips and the phone's microphone, but you feel the echo of them in your veins, in your skin that shivers as he moans out your name, a plea to have you once again wrapped around his weeping cock.

for a while there, all that's heard are your breaths quickening almost in tandem as sebastian curses again. you can hardly bite your lip again, for it will go bloody, indented with the marks of your teeth begging to be pressed into the tender skin on sebastian's neck instead. it's doing wonders for you, the way he struggles with you, making you really feel just how much he needs you there.

"i'm close—" you whine out, leaving the phone pressed between your face and the bed while you reach for your pert nipple, pinching it between your fingers in the way that has that tightness in your abdomen coil even tighter.

"i know." he pants into the phone, always in tune with every little noise that comes out of your mouth, especially when it means you're about to finish. "fuck, that should be my fingers in ya right now…"

and just like that, you're pressing right where you need it, closing your thighs so tightly around your hand as your warm walls tighten around your fingers, trying so desperately to keep them in where they're making you feel so good. your throat is dry, moans and whimpers scratching as they rip from you. finally, you can slow down, pumping those fingers in and out of you slowly to let yourself ride out the sensation. on the other end, though, sebastian is babbling, listening to your orgasm happen without him more like torture than anything else, but a torture that sends him over the edge.

"that's it… whine for me, baby, get yourself th— ah f-fuck," he follows after you, breaths getting lost in between the curses as you picture him, bucking his hips up into his hand, spilling that pearlescent cum over his fingers, dripping down on his abdomen, no doubt sticking to his happy trail… "fuck… ah… miss you…" his voice softens, like he's catching his breath after a run, "miss you so much, come back to me…"

eyes squeezed shut, you pull your hand back, wiping it on the towel underneath your naked body. "of course." you promise in a whispered voice. "i'll come back tomorrow. gonna get up early and sort out the plants, stick in all the sprinklers, get all the shit in order as fast as i can, i'll be back soon."

"good… thank you," he starts rustling, it sounds like a couple of tissues he's pulling from a box on his desk, "i need to feel you again, i'm going insane here."

you can't help but chuckle into the phone, curling up on the bed before you could even be bothered to put some clothes on. it would feel a lot better with his arms wrapped around you, of course, with his chest pressing against your back, with his legs entangled with yours. but out here on the island the only companion is the heat that seems to permeate even the walls to the cabin, even through the rain, it soaks into your skin and won't leave you alone. you crave the cold of pelican town in the fall, the fog on the windows that sebastian uses to draw you little smiley faces and play tic-tac-toe on the window above the kitchen sink. you crave the comfort that his presence brings, the warmth that is the person, and not the unbearable air.

"stay with me while i fall asleep?"

sebastian chuckles, but you can tell he was just waiting for this, being needed even after you've moaned out his name while your body shook. so he groans as he leaves the chair, and you listen as he cleans himself up and slides into bed, the rustling of that comfortable duvet is almost teasing you as you imagine how good it would be to lie down under it again.

"go on then," he murmurs, "get into bed."

you make a move. the towel is draped over a chair, and you throw on a loose t-shirt over yourself so you can roll under the sheets. it's all quickly done, the urge to already be in the comfy bed and hearing sebastian's soft breaths while you drift off is too strong to procrastinate. in barely a minute, you're flicking the lights off, settling the cabin into darkness that would make you uneasy if your husband's voice wasn't coming from the pillow where you left the phone. crawling into bed tonight, in contrast with the previous few days, is less of a relief from the ache and tiredness, and more a well-deserved comforting rest. while the other side of the bed is still painfully empty, when you close your eyes it's sebastian that's lying next to you, one arm draped over your body, fingers slowly, lazily tracing shapes on your stomach as the two of you drift off to sleep, snoring softly as the night sky twinkles down at you.

⋆˙⟡ burekforsatoru || do not modify, repost, or feed to AI

The knock came at ten forty-seven pm, while you were lounging in bed, nose stuffed in the most recent smutty book you’d gotten your hands on. The sudden noise made you jump, eyes flicking to the clock on your bedside table. You huffed out a breath, letting the tension leave your body.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Sebastian to simply show up at your doorstep at random times throughout the day every so often. But his visits tended to be well into the night, which had led you to make several jokes about him being a gentleman caller. To which he’d always roll his eyes and then playfully offer his services. You hadn’t ever accepted, despite wanting to look him dead in the eye and ask him to take his fucking clothes off. He’d always pop up with a new tattoo or piercing, gradually showing you more and more of his skin.

You questioned many times if that was his way of hinting to you that he was interested but you didn’t ask. Maybe because he was a recluse and you didn’t want to push him away. So you accepted the oddly flirtatious relationship the two of you had and enjoyed the late night smokes, talks, and walks he had to offer you. Except tonight was different. Tonight you wanted to be honest and admit your feelings for him.

You dropped the book in front of you, letting it fall shut as you slipped off your bed. You made your way through the otherwise silent house, seeing headlights peak through the curtains attached to the window near your front door.

You grasped the metal door handle, pulling it open to see the usual suspect. Messy black hair falling into his eyes as a cigarette hung between his teeth. It was still smoking and already half way gone. You leaned against the door frame, looking up at him with a pearly smile. His snake bites caught the light above your door and flashed for a moment.

“Come to steal my snacks again?” It was playfully accusatory.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, pulling the cigarette from between his lips. Something about him felt different, you realized. He seemed to be in higher spirits than usual but maybe you decided not to look too far into it. Maybe he was just happy to see you.

“It’s not stealing if you watch me do it without complaining.” His flicked the ash, pursing his lips before speaking. “And no snack theft. Just an outing. An excursion out of town, if you will.”

“Fair enough.” You couldn’t help but sigh, head tipping to the side so it could rest on the doorframe as well. “A little jaunt into the woods? You wouldn’t happen to be planning my gruesome murder, would you?”

“Unfortunately for you, I like your snark too much.” He waved his hand at you, “Now go on. We’re taking my ride this time.”

You watched him put out the finished cigarette on the bottom of his boot; flicking it into the flower pot you’d put on your porch just for him. You’d done it happily, even if you’d teased him for it. The funniest part to him had been the fact that he found a joint in there once and he teased you for it right back. That had been the beginning of going to a quiet spot out of town and getting absolutely blitzed while talking about the most random shit. You hoped tonight would be like that too. Simple, easy, and nothing but cracking jokes.

You smiled to yourself, fighting the heat rising up your throat. You leaned away from the doorframe and nodded. “Lemme get my shoes.”

He watched you step back inside, slipping on a pair of vans before grabbing a light coat from the hangers in the entryway. You slipped it on, making sure to check the pocket for your stash. You were relieved to realize it was still there and you closed the door behind you. But you stopped in your tracks when you noticed the brand new car in your driveway.

You quickly whipped your head around to look at Sebastian, who was a few paces behind you with the most shit eating grin on his face. You narrowed your eyes at him, jabbing your thumb in the direction of the car, “Uh, since when?”

Sebastian couldn’t help himself, he cracked a laugh, covering his mouth as he chuckled. “Your face is killing me,” he said between breaths.

With an eye roll, you flicked him in the arm and turned back towards the car. It was black, of course. To you that made sense. But it was also sleek and and sexy. You’d gotten so used to the raggedy truck he borrowed from his mom all the time that the vibe shift was insane. You didn’t hate it though because honestly it fit him perfectly.

You walked towards the passenger side, pulling the door open and plopping yourself down in the seat. The seats were smooth black leather and, not to your surprise, Sebastian had already added LEDs to the interior. It almost made you giggle; he was so predictable.

As you inspected the interior, he quietly slipped into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of your driveway, letting you go about your business in peace and quiet. It was entertaining, really, anything you did was entertaining. Even if you were immersed in one of your books or trying to beat his high score on a video game. He could watch you watching paint dry and he’d still find it entertaining. Maybe he was too far gone but he didn’t care.

It was a quiet night on the road; just the breeze, bugs, and Sebastian’s newest playlist playing from the stereo. It briefly crossed your mind, again, that the songs on the playlists felt targeted. But you chose to ignore it for your own sanity. All the possible signs that he felt the same for you all boiled down to one thing: it couldn’t possibly be a good enough sign. It was something you did too often but couldn’t stop.

Sebastian looked at you from the corner of his eye, tongue peaking out to wet his bottom lip. You were yapping about the book you’d been reading the past few days; including all the tiny smutty details that had you visibly flustered in his passenger’s seat. He was used to this, the stream of consciousness that you became when utterly relaxed around him. He never teased you about it because if you ever stopped, he might actually pass away. Maybe that was dramatic.

He drove to one of the usual spots the two of you tended to occupy on these excursions. This time it was the cliff overlooking Zuzu City. Which happened to be one of your favorite spots and Sebastian knew that. Your yapping died off as you realized where he’d taken you, a soft smile gracing your face. He watched you and the second you smiled, his heart stuttered in his chest.

Sebastian parked the car, climbing out of the car and making his way over to the large boulder near the cliff edge. He hopped atop it, legs dangling off the side as he lit himself another cigarette. You followed behind him, crossing your legs once you were on the boulder.

It was pleasantly warm out, with a delicate breeze passing through the surrounding trees and it made you feel incredibly glad that he’d showed up at your door that night. You could tell him now but you simply pushed down the urge and watched him take a drag of his cigarette.

When he met your eyes, his heart stuttered again. There was something there, something he couldn’t quite place. Until it hit him like a train. You were staring at him the way he stared at you. God had it always been so obvious? Was he an idiot? Was he blind? He concluded that he must be.

“U-um.” He cleared his throat, ashing his cigarette as he turned his face towards you.

The metal peaked out, clear as day this time, as he wet his lips. He saw the way your pupils widened in recognition, how your eyes lingered on his lips. How you slowly lifted your gaze to his eyes and your pupils remained blown wide. It wasn’t that you were surprised, he had plenty of piercings as it was. It was simply the placement of this one that had your brain spinning.

You swallowed, trying to compose yourself. You took a deep breath in through your nose and shook your head playfully. “A car and a new piercing? So many surprises. Is it a special day or something?”

Yes, he wanted to say. Yes it was. But the intended confession just wouldn’t come out. “Is it really that surprising?”

“Well, no. You show up with a new tattoo or piercing every single time you knock at my door.” You shrugged, the realization came out in words but it didn’t process in her mind. “Feels like it’s different this time. Like you’re tryna impress me.” You sounded like you were teasing but as you spoke, the cogs in your head began to turn.

Sebastian stared at her, heat rising up his neck till it reached his ears. God you were right. You were always right. “I am tryna impress you,” it came out without warning. But deep down he was glad he’d finally admitted it.

It’d been weeks, fuck, months even; of this weirdly flirtatious but painfully platonic vibe between the two of you. It had been driving him crazy but only because he could never get the courage to admit how he actually felt for you. All these tiny signs that maybe you liked him too but none of them felt solid enough. So he always let them slip by.

He watched you process what he said, mouth parting slightly in surprise. Your brain was running a thousand miles per minute, struggling to process his confession. Partly because you were convinced he was just joking like he usually did. But the other part was that his expression and tone were deadly fucking serious.

You were stumbling over what to say in response. This was the moment you were supposed to flirt back, confess your own feelings. He’d given you such a beautiful opening and if you didn’t take the chance, you’d effectively be an idiot.

“You don’t have to try and impress me, Seb.” You laughed softly, leaning in to graze your lips against his cheek.

He held back a feral groan, compressing it into a held breath that slowly deflated. Even you saying his nickname absolutely wrecked him. But your proximity and the smell of your perfume had his head spinning. You were intoxicating in the best way and he was convinced he’d never get enough of it.

Sebastian’s hand flew up to grip your waist, fingers tightening there as he leaned into the ghost of your lips. But you were leaning away from him again and his mind was screaming at him to chase it. So he turned his head just enough to catch your lips with his. Pulling you closer by your waist, his other hand caressed the back of your neck. He kissed you like a man starved, gasping against your mouth.

It was a different pace than you were used to with him but you didn’t care. You just melted into him, running your tongue against his lips between kisses. Sebastian huffed against your mouth, grip on you tightening ever so slightly. He chased your lips with his as his hands moved down your body, to your thighs.

He pulled you into his lap, fingers skimming up your inner thighs until they slipped underneath the skirt you were wearing. As your thighs settled on either side of his waist, it made your heart race and your breathing stutter. It suddenly felt incredibly hot, even with the night breeze. His skin was scorching against yours and it was driving you crazy.

You could feel his growing hard on below you, trapped behind his jeans and boxers. All of it made your skin prickle with anticipation as your own hands slid over his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck. He looked like a mess below you but you knew this wasn’t his last form. By the time you were done with him, he’d look thoroughly destroyed.

When his fingers grazed the waistband of your panties, they stopped moving and his body stilled against yours. He looked unsure, anxious even, but he had no reason to be. You reached below your skirt, hand hovering over his as you tugged on the waistband lightly yourself. Sebastian shivered, groaning to himself as he tugged them down your waist.

You stood above him and he drug them down your legs, his own pupils expanding as he saw how wet you were. He tucked your panties into his hoodie pocket as he pulled you back into his lap. His hand found your waist and throat again as he pulled you back into a hungry kiss, nipping at your bottom lip between breaths.

Your fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, yanking the pieces apart as smoothly as possible before tugging the zipper down on his jeans. Sebastian’s hands fell back, bracing himself against the rock as he watched your hands make quick work of his clothing.

His hand flew to your hands, stopping your movements. “Are you sure?”

Your eyes snapped to his, chest heaving. “Yes. Are you?”

He huffed. As if exasperated, rolled his eyes as his head momentarily dropped back. He looked at you again, “Honestly just fuck me already.”

His statement hit you so hard that it knocked the air out of your lungs. Combined with his usual pallor having turned a beautiful shade of red as he looked up at you, his own chest heaving under your hands; you felt like you were falling head first into him. It was simply too much in all the best ways.

As your lips met his, one hand reached into his boxers, carefully pulling out his cock to grasp it with your hand. To which Sebastian gasped, whining quietly as his eyes struggled to stay open. “F-fucking heelll,” he drawled at the feeling of your hand moving in a smooth rhythm along his length.

Sure he’d imagined this moment many times. He’d even had wet dreams about you. But the real thing was nowhere near the lackluster shit he tried to come up with in his head. His breaths came out in short huffs as he watched you work his length, your own face growing hot. It was a beautiful sight, seeing your eyes blown wide and glassy. He’d happily die right there is his deepest desire wasn’t within his reach.

Sebastian groaned when your hand slipped off his cock, his eyes chasing your hand as it pulled your skirt up in front. His brain stuttered as you exposed the naked skin your inner thighs. His eyes rose to the trail of wetness that was slipping down your skin, and finally your pussy, as you aligned his shaft with your entrance. One of his hands moved to your hip instinctively, his body pulsing as if you’d made him a live wire.

Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth dropping open ever so slightly to let loose a moan as you slowly sank down on his cock. Sebastian devoured the sight while adjusting to the feeling of your wet hot walls enveloping him. Whatever fuck ass ideas he’d had about the way your pussy would feel around his dick, he’d been dangerously wrong. Because he immediately knew he was pussy whipped.

“Seb.” Your head dropped forward, catching your lip between your teeth with a whine of his name. Your hands found purchase on his chest, fisting his shirt in your hands.

His hips jerked up into yours without thinking, both of your bodies shuddering from it. Keeping his hand on your hip, he moved his other hand to your throat, pulling you into a softer kiss than before; your hips beginning to move in a delicate rhythm. He could feel your pulse against his fingers and he chose to focus on that and your lips, instead of the undying urge to thrust into you.

Soon enough the two of you were leaned into each other, foreheads pressed together as your choppy breathing filled the space between you and him. Sebastian fought his urges, slipping his hand from your throat, down to the collar of your tank top. With his pointer finger, he pulled it down, hooking it on the underside of your breasts before leaning in to bite and nip at your hot skin.

He left a trail of marks from your tits to your neck, humming against your skin in approval as he did so. He felt your walls tighten around him almost imperceptibly, his hips moving to meet yours; except this time it was on purpose. His hands found your hips again, holding you steady as he began to fuck you from below. In return, you unclipped your bra, dropping it on the boulder beside him so he could see all of your chest.

It made your heart swell when he whined, head tipping back after his eyes landed on your bare tits. A quiet ‘fuck’, followed by his hips slamming into you from below. It left your spine tingling and a raw moan fell from your mouth, landing against the skin of Sebastian’s neck as you leaned forward. You were desperately trying to cling to him as your head spun from the sensations. You hadn’t even considered how it’d feel to hear him moan because of you, and better yet, for you. It was making you feel drunk, his noises and the drag of his cock through your walls.

You started moving your hips to meet his, hands caressing both sides of his jaw as your breaths began coming out in choppy moans. You nipped at his lips, tongue dragging across his lower lip as you ground your hips into his in tight circles. His pelvic bone caught your clit and you immediately whined into his mouth. “More, please.” You begged him.

“Anything, princess.” Sebastian doesn’t keep you waiting, choosing to lay back against the boulder.

More than willing to take the discomfort as long as you didn’t have to. He kept your hips elevated as he started fucking you mercilessly. He doesn’t even bother trying to muffle his own sounds, which spilled out of him, a cacophony of moans and groans that loosely sounded like your name but not quite. It only made your walls clamp down around him tighter and you couldn’t help the how it rippled every time he bottomed out inside you.

You could barely process the world around you anymore, aside from Sebastian and the places his body was connected to yours. He looked about the same, positively fucked out and mind empty except one thing, you. you wanted to hang on longer but you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching due to the friction of his pelvis against your clit. Almost as if your bodies were made to be fitted together this way.

It sounded corny in your mind, especially with him fucking you senseless, but on the other hand… it only turned you on more. Your thumb pushed his chin up, his eyes meeting yours with parted lips and eyes that were only pupil. He knew without you even having to tell him but it didn’t stop him from smirking; the cocky fuck.

“Are you close, baby?”

You nodded frantically, your hips stuttering and shaking as you chased your high. Until it collapsed around you, body shaking against his as he held you close. His yelled out a string of curse words, hands gripping your waist so hard he might bruise you. His hips stilled against you. Balls deep inside you as the convulsions of your pussy made his snap, cumming inside you as his head spun from the sensations.

After a few moments and even though you were still recovering with scattered thoughts and shaky breaths, Sebastian thrusts slowly and deeply as his orgasm began to ebb away. He watched as his cum began to leak out of you, even with his cock stuffed inside.

“I will never get used to this.” He admitted, eyes glistening like the lines of cum slipping down your inner thighs. It made him hungry for more and he knew he wasn’t going soft anytime soon. "You're so fucking beautiful."

You laughed softly, slowly coming down from your high with him. But you kissed him, tongue brushing against his before you pulled away, to wrap your arms around him. You hugged him for a moment before leaning back.

"You wouldn't mind breaking in your car, would you?" You asked with a tiny smirk.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

꒰ ✶ ꒱ … ❛ AVALON'S NOTES ❜ : i’ve finally put this idea into writing after letting it bounce around my empty ass head. i hope you enjoyed! lemme know if you’d like more sebastian… especially if it’s with tats and piercings hehe. also, if you’d like to read or save this fic on AO3, here’s the link.

a roll of tissues must be cursing its existence by now, always being used to clean up sebastian's messes, only this time it's just the energy drink puddle on the desk and whatever he could get out from between the keys. praying to anything that might listen, he unplugs the keyboard and takes the key caps off, already mourning the time he will waste cleaning it up.

the voice of a random girl still faintly comes through the headset he left on the desk when he knocked over that stupid can, still moaning out some stupid phrases that he was trying to get off to before having to be somewhat put together when his project partner comes over. he catches himself mouthing some of the phrases the girl says since he's listened to that same audio too many times to count. it's embarrassing, or at least it would be if he could be bothered to think about how many chances to leave his dorm he turned down in favour of staying in and gaming, inevitably quitting after getting too distracted just to rub one out to end the night, and then another if he had it in him. all to the image of what she would look like on her knees between his legs, giving him under the desk support for his game. stupid.

and now she's gonna come over, but he's too distracted to know where to even begin cleaning his room. there's a half-full trash bag by the door, but he stopped using it after picking up the used tissues and empty cans. there was an attempt at sweeping, the broom still leaning against the wall with a little heap of dust next to it almost like it's mocking him for his lack of focus. the bed is unmade, the dirty clothes still on the floor. at least he managed to open the window earlier, replacing the stale air with the scent of freshness after the rain.

this will have to do, he thinks, looking at the state of his dorm room after about an hour of distracted wobbling across the place carrying dirty socks into a hamper that's barely ever been used — a very optimistic gift from his mother on her first visit.

at the last possible minute, he throws himself into the chair again, feigning casual laziness as he hears a quick knock on the door.

"yeah?" he calls out, barely remembering to close the tab with the damn porn audio and put on something he wouldn't mind being caught listening to.

the door opens and here it is, your smiling face pokes in almost apologetically.

"hi," you enter, closing the door too softly so he has to motion at you to push it harder until there's an audible click of the lock, "am i late?"

sebastian removes the headphones from his ears, leaving them on the empty spot where his keyboard would be once it's done drying in the corner. of course you're late, but he already expected it. as soon as you turned around in your seat to ask him where he wanted to do the project you've been assigned partners on, as soon as he saw your pout say his name so prettily, already batting your lashes at him as if buttering him up to do all the work for you, he knew you'd be late. that's why he suggested his dorm instead of the library, of course it's all under the guise of it being more convenient, not sitting on those hard wooden chairs surrounded by other chattering students. definitely not because he wanted you to sit on his bed. maybe even lie on it if you get dramatic enough, like he's hoping you will, groaning and rolling your eyes at the amount of work that he's going to end up doing for you, all for a little whined out please.

god, he's so pathetic, saving into his mind the image of your form standing next to his desk as you take off your jacket and throw it over the back of his chair, cataloguing how the light of his desk lamp illuminates your skin to make sure he can imagine it correctly when he pictures you sucking his cock under the desk next time. his sick little self-satisfied smile when he saw that you were paired with him on this assignment feels so far away now, but every second of his racing mind feels too little of a preparation when he sees you look around his room, finally there, in the flesh.

he hopes that he hid anything that could make you wrinkle your nose in disgust, especially the evidence of his sleepless, shameless nights from under the covers. you walk around the bed and sit down on the edge of the mattress, almost shy, but he knows you're pretending. he'll play stupid to the fact that you whispered to your friend that you're lucky to be partnered with him because he could do all the work. he'll just take all the chances that he has to look at you, to be close to you, to daydream right in your face about how those lips that smile at him would look moaning out his name.

he doesn't sit next to you yet. still pitching a tent in his jeans, praying it will go away soon, he's covering it with the hem of his hoodie as he turns in his chair, folding his hands in his lap covering up the bulge further, kinda hoping you'd look, kinda hoping you wouldn't.

"okay, so which part of the unit do you wanna do?" he asks, as casually as he can while tilting his head to the side and letting his hair fall into place.

"ugh," you already groan, throwing your head back as you lean onto your palms, "i'm not sure, everything seems so damn complicated for no reason. can you…" and there it is, your voice softens, you look at him through your lashes, and despite knowing your game, he can't help but fall for it, "explain it to me?"

his breath is heavy. you're so good at this, at playing his attraction to you like your favourite game. there's no way that you know for sure that you're his crush, sebastian thinks, that you know what kind of fantasies he has about you at all times. this must be just a wild attempt, or maybe it's worked before. on others… he tries not to frown at the bout of jealousy that starts constricting his lungs, instead, he focuses on your chest that you're slightly pushing out, like a hunter catching their prey with something tempting. he's been caught in your trap before you even knew you'd set it up, so all it takes is a tiny little helpless look on your face for him to fold like an origami frog.

"yeah," he finally manages to squeeze out, "yeah i'll… i can explain it, get the textbook out."

"i didn't bring it with me." of course you didn't. you didn't even bring anything other than a small purse, the size of which can't fit more than your keys and phone. but then again, why would you bring a textbook when you're banking on him doing the work anyway.

"it's okay." he sighs quietly, leaning over to pull it out of the drawer, hoping you don't see his bulge as he rolls over on the chair closer to the bed.

to him, you're temptation personified. with your pretty thighs pressed together as you sit on his bed, patting the space next to you almost like you know he's weak for you. sebastian swallows. hard. weighing his options, he lands on sitting on the bed, but makes some adjustments. he can't sit too close, he has to put the damn book between you at least. so he tries to adjust himself the best he can without you noticing just how much he's holding back from disappearing and jerking off before he can properly face you.

"so…" he starts, his long finger following the unit you're supposed to cover in this assignment.

he can tell you're already not listening. your hums in response to his words are timed all wrong, and he sneaks looks your way a little too often not to be risky, noticing you're not really looking at what he's pointing at. he's eating it all up, though he's no longer as careful with being informative about the unit. he slows down, watching your lashes sweep the tops of your cheeks. you're so damn pretty, and if he wasn't so damn pent up about wanting you in all kinds of ways, he would pull back and be respectful, if he were a bigger man he'd be nice and ask you out properly. that is, if he thought he had a chance at not embarrassing himself.

"you're not listening, are you?" he says, smiling as his hand splays over the page. that snaps you out of your daze and you look up at him with those glistening eyes of yours, the ones that he wants to see rolling back in your head.

"ah, sorry!" you scramble for words, leaning on your side until you lie down on his bed, a dangerous position for his vivid imagination. you're propped up on your elbow, a little too inviting, completely on purpose, just to make him bend to your whims. "your voice is so soothing," you purr, "and you understand this so well, i don't think i'll ever get it like you do."

flattery. that's how you'll get him to do the work for you while you just sit there and look pretty. the worst thing is, he'll do it. he knows he will. because you could say anything to him and he'll want to please you just for a nice smile and, hell, maybe even a kiss on the cheek? well, flattery is definitely getting you there, because where his erection was softening while he was focusing on the page between you, now it's growing again, pressing uncomfortably against his jeans.

"don't say that, you're a smart girl," he smiles a little at that, just from seeing a little bit of blush creep up your cheeks, "but if you want, i can start on your part and you can take over later."

"really?!" that gets a big smile on your face, your body shifts until you're closer to him, your breasts rubbing against the edge of the textbook, which definitely doesn't escape his notice. "that would be so good, i can already see us acing this thing."

sure, us. he almost scoffs, but your hand is suddenly on top of his, your thumb rubbing the top of his palm like you're not even realising what you're doing to him. all of his self-assured tone disappears out the window when you touch him, his head emptying just as fast as his cock fully erects, begging to get your attention the way his hand has it.

"y-yeah." sebastian stutters out, swallowing saliva that's so quickly gathering in his mouth. he's looking down at where you're lying all too comfortable on his bed, and it has to be on purpose, he thinks, because this is what you were after, isn't it? flustering him enough to make sure he'd say yes to anything you asked, even if it meant letting you off the hook with doing fuck all for this class. "yeah, we're gonna ace it." and damn it, it's working.

your sly little giggle almost breaks him, his voice was lower, almost as if he was afraid it would break if he spoke louder.

"i'd just hate it if i messed up our joint work," you interrupt his thoughts, your hand is wrapped around his wrist, cutting off any rational thinking that could've possibly occurred in his head while you're laying this flattery thick, "and you're so smart and you just get it."

sebastian's throat bobs as he swallows, closing his eyes to stop himself focusing on your big irises looking at him… even your tits are so close he feels like they're looking at him, too, there's no way you didn't angle yourself like that on purpose. flattery and that low cut of your t-shirt, the sultry way in which you're buttering him up with your words and the hand that's… oh it's gliding up his forearm now. you hum as you feel the muscles he's flexing in reaction to everything you're doing, your lips shiny as you roll them together. you don't even know how much that muscle aches when you squeeze almost imperceptibly, his body is screaming at him so loudly it's enough to drown out the giggle that leaves your pretty pouty lips.

"sorry!" you say with a smile. "your arms are just really nice… had to feel them." your stupid little smile. you wanted to feel his arm? while he's explaining this entire class to you, no less. if there was any interest in you about the academic side of this project, or if his delusions were that strong, even, they're disappearing right in front of his eyes as you slowly lower your hand down his forearm, not releasing him from your touch.

"it's okay." he manages, lowering his gaze so he's not so shamelessly staring at your tits. it doesn't seem to please you, his ignoring of your arched body on top of his bed. in fact, you start gliding your hand up again, squeezing a little tighter. almost like you're showing off, hey you fucking nerd, look at how i could jerk you off if you were good enough for me. he clears his throat.

"you sure?" you shift on his bed, releasing his arm followed by a sigh from his lips, he can't keep holding his breath in like that, he's gonna bust just from the way you touch his stupid forearm.

"yeah, don't worry. i don't mind." he's not moving his hand from the bed, afraid you'll see it tremble. "so… you can just, dunno, chill here while i make notes for your part, yeah?" he needs to find something to do, something that would move your soft body away from his eyes and his thoughts. something that won't make him think about how you'd feel if he fucked you into that bed.

you're humming in response, already making yourself comfortable on top of his covers and taking your phone out of that tiny purse you brought with you. sebastian needs to get a fucking grip, so he lies on his front, pressing his aching erection into it while trying not to inhale too deeply, instead focusing on the words that have already started to fly off the page in front of him. it's pointless. he's already made peace with doing the entire assignment by himself, with you as eye candy while he's trying not to imagine you spread out in front of him instead of the book. he can't think about it, because his dumbass will actually say something stupid if he doesn't get his shit together. okay. notes.

notes… he grabs the pen that's been tucked into the textbook and starts scribbling on the piece of paper from between the pages, little acronyms of what should go in the first part, the one you so elegantly avoided doing in favour of being on your phone—

sebastian sneaks a look your way only to get startled by your eyes no longer being on your screen, but on him, that same slight smile tugging your lips upwards as you shift a little closer, rolling over on your side giving him a sinister angle that he tries to very quickly take advantage of and just briefly take a look at your body before looking back at your face.

"hmm?" he loses all hope of getting anything worthwhile done while you're here distracting him, but he can't bring himself to tell you to leave. in fact, he still hasn't even told you he's going to take on the whole assignment and let you just breeze past with your name stamped on it alongside his.

"nothing, you're just cute when you're focusing like that." you murmur, devastating his attempts at keeping calm.

even pretty sure — which of course doesn't mean shit at all — that you're just manipulating him to get what you want, he's still losing the fight against his body. his cheeks are reddening, he can feel how hot they're getting, and he's regretting wearing that hoodie he always has on. he wants to get completely naked, get you out of your clothes as well, get you on his lap, have you ride him until you're both too tired to get distracted by each other and you can do that damn project fucked out and in peace. but you're a sneaky temptation in the way you're sliding ever closer to him while he's trying to be good.

"what a catch, hm, seb?" you purr, the rustling of his sheets under you emphasising the heaviness of your breath as you slide closer, almost completely touching him. "so smart that anyone would be lucky to be paired with you, but also very, very cute." your hand startles him a little, trailing up his back and he hopes to everything holy you can't tell how just much he's sweating from this, being so close to you that you're whispering and he can still hear you like a siren in his ear.

"you're just saying that." he stutters out, the only thing he's able to come up with is a stupid line that he's secretly terrified you'll confirm. sebastian is, at the same time, scared you'll back down from your flirting and hoping you'll have some mercy on him.

shaking your head undoes him, because how could he have prepared for your daring mouth leaning in and pressing against his ear, a loud echo of your kiss vibrating his entire nervous system.

"nope," you whisper, making his whole body thrum, "kinda wanna eat you up."

he groans, shivering as you kiss closer to his lips, trailing that pout that flatters him to his cheek. he wonders if he should just tell you that you don't need to do all this, that he'd do the project, that he would agree even if it just meant that he'd get to look at you while he did it, put something away for his spank bank, because though he's been dying to feel you this close all year, when he finally seems within reach of getting his ultimate wish, he's afraid of chickening out, or even worse, busting immediately and making a mess — and a fool — of himself.

but your hand is not leaving him, still touching his back and gliding between his shoulder blades like you're trying to kill him with those gentle fingers. sebastian shouldn't look away from the textbook in front of him, not when he might very well freak out at how close you're getting to his lips, but curiosity — or is it pure need — gets the better of him, and the next time your lips touch him, it's on his own parted, bitten, wanting lips.

once that line is crossed, your body seems to be tumbling down the uncharted territory of his bed. you're pushing his shoulder, rolling him over onto his back before he could even remember where he is, straddling his lap which triggers his hands like a reflex. they land on your hips, called to them as if it's ingrained in his bones that your body requires holding. after all, it's why you're on top of him, leaning down to kiss his lips again pretending like the first time wasn't an accident.

there are so many things that sebastian actually thought would happen today when you said you'd come over to work on the project. having you pressing your crotch against his painful erection wasn't even in the top ten thoughts, at least not when he really forced himself to be rational about it. and yet here you are, kissing him, grinding against his bulge while the only thing he knows he can do is just hold your hips tighter, almost digging into your flesh.

the project lies forgotten on the bed while your little moans vibrate sebastian's mouth, your greedy teeth tug on his bottom lip and he can't help but buck his hips up into you. it's the best move he could've made, because your hands slide under his hoodie and touch his stomach, almost making him cum right then and there. something in the squeeze of your palm against his sides has him think he must be dreaming, because there's no way you'd be this into him, right? no, you must be doing it to just manipulate him, a small part of his mind still functioning says so but soon gets overtaken by the one single brain cell in charge of moving his hands, bringing them around your body to pull you closer.

like in some fantasy he's had about you countless times, he's rocking you against his trapped cock, desperate to feel more but not stupid enough to risk you pulling away if he were to unzip his jeans. this will do for now, it has to, because you're rubbing his chest like you're trying not to scratch, though he's silently begging you to leave a mark, something to make him remember this is not a dream, something he will cherish and remember every time he sees you in class from this moment onward. your breaths taste like bubblegum, landing on the back of his tongue while you kiss him deeper, whimpering every time you press your hips against him harder, chasing some pleasure he knew existed, but not for him. now it's at his fingertips, warm like your skin just above the waist of your jeans, burning with desire barely contained in your body that he finally gets to touch.

sebastian won't take this for granted, he's already close to finishing just from a little rubbing against you, but it's your hands quickly shifting to hold his face that really make him lose it.

his eyes roll back as he groans into your mouth and tightens his hold on you, pressing you closer, like he's actually shoving his cock inside you beyond the layers of clothing between you. the orgasm makes him shake, and your hips roll a few more times, out of rhythm, purely running on the need to get off, and you're biting his lip again, whining as you slow down, shivering under his hands.

for a few moments all you do is breathe. for those same few moments all sebastian can do is try to do the same.

his brain is melting, the only thing keeping his body in one piece is the weight of your body on top of his, hips lazily rubbing against his spent cock as he can feel the warmth of his release trapped between his boxers and his skin. he's no stranger to cleaning up his cum from his body, not even from his boxers, but right now that's not a priority.

remembering he has limbs, he stirs, wrapping his arms around your body like ribbon coming to a pretty bow on your lower back, packing you up into a gift he will never forget. his lips still tingle from your bites while you drag your lips up his neck and press them against his mouth again, bringing him back to life after dropping him into oblivion.

you clear your throat, making him jump and release you from his grasp. sebastian is already mourning the loss of your warmth against him as you lift yourself up and off his lap, like nothing happened, save for the wet patch in his boxers and what he needs to believe is a matching one between your legs. he props himself up on his elbows and almost misses the smile on your lips when you see him like that, like you're not immune to the sight of a completely disorientated and blissed out nerd that usually just quietly sits behind you in class. he watches you grab your phone and fix your clothes in the mirror by the bed, too much in awe to say anything so he just keeps quiet, pocketing this mental image and grasping onto the remnants of you still on his hands.

"i…" you begin, turning to see him and deepening that smile that overshadows any cool you tried to show just now, "i'll see you in class tomorrow, right?"

sebastian blinks slowly, his brain starts catching up with reality. "tomorrow's sunday."

"i'll see you in here tomorrow, then?"

he barely manages to open his mouth and close it again when your hand grabs the door handle. settling for a nod, he watches you open the door and slip away, closing his dorm room behind you and dipping it into silence only broken by the sound of his heartbeat getting louder in his ears when he thinks about repeating this, but possibly making it even better. tomorrow.

⋆˙⟡ burekforsatoru || do not modify, repost, or feed to AI. likes and reblogs appreciated, nice comments make your skin clear.

Burning smoke turns his voice into a mere croak, lungs full of the self medication that he has no choice but to blow back against your face, given the small quarters he pulled you into moments before.

He doesn’t often fuck fans. He’s never really enjoyed the experience, upset at the thought of being nothing more than a notch in someone else’s bedpost—bragging rights, at most, to the person underneath him. It’s a bit shameful too, he thinks to himself, to take the easy way out. He could fuck around with anyone he pleases, but a fan? Simple, the tired choice, really. There’s no fun in it when the other party has already handed him the win from the get go.

Blinking slowly, he greets you with a forced smile. The very same one he pulls on stage, canines flashing in the dim light to demand attention. The bus is empty tonight spare his company, thank fuck. He’s needed a break for a while, and it seems as though you’ll suffice tonight.

His personal little means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less… Exactly what he needs tonight after the stress of the show, and then some.

Music still yet booms around the bus, another act well underway as his members remain hidden somewhere else… He hasn’t the slightest clue as to where, and the drug that makes its way throughout his system renders him beyond having the capacity to care.

“Want some?” He coughs into the air, trying to clear the crack in his voice as more smoke tumbles from between his lips, just for more burn to enter upon another inhale. Still, he offers the joint towards you, lit end burning brightly in the otherwise dark back room he’s tugged you into.

“No, um, it’s all right!” You giggle back, and he struggles not to roll his eyes at the girlish sound.

Nervous, of course. They always are, he assumes. As if he isn’t just some regular guy who somehow had a stroke of luck in the form of a stage and applause. He has half a mind to correct your starstruck position with the truth, but settles simply on a small sigh. An annoyance than can be misconstrued as exhaustion from the earlier performance, as opposed to his frustration over the fact that you’re no different.

Not that he expected much of you in the first place, but there’s always a twinge of hope. A silent beg for something new, something exciting, something beyond just a brief filling of the hole in his chest.

Well, you’re about to find out exactly who he is. Without the crowd, with no applause, reduced to the mere man he truly is.

He shrugs at your denial of drugs, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek to suppress the annoyance he feels over your giddy excitement. “Suit yourself.” He huffs, taking a final drag of smoke before placing the almost done joint in a nearby ashtray, letting the stink of weed circle around you to no doubt get you a little high regardless of your personal preference.

You’re perched between his wide open legs, sitting so sweetly on your knees, like you’re awaiting his every instruction. Holding your breath as he repositions to settle more comfortably, trying not to take up too much of his space in fear of… God, he has no fucking idea. And that irks him further—he wouldn’t have brought you back here if he didn’t want you here.

“What’re ya so scared of?” he forces some light laughter out, stretching his legs out around you even more to reveal the slow growing bulge hidden behind his tight jeans. “Won’t bite, promise.”

In an attempt to coax you closer, he juts his hips out a little more. Wagging the dog a bone, as it were, because more than anything, he hasn’t the energy to bite. Can’t do anything but entice you, not willing to work for what you so eagerly, thankfully, want to provide him.

A sweet distraction from the stress brought on from arguments with band mates. Not that you would know, or care, right?

Similarly, he couldn’t care less about you beyond what you can provide him tonight. No name necessary—all he cares about is the fact that you were practically begging for his attention after the show, bouncing those pretty tits for him to drool at, easily allowing him to sneak you off in the dark of the night to the shitty tour bus as if it were the most romantic act in the world. Bet you think you’re special, right? Out of everyone who attended the show tonight, he picked you, yeah? And though you’re a sight for sore eyes absolutely, you could just have easily been literally anyone else. The girl to your left, the man to your right. Wouldn’t have made a single difference to him; you were just the most immediate hole within reach.

“Right,” you laugh, anxious energy ruining his vibe a tad as you effectively force him into another show tonight, demanding he ease your nerves. “It’s just—Y’know, I… I can’t believe I’m here, y’know?”

Y’know, y’know, he mocks in his head. “Right,” he smiles placidly, helping you to submit to your wants and desires only because they align with his own in this exact moment. “So don’t ruin the opportunity, y’know?”

His mimicry is meant to be alluring, a game of back and forth his fans so often like to play—or so Sam has told him anyway, the resident fan-fucker that he is. But alas, Sebastian’s social battery is running severely low right now, no thanks in part to the prior argument with said fucker. Likewise, his patience only runs so thin, and he isn’t sure exactly how much time he has left to vent his frustrations through the use of your body, or how long the cloud in his head will last as a buffer between his stage presence and his actual personality.

Though it seems like Sam is right. The bait works, and you’re swiftly nodding back at him in a grotesque  seeking of approval. “Of course I wouldn’t! I won’t, I promise!”

He’s had a hard time believing you thus far, but he gives you another chance. Even unzips his jeans for you, letting his soft bulge spill out a little from the new opening.

“Come and show me then.”

The bed he’s on is small. Much too tiny for the sort of activities he needs right now, but it’ll suffice. He hasn’t the time to search for a better location, nor does he necessarily think you deserve much else besides the dingy back end of the bus. He’s there, what more could you want? That’s how fans work, right? The dehumanisation, limiting him to his presence and naught else.

He may as well do the same to you.

Upon his direction, you finally move into action. Maybe you’re able to pick up on the slight edge of frustration leaking into his words because he’s never been the best at hiding his emotions, no matter how much media training he’s been subjected to. But he’d like to think it’s because you’re on the same wavelength as him. Raring to complete this transaction, keen to brag about fucking the favourite member of your favourite band to your friends when you get back home, adamant that you’re telling them the truth when you retell exactly how you start crawling towards him, flashing a cheeky glimpse of cleavage that convinced him earlier to give in to his more selfish desires. The primal urge to fuck his feelings out, no matter the ethics involved in fraternising with fans. Sam does it all the time, so why shouldn’t he indulge when the opportunity presents itself?

As it so often does.

You’re no different from the rest, but he nonetheless appreciates the fact that you’re giving in now. Edging closer to his half sat position, half laying back against the wall the bed is bolted to. “Atta girl,” he encourages you, a more genuine smirk tugging at his lips now that you’re playing nice. Maybe the stink of weed is finally taking hold of you, prompting you closer, all the way until you straddle his thighs, leaving his hardening cock to pulse and throb for more pressure as you tease him with a slow sway of your hips. “See? S’not so bad, right?” his hands grip loosely at your waist, an attempt to keep you pinned in place, but he harbours little strength to offer you anything more obsessive.

“Sorry, I’m just a little nervous…”

“I know…” he coos naturally, clouded by the drug as he focuses on helping you come out of your shell. Putting in the minimum amount of work required to open you up for him, so that he can selfishly get what he wants before having to throw you out for the night. “I’m no different than anyone else.” Just like you, he keeps to himself.

“That’s not true…” You lean closer to him, a strong smell of perfume filling the air around him to rival the smoke, and he can only imagine that you picked the scent out specifically for a pipe dream situation like this. “You’re special to me.” Your nails rake playfully down his clothed chest, and he has to fight back a yawn at the tired excuse in the hopes of keeping you perched on his lap.

What’s worse is that he fears that if he opens his lips to speak, he’ll only end up telling you off for the obvious flattering lie, so he instead hums noncommittally as he tries to focus solely on the feeling of your weight on his thighs… How nice and warm you are in his hold, a cute little thing with the hots for him simply due to his influence.

Is it so wrong to use you if you’re practically begging for it?

The power imbalance ordinarily makes him feel gross, icky with guilt at even the thought of exerting it against anyone. Which is why he smoked the weed, just a little help to lower his standards, forget his morals just for one night. Just another night for him, but maybe the best one for you. He’s yet to see how memorable you’ll make it for him, though he hasn’t got much faith for now.

“Don’t have much time.” He gulps, emphasising his urgency with a barely there pat on your ass.

“Right, yeah. Course.”

“Condoms are under the pillow—”

Before he can politely ask you to grab one, you’re already reaching over for his benefit. And if anything, he’s just happy to have picked a submissive one tonight. The thought alone of having to deal with foreplay, of pretending that this is something more than it already is, gives him a headache. You’re probably wet enough already, right? Soaked right through the second he brought you into the bus, knowing full well what his intentions were when he showed you to the furthest bed. He doesn’t even have to try in order to prepare you—existence is all it takes tonight, right?

In the meantime, he prepares himself by pulling his erection out from the fly of his boxers. Letting it cool in the air as your soft gasp at the sight of it has more hot precum rolling down the length of it. Just human natures, pure instinct, and nothing about you specifically. He tends to it idly, gently tugging on it once or twice as you busy yourself with ripping the packet open—eagerly, may he add. Watching as it slips from your hold until you resort to using your teeth for the job.

The discarded package is thrown to the side, cock still yet in his hand as he wags it towards you, red hot tip leaking and begging for your attention.

For any attention at this point.

He briefly wonders if you’ll tell your friends all about your fumbling about too, but you deprive him the chance of dwelling on the thought for too long, heeding his warning of future company and time constraints by placing the end of the condom right on top of his tip, and he groans in both frustration at the feeling—bareback is infinitely better, but is he fuck knocking up a fan of all girls—and enjoyment at the fact that he’ll soon be able to rid the anxiety building in his chest.

The cooling effect of the condom does little to calm his lust—pure unadulterated lust, nothing else harboured for the moment—especially when you pout so prettily back at him like that. Seeking more approval for the way you gently, slowly, roll it down his whole length. Trying to keep the tension of teasing alive and well in spite of the lack of time he has with you, leaving just a peek of his base free from the constraint of safety as he finally lets out a shaky sigh once you let go and flutter your lashes back at him expectantly.

You are rather pretty. Makes it easier to stay hard at the very least.

“Thanks,” he breathes, hot and heavy, unintentionally flirting with the simple appreciation he offers you if the way you flush and hide from his half-lidded drug induced gaze is anything to go by. He’s sensitive too, much more than normal, thanks to the weed. Could probably get off just as well if he had the energy to jack himself off in private, but the warmth of another body was too enticing to pass up on, especially with the way you practically skipped right behind him into the tour bus. “I uh— Are you ready?”

He couldn’t care less about whatever fantasy version of him you must have built up in your head through viewing him in interviews, music videos, live on stage… He only cares about getting what he wants in the easiest manner possible. Though he assumes he doesn’t have to check in with you, his head tilting at the way your thighs rub together provocatively, coaxing another fat bead of precum to try and escape his new confines. Instead smearing nicely against his tip as he instinctively reaches out to grab at his erection, feeling the weight of every throb your coquettish actions pull out of him.

“Yes. More than.” You state plainly, clear and carrying some sort of faux confidence he decides to exploit.

“Good,” his hands once again find home on your hips, tapping at them lightly as an attempt at encouragement to get closer. “C’mon then,” he rasps, shuffling down the sheets to bob his cock closer to your core. “Need it.”

Not you. It. The mere act of sex itself as opposed to you as a person. The sole worth you provide him right now. Hidden only behind a short skirt and thin panty barrier he intends on penetrating if you don’t hurry up with dragging it to the side, just before you reposition as he wordlessly asks for. Almost as if you planned for this exact situation more than the concert itself, right? Maybe all of his fans feel the same way. That’d be embarrassing for them, he muses to himself.

It’s not the most comfortable position given how tiny the bed is compared to two bodies, but the weight you offer him on top is at least appreciated with a dry hum. Pleasantly surprised at best, amused at worst. At any rate, this is the extent of what you can offer him at the moment, and he wastes no time in exploiting your timid efforts for his own selfish needs. Flipping your skirt up with ease, chewing on his lip right at the slight sliver of pussy you allow him to see. And though under any other circumstance—perhaps with a lover, and not someone like you—he’d appreciate the teasing a little more. Would enjoy dragging the moment out for as long as his weak heart could handle; but he simple can’t wait any longer. Driven purely by lust, he taps his cock against your mound once or twice in a begging to hurry the fuck up, smearing beads of precum over the condom until your barrier is fully removed to the side, and he’s instead tapping his tip against your warm, soaked little sit.

Fucking fans, he internally chastises you. He’s got no idea how you’re not somehow mortified about your actions tonight. Gross.

Though the fact that you are in fact already this ready for him is a bonus. Means he doesn’t have to put any more effort in, tilting his hips without a word to angle his condom covered cock down towards your hole, one hand digging his nails into the fat of your thighs to help you sit up a bit to help accommodate his length.

“Sit.” He breathes, not intending on commanding, but you seem to misconstrue his words as such anyway in one fell swoop. Forcing him into shooting upright, briefly, before falling back down onto the cheap sheets once your ass is plush against his thighs. Sopping wet, aiding in the stretch his cock imprints inside of your eager hole—you could at least pretend not to be so desperate. It’s not a good look.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, giving himself a second to adjust to the feeling of your vice grip tight cunt, imagining that part of it must be a genuine attempt not to let him leave, and that you simply cannot be this fucking tight right off the bat. His ego won’t allow it. “Are you—” he swallows thickly, biting his tongue. “You ready?”

You surely look it. Flushed cheeks, lips parting in an attempt to breathe through the girth he provides, a moan caught behind your tongue because he hasn’t given you permission to move, let alone speak yet.

But he doesn’t have the time for any allegations of anything sinister, so he’s obliged to ask, despite how enthusiastic you are about taking his cock.

You nod as quickly as you can, and he notices a small gulp, a little swallow to try and steel yourself for whats about to come. He doesn’t intend on playing too roughly, but you have wasted enough of his time already.

With all the respect you currently deserve, he draws his hips back as much as he can—which really isn’t much at all, given how flush you are against him—before snapping them back against you, resulting in a slight bounce that he immediately takes advantage of by repeating the action again and again, his palms gripping to your waist to keep you steady enough to take his cock, because he’s selfish and doesn’t so much care for your safety as he does for his own pleasure. Which means you must stay put, besides the bouncing he’s fucking you into, otherwise his cock might slip free and he doesn’t have the patience to hump his way back inside.

It’s not like he hears you complaining about his greedy attitude anyway. Immediately holding onto his sweat soaked top for dear life, mouth hanging open now as hushed moans threaten to slip past your tongue, hot breath fucked out of you with his sudden fast pace; now that he’s started, he hasn’t a hope in stopping. Not when it feels so good to be using you like this, an external show of his frustration, his disgust in how hopeless you are for him. What was he even mad about in the first place…?

Oh, right. Sam and Abi taking a stand against some bullshit decision for the band—God, he’s still so riled up about it. Enough to just…

Without thinking, a hand raises to the back of your head, shaky in the vice hold it soon takes of your hair as he fucks faster at the argumentative memory. He can’t help but to feel like this is a low point in his life, wrapping your hair between his bruised knuckles, giving you as much of a knowing look as he possibly can without his eyes rolling to the back of his skull when you ride his cock like that, even if forced into the motion from how mean his unfair thrusts are. Like he’s mad at you. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? Just a needy, pathetic little fan, who wants nothing from him besides his cock. So you nod, like he’d expected, before he tightens his grip on your hair and he pulls.

The neck his action reveals has him drooling, just a little. Spurred on by how tight your little cunt gets at his roughness, cheap bed promising to break under the harsh squeaks his humps make. But he’s gotta hand it to you—you sure do look pretty when getting fucked.

“Takin’ me— ah, taking it so well,” he corrects himself through breathless grunts. Licking his lips absently as he appreciates the view of you without your face front and centre, so that you’re unable to watch him enjoy himself ruin your tight hole. “That’s it, atta girl—” he encourages, just to keep you nice and tight and wet for him, cock throbbing at the feeling of your slick dripping down to the sheets under his ass.

He’s not entirely sure if the dizziness he’s experiencing is from the weed or from how hot the back room gets when he’s fucking you as hard as he can, heaving with panted gasps for air as you continue to bounce up and down his fat cock, letting him set the pace with heavy, eager humps for more. Of you? Surely not, more catharsis. Tonight’s previous annoyance slowly ebbing away with every well timed thrust, fucking as deep as he possibly can to finally make those pretty moans spill from your parted lips, a sound that forces his mind further away from the band to instead focus on the present.

At the way you grip his cock like a champ, even with the condom on he can feel your walls fluttering around him, like you’re trying to prove yourself to him or something. Even as you struggle to take the pace he fucks you at, your grip slipping once or twice as you instead rely on him to keep you upright with his nails digging gently into your scalp and the other steadfast on your hip. Pushing you down onto his cock so that not much gets to leave before he’s already slamming back up into you, channelling all of his restless energy into precise, brutal thrusts that leave you squeaky.

He hasn’t the willpower to be annoyed at the sounds you make when his cock seems to easily enjoy them. Shuddering precum from his tip, begging to mark you from the inside out—not that he’d ever grace you with such niceties, but the frustration builds in his balls as he instead takes to fucking you faster. Harder, tugging on your hair one last mean time before returning to your hips, and lifting you into the air. Just a little, enough so that you’re kneeling instead of sitting, allowing him complete control to ruin you some more. Fuck his shape into you so that no one else seems to fit, so that you’ll spend forever wishing that he’d just pick you, trying to replace the feeling of tonight for as long as you live because nothing could ever compare to fucking him, right? To live out every fans dream, taking his fat cock over and over again, able to reach out and touch his chest, his neck, his cheek—right before he tugs his face away under the guise of a rough moan.

Besides, it’s much easier to swallow his guilt over the act of fan fucking when he imagines you as a realistic toy. Just something for him to play with and nothing more, his rhythm slipping up once or twice as your volume increases, some sort of mantra consisting solely of his name that goes straight to his cock escapes you, heels planted firmly against the sheets to help leverage his hips up and up, not once providing you with a break because this is all about him and how he feels.

Which is good, mind you. So good, a string of curses escaping him at the way you just… Just let him use you like this. Like you’re happy to do so, biting down on your bottom lip with cracked pleads for more, clinging to him with sheer desperation as he seeks more of that selfish pleasure you’re so eager to offer him. Small, tight little hole wrapping around him so perfectly, so nice and snug, leaving him a little breathless as short huffs and groans are all that crawl up his throat. No words are needed beyond please, yes, oh my God, not when your cunt is doing all the talking for him. Contracting around him, so obviously on the cusp of feeling better than you ever have—and likely ever will—that the intense milking grip of your hole around his fat cock has him struggling to hold on. Using your heated skin for stability, praying that the bed doesn’t break under the weight of his fast fucks, he tuts quietly at your inability to last long yourself.

Not that he expected anything more of you, but he nonetheless fucks harder at your signals. Thrusting deeper, keeping you pinned in place with rough hands as he forcibly bounces you up and down, staring directly at your tits as they bounce with you, pretty cleavage almost hypnotising him as he concentrates on the way your cunt takes him. Wet squelches of your enjoyment echo in the small room around him, the bed under him violently begging for a break as he only pays attention to himself, fucking at a tempo that suits him, a greedy grunt driving him forward as he thrusts a couple more times for good measure.

And even as he’s cumming, spilling the accumulation of frustration and pity into the condom you so nicely adorned him with earlier, he’s still fucking into you. Small stuttered thrusts to completion, milking himself empty inside of your useful cunt until he’s completely spent, only letting go of the iron grip he has of you once he’s sure that he’s done, and even then he’s still circling his hips idly once you’re settled back down on his lap.

He’s not sure if you came too, and he’s certainly not fussed either way. Catching his breath in the now stuffy room, a wave of disgust washes over him at the lovesick little look you send his way. Only he hasn’t the strength at all now to mimic your affection, abstaining from such niceties to instead squeeze his eyes shut with a throw back of his head.

He’ll blame the weed, he decides. I was under the influence, that’s all.

“Was it good?”

Even you don’t assume to speak so highly about yourself. It’s not I, but rather it.

“Yeah,” he sighs, shifting his hips away from you in a plead for you to get up off of him, which you thankfully understand without any complaint, allowing him to remove and tie the condom off to the side. The sight of his spent seed grosses him out, a welling of frustration tightening around his chest. “Thanks.” He manages to huff out.

“Sure,” you plop back down onto the bed, waiting a second for him to lazily look over at you, and then down at your lower half, before settling back at on your face. “I uh, I suppose I should get going, right?”

Thank fucking God.

“Right, the crew should be back soon and…” And, well, you know. He doesn’t want to entertain you any more than he already has.

“Yeah, no, totally. I get it!” You smile genuinely at him, and all he feels in your regard is shame. Some regret too, maybe. “Lemme just…”

Behind you is some miscellaneous items brought on by himself, Sam, Abi, and God knows who else. Some leftover makeup from previous fans no doubt, empty alcohol cans, and more of the like. But most importantly to you is a small notepad and pen.

Sebastian rolls his eyes when you aren’t looking.

“Here,” you hand him the obvious phone number once scribbled down, a sickening little heart underneath it as if it’d help your case. “N-not that I wanna assume or anything but…”

“Thanks.” He takes the paper passively, yawning as he stretches out on the ruined sheets in an effort to get you gone sooner.

An awkward silence fills the air before you finally take the hint, and once again thank him for his time before heading out. Though he waits until he hears the bus door open before calling a halfhearted “Stay safe getting home!” to you, knowing full well that the almost forgotten about nicety will likely make your night.

as far as first dates go, junhui would say this one has been pretty good. sometimes you really click with someone right away, and he can’t speak for you but he definitely felt it tonight. you’d spent so long talking together, that the waiter had had to ask you to leave so they could close the restaurant.

"can we park somewhere?" you ask suddenly, to his curiosity. he nods and pulls into the exit lane to get off the freeway, but the next words that come out of your mouth he wouldn’t have guessed in a million years.

"i've been really wet since dinner, and… i wanna ride you. if that's cool, i mean."

his cheeks have never turned that many shades of red so quickly before, but he's not one to complain when an opportunity presents itself. he can't lie and say he hasn't been stealing glances at your beautiful tits all night long and hoping that sooner or later he'll get to see them bouncing in his face.

it doesn't take long before he's found a secluded spot at the back of an empty parking lot; it's past midnight, after all, and most places are closed by now. as soon as the ignition's shut off you're scrambling to unbuckle your seatbelt and climbing over the center console to plant yourself in his lap, and god, you can already feel how hard he is beneath you. 

his hands find your waist immediately, starting to slide up your sides as you fumble with your pants. you can't remember the last time you were this greedy, this impatient, and especially on a first date. but the way his hair falls in his face, the way he’d grinned mischievously at you every time you’d make a joke, and the way he's been staring at you all fucking night like he wants to devour you — you can't help but want him.

you can feel your panties sticking to you as you push them away and slide them down your legs. the crampedness of his car and the way your body is angled makes it awkward to pull off gracefully, but neither of you seem to care. his hands are still gripping your sides with his thumbs beneath your breasts, resting there almost like he's forgotten what he's doing. his eyes are fixed on your face, enamored with the little frustrated scrunch of your nose as you struggle to fling your clothes off.

he finally seems to snap back into action when you've successfully stripped your lower half and begin focusing your attention on his jeans. he squeezes your sides a little rougher, just enough to get you to stop, and your eyes flick back up to his.

"can— can i see these?" he asks, his voice a little more gruff as his fingers slide closer to your breasts. 

the wicked grin you give him in return makes the both of you start to move a little faster. his dick is painfully hard by now, and all he wants to do is press his nose between your tits until he suffocates in them.

you take your hands off his zipper and move up to your tank top, pulling it down to sit beneath your breasts. you start to reach behind you to unclip your bra, but he's too quick; within seconds you feel the pressure in your back release, the straps slipping down your shoulders as his fingers expertly undo the clasp. he does it too easily, too practiced, and it only makes you want those fingers inside you all the more. 

he doesn't hesitate to remove the loose fabric and toss it into the backseat, leaving your breasts bare on display in front of him. his hands resume their position at your chest, and he's so fixated on them that you don't even think he fully notices when you go back to working on his zipper.

but his attention refocuses when he feels the pressure from his pants loosen, and he lets out a groan when he looks down and sees your hand palming his bulge. he's no stranger to one night stands and he's had more than his fair share of hookups, but god, this might actually be the best night of his life. he manages to bring one hand away from your boobs long enough to swipe it between your legs, and he nearly hisses at the feeling. you weren't lying earlier—you're fucking soaked. so much so that when he pulls his hand away to look, three of his fingers glisten under the dim streetlight, connected by thin strings of your arousal.

he needs you on his cock, now, and judging by the slick on his hand you're probably wet enough to take him without any prep. but his last shred of sense is screaming at him to sink his fingers deep into your pussy first until you're shaking on his lap, and he's obliged to listen.

he's never been this desperate to fuck someone before, and if he had any coherent thoughts still running through his brain he might be embarrassed about that. but you're so equally enthusiastic that he honestly can't bring himself to care. it's not every day that a date goes this well, so you might as well enjoy it.

junhui traces your entrance with his fingertips, making wide circles around the area without touching where you really want him. he's teasing, he can't help it, but he's also waiting for you to let him continue. he glances up at your face again, and he smirks in satisfaction when he sees that cute little frustrated scrunch of your nose again, your mouth hanging slightly open and your shoulders braced in concentration.

"you want my fingers?" he asks. he's trying unbelievably hard not to push his hips upward to get the feeling of your wetness brushing against his bulge. it's probably even more restraint than it's taking you to not start grinding down on his leg and work yourself to completion that way. but the voice of reason in the back of your head is telling you that that won't be nearly as satisfying as cumming on his cock or his fingers will be, and so you resist.

"please," you choke out, your hips writhing in the air from the lack of stimulation.

he finally complies, teasingly tracing around your lips one last time before pushing into you. you can feel his fingers getting wetter and wetter each time he plunges them into you, curling them at just the right angle that makes your knees weak on either side of his hips. your whole body is alight from his touch, every nerve on fire, and you already know it's not going to take much more for you to fall apart. 

his other arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you firmly planted against him despite how hard your body instinctively tries to buck away from the pleasure. your hands fall to his shoulders as you struggle to hold on, and you're sure he can feel your nails digging into his skin, but he doesn't say anything. he just continues to fuck you with his fingers, silently watching your face as the car fills with wet, messy noises. no one in your life has ever gotten you this close so quickly.

suddenly he pulls his fingers out, and you shudder in frustration as you feel your orgasm ebbing away. he holds his dripping fingers in front of your face, and without him even needing to ask, you open your mouth and welcome them. his fingers are hot against your lips, the bitter taste of your own arousal coating the inside of your mouth as you swirl your tongue around them. somehow he doesn't seem shocked at your immediate reaction; he seems pleased, even. yeah, this is the man you've been waiting for all your life.

your eyelashes flutter as you suck, unable to control the choked whimpers and whines that slip past your lips. your self control is waning, and without thinking your hips start to grind against him, desperate to keep the stimulation going.

you're quick to speak after he pulls his fingers from between your lips, satisfied with the way you've cleaned them for him. "wanna cum on your cock, junnie," you whimper. the nickname slips out without thinking, and you’re still unconsciously rubbing yourself against his clothed bulge. your eyes are blown wide when he looks at you, and while the rational part of his mind knows it's because it's dark outside, he can't help the surge of pride that rushes through him seeing you so fucked out already. if this is what you look like, just from riding his fingers? he can't wait to see what you look like taking more.

"you want my cock, baby?" he groans, testing out a nickname of his own and watching how you bloom from the praise.

you lift your hips enough for him to pull his dick out of his pants and finally get a good look at what's going to be rearranging your guts tonight.

"you're so— thick," you choke out, trying not to stumble over your words, but your mouth is watering at the sight of him and all the previously reasonable thoughts in your brain have instantly been replaced with pure want. he's so much bigger than you expected.

"can you take it?" he says, confidence faltering a little when he sees how enraptured you're staring. he's used to hearing the shock and excitement in people’s voices when they see him, but he knows from experience that having a big dick isn't always what it's cracked up to be.

you're silent for another second, blinking as you try to collect your thoughts, and then you lift your head and kiss him hard. but you pull away just as quickly, barely giving him time to register everything as you nod.

"yeah. i can. want you to make it fit," you breathe out, a whisper against his lips, and all he can do is groan and kiss you again. he pulls you tighter against him as your mouths crash together, the heat between you building more and more with each passing second. he's still not even inside you yet, but you're both moving your hips in tandem as if he was, chasing the friction that isn't there yet.

junhui finally pulls back again, creating barely enough room to slip his hand between your bodies and fist his cock. his free hand squeezes your hips roughly to get you to stop moving long enough to line himself up with your pussy.

you finally sink down onto his length, and both your loud groans fill the compact space. he hisses at the tight feeling around his cock as you whimper, eyes squeezed shut again in concentration. he can feel your walls throbbing against him as he struggles to keep himself still, knowing you're still adjusting. fuck, he wants nothing more than to pound into you like there's no tomorrow, but he has to wait. he's way too close to the edge already, so he starts counting the seconds in his head to try and distract himself until you're ready. you can feel every inch of him stretching you open, buried so deep in you that it makes your head spin.

your legs are already starting to burn from sitting in this position but after another minute once your muscles start to relax, you manage to lift yourself up and push your hips back down. it's an agonizingly slow rhythm as his cock forces itself into the tight space, but you still haven't quite caught your breath. you keep moving at this pace, up down, up down, in out, in out, until he grips your hips and pulls you down to stop your motion with him fully buried inside you.

"want me to take over?" he whines, and it catches you off guard to hear his voice a little higher and a little more broken than before. 

the noise that leaves your mouth can only be described as inhuman, and he nods in acknowledgement as you give up control. there's a few seconds of pause, as if giving you a chance to change your mind, before he snaps his hips upward and you immediately let out a squeak, a heavy breath of pleasure mixed with relief. his arms settle around your lower back for leverage, which forces you to arch your spine and push your chest into his face. but that only seems to spur him on even more as he buries himself in your breasts, pressing against his cheeks. 

when jun groans you can practically feel the reverberations in your ribcage, and you wrap your arms around his head to keep him in place. the new pace he's set isn't much faster than before, but it's a thousand times more intense as he fucks into you, filling every part of you to the brim with each thrust.

it only takes a few more rough snaps of his hips before the coil inside you breaks, and you have to hold back a scream as your body contorts in ways you didn't even know were possible. your voice is nearly hoarse as you cry out his name over and over again, begging him not to stop, not to change anything, to please just keep fucking you. and he listens, doing his best to keep you upright despite the way you writhe in his grip. with your breasts in his face he can feel your heartbeat in his ears as if it's his own, and it takes so much concentration to make sure he doesn't immediately follow you over the edge right after. when your shaking starts to subside a little and he's positive he can't hold back any longer, he tips his head back to speak.

"where can i—"

you interrupt before he can get all the words out. "inside. i'm on the pill. please."

he whines and buries his face in your breasts again, leaving sloppy kisses all over your skin between curses muttered under his breath. with a few more rough thrusts he's done, holding you even tighter against him as he spills into you and groaning louder when you clench your muscles around him.

"fuckin' milking my cock," he hisses into your chest with eyes shut, his voice rough from how hard he's focused.

your hip bones ache, both from the position and from the sheer size of him that you aren’t accustomed to, and you slump into the passenger seat with your legs still across his lap. his hand immediately slides between your thighs, his large palm cupping your pussy to collect his cum that's beginning to leak out of you. it takes him a second before he's able to form words, but he rubs your thigh soothingly as nods at you.

"napkins in the glove box," he manages, and you're jolted back to reality as you remember you're still laid out in his car and he probably doesn't want to get cum all over his seats.

with his free hand he reaches for your panties, which somehow ended up on the dashboard, and he passes them over to you as he starts to clean you up. you lean your head back against the window and let out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to come back down. the cold glass sends a chill through you as you feel the warmth beginning to drain out of you, bare skin prickling with goosebumps.

after a few minutes and a few crumpled napkins tossed on the floor, he clears his throat, and you manage to refocus your eyes enough to meet his gaze. 

"your place, or mine?"

"huh?"

your ears are still ringing from the intensity of your orgasm, and you're not sure what he just said. it kinda sounded like he wants to sleep over with you, but there's no way a guy as hot as him wants more than just a quick fuck.

"would you rather go home or come back to my place?" he repeats. "i'm not leaving you alone after that. you need a shower, and probably some tylenol." he winces a little and looks down at his lap, and it's almost strange to see him so shy after he just fucked you into another dimension. "i probably should've given you more warning. car sex isn't that easy on a first date, but fuck, you took it so well, and—"

"you can come over to mine," you interrupt him, still laying halfway in the passenger seat and trying not to be completely useless even though you feel like a melted puddle. "best first date i've ever had."

you can tell the exact moment that your words register in his brain, because the relief that spreads across his face is plain as day. as soon as you can muster all the strength you have left, you sit up and pull your legs back over into your seat, pushing yourself into a comfortable position.

"next time i want to fuck your tits," he exhales shakily as he puts his seatbelt back on, though his voice comes out more like a squeak.

"next time?" you ask, making your best attempt to playfully raise an eyebrow at him. he may be bringing you home and taking care of you, but that doesn't guarantee there's going to be a next time. well, maybe it does. you're really looking forward to there being a next time.

he scoffs, only fumbling a little bit to shove his keys into the ignition. "don't play dumb. i know you enjoyed that. don't act like you don't wanna see yourself covered in my cum after i'm done with you."

the shiver that runs down your spine and the way you instinctively press your thighs together is all the confirmation he needs.

© junkissed 2026. do not repost or translate. ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 want to be notified when i post new fics? join my taglist!

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did please reblog with your thoughts, or leave a comment or send an ask! it shows me that people are interested in my writing, and knowing people liked this makes me want to write more! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into my writing, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!

its not like you really had a chance anyways. the truth is, you were fucked from the moment he spotted you. and it just made it all the more easy for him to go through with it, too, what with him making it out to be your idea; your tease of a threat–your innocent joke–to find him backstage was met with a taunt of his own, and really it’s cute how obedient you were to follow instructions when he beckoned you from around the back door after the show. down to those shocked, wide eyes you looked at him with, just the spitting image of a helpless deer.

it was even cuter when, after he’d ransacked his precious stash to provide you both with a shot of liquor in celebration of finishing the performance, you were too stupid to notice the hastily dissolving tablet as he handed you the small glass. stupid because he didn’t even try to hide it—had it right under your nose literally while he pretended to conversate with you before coaxing you into finally downing it. could barely keep himself contained when he saw how it went down your throat, itching to squeeze it closed or stuff it full he didn’t know. hopefully soon, you’d be in the right headspace to make the decision for him.

its only a couple more minutes of letting you lead the conversation–‘i don’t mean to be a bother to your band mates,’ ‘what was that drink anyways?’ ‘it’s getting kind of warm in here, don’t you think..?’–before he sees your eyelids set deeper and your lashes fluttering as you try to keep them open. he’s already buzzing with excitement, the anticipation coursing from his gut to his fingertips and the top of his head, nearly turning himself dizzy in the blur but he brings himself back with the thought that you were way too easy..

he cracks a forced half-smile, soft in a way to be unassuming, and uses the adrenaline to will himself into standing from the tattered black couch. he smears his palms on his too-tight jeans–they were drenched–and almost laughs at himself for being too easy to get excited.

he makes his way to the door in a steady stride, looking back briefly to see you lay yourself on the couch lazily fanning your face. you’re watching him and he wonders for a moment if that’s concern lacing your eyebrows. he attempts to sway your worries with another tight lipped smile, gripping on the handle of the door as if to open it and let in some air, just to wiggle it to double check it’s left locked.

“hey–” he turns with a hand out, palm facing down, “don’t worry.. i’ll take care of ya.”

he feels that same buzz of excitement when he hears a whimper get caught in your throat. he swallows thickly, keep it in your pants, fuck, and keeps himself from pouncing now by busying himself with cracking the small vent-sized window high on the wall adjacent to the couch. not just for your sake at this point, but for his own too.

his hand digs in his zipped open jacket for that familiar rectangular box, fishing out a cigarette with practiced movements and lighting it with equal ease. the end burns with orange embers as he takes a deep inhale through the filter, puffing at it a few times and letting the excess smoke wash over his raised hand. the harsh sensation on his throat contrasts to how it soothes his mind–each inhale almost a peek into the euphoric buzz that will be getting to indulge in you all while he convinces you it’s what you want. it's what you need now that his handy little drug has taken effect. he’ll make sure of it.

he turns on a heel to step back towards you, eyes on how you’ve tucked your legs up near you on the couch and the resulting swell of your thighs. his mouth is already watering and he needs to take a heavy gulp before he speaks again,

“look, see…you’re just a bit hot, right?” his smirk this time is genuine, but ideally you won't be privy to the real reason why, “people don’t usually wear thick sweaters like yours to crowded shows like this,” a low chuckle gets caught in his throat, focused on making sure his hands trembling with excitement don’t drop his half-smoked cigarette on your face while he brushes a few stray strands of hair back into place.

and the sweater you wear isn’t even that outlandish for the event; in fact it was probably standard attire, rips and tacky graphic and all. but at this point he’s banking on the fact that you hold him on too high a pedestal–and are gullible enough to believe him.

you nod slow, in a manner like you didn’t really hear him but go along with what he says anyways.

“it’s.. yeah… makin’ me dizzy, too..” and another victorious ding sounds in his head. he can’t hold himself back another moment, greedy paws already going to grab at the sweater resting on your waist while he makes room for himself on the couch with your resting form. scrambling like he just can’t help himself, like he needs to be pressed up against your warm and smaller-than-his body in the next few moments or he’ll truly snap. he manages to fit in front of you, almost pushing you back down into the cushion with how oppressively he traps you in.

“don’ worry, i gotcha,” he huffs under his breath, like it doesn’t matter to him whether you heard or not. it’s not genuine reassurance in the first place anyways.

there was really no reason to wiping his palms before; he can feel how the sweat is already back on his hands and the back of his neck, prickling his skin with the accompanying goosebumps that arise from feeling and hearing your pathetic breaths fan between you two. almost like a teaser for how he’ll have you sounding in a few moments, once he gets out of his head and the fantasies planted in his brain just from the way you had watched him while he was on stage.

his free hand curls around the thick of your sweater at last. his eyes are glued to where your skin peeks below the hem, and his lecherous smirk is an unconscious reaction when you don’t seem to protest his upward tugs at the fabric. in his haste the burning out cigarette gets tucked between your pretty pout, just to grab both your wrists and maneuver them above your head.

“stay just like that,” like you had a choice in the first place–your muscles were way too weak at this point to try and struggle. entirely uncoordinated and way too eager he pulls up your sweater, revealing the expanse of your soft tummy to his dark hungry gaze. and even despite just placing the cigarette in your mouth, he spares no time as he pulls almost desperately to get it over your head and off your arms, leaving the cuffs around your wrists like flimsy make-shift handcuffs.

another high pitched whine of yours blesses his ears and his cock pulses with his heart for a beat until–

“mmh.. s’gross,” manages to tumble past your lips and the white roll falls as a result, landing at your collarbone next to the strap of a bra he’s sure you hadn’t planned to show anyone; literally ripping at the seams and very obviously well-worn. he was shocked you managed to open your mouth again, chuckling lightly in disbelief–no, awe–at your determination to stay conscious. like you want to bear witness to what his depraved mind has convinced him to do.

like it somehow makes it okay if you seem conscious enough to say no if you want to, but you don’t, and who is he to say no to you offering yourself up so nicely. the way you squirm under his weight and rub your sticky skin against his palms you don’t even know that you’re only making it more exciting. how the light bounces off your sweat and creates a mesmerizing pattern, only sucking him deeper into the spell you had unknowingly put him in. or maybe you did know and that would make it all the better–because that’d mean that you want it.

you squirm again from the sensation of the burning end of the cigarette singing your collarbone. blinking he realizes his palms are groping the fat of your chest and molding to the shape of his hands, bulging between his digits and turning his mouth dry.

as if burned by your touch he draws his hands back with another idea. he suddenly remembers the joint he indulged in only halfway and set aside before he had to make appearances for the show, left for later on the very coffee table next to him; now in his hold again with his lighter fast approaching.

“try this instead then,” he speaks between a harsh drag of his own and another that he huffs into your mouth as he grabs at your jaw meanly to keep it open. 

he exhales the heavy smoke into your untrained lungs and yet your sputtering coughs don’t dissuade him–in fact they make it all the harder to not shut you up with his own mouth; show you how to handle the green and just let it take over your mind so he can take over your body.

he’s practically trembling in his excitement; it’s a wonder how he doesn’t collapse right on top of you where you lay catching your breath. you make it even harder on him when your eyes, squeezed shut to protect against the fanning weed smoke, drop tears down your temples thanks to how hard you’re coughing. your mouth, opened so wide to take in large greedy gulps of fresh air yet all you get is more of the dizzying smoke sucked from his own stash that he’s bestowing unto you–be grateful that he’s willing to sacrifice so much.

he finds himself a moment later almost having gotten carried away–thank god he caught himself before his own mind slipped too far. between his fingers is now just a roach and fuck rocking the hardening bulge in his pants up against your thighs suddenly feels so heavenly. and to think–had he not done all this, he might’ve never known! now that would just be too unfair, y’see–you’re such a tease–so he just had to make it right. eyelids setting heavier over his eyes already he drops what was left of the roll to the floor, uncaring of where it ends up.

his self control has thinned enough now, he decides. he can practically taste you on the tip of his tongue–saccharine and syrupy he just knows it. can’t bear to have it so close but so far anymore.

your bottoms are being tugged down to your thighs before your mind even has a chance to catch up, what with you still reeling from the smoke in your lungs and the resulting haze. you only register how exposed you’ve suddenly become when the air of the room feels cool against your inner thighs and sends a shiver up your spine.

“shit– you’re s’wet..” he huffs the words like they were never meant for you in the first place–maybe they weren’t, almost reverent and entirely desperate. your eyes finally open again, fuzzy and unfocused when you realize he hasn’t just exposed you, no–he’s already dived in, can’t even help himself. the line between your copious amounts of slick and the saliva dripping from his greedy maw is entirely blurred and the resulting sounds make your head heat with a self-conscious flush.

“w-wait… what are you…!” your confused plea falls on seemingly deaf ears, small and far too hushed to be convincing. your weak neck attempts to lift your head to catch sight of the mess of hot breath and spit between your legs.

should be illegal how good you taste–how well the drug worked–making you pour all this sweetness like an overflowing pot of honey into this frenzied bear’s mouth. his hands dig into the backs of your thighs, carving small crescents into the flesh. with brows furrowed he only sinks in further, drinking you down in earnest and worshipping your little hole.

it’s enough to make you squirm under his surprisingly strong grip, but with that powdered pill coursing through your veins you aren’t sure if your hips are bucking away or towards him for more. it’s effects we’re almost dizzying, a swift punch to your senses and making you feel hot, oh so hot. covered in a thin sheen of sweat and radiating every mind-numbing throb from your core to your every nerve. with that cursed nose of his, big, but strong–yet cute, you’d thought earlier in the night, bumping against your swollen clit sending involuntary shocks of pleasure through your every hyper-sensitive limb. and when he gives that a break just to suck and flick at it hard with his tongue, you know. you know that your hips are canting towards his awaiting mouth, that you welcome the trembling of your legs from the unending onslaught of his ministrations, and that you want more.

“did you.. what’d you jus’ say?”

the poor thing you are, all drugged up and pliant, didn’t even notice you said those words out loud. even all sluggish and quiet, he’s sure he heard those words right and it damn near makes him short circuit on the spot.

“not.. ‘nuff… need more,” you almost don’t recognize your own voice, how breathless and faraway it sounded in your own ears, the words processing then instead of before they tumbled out of your mouth. and… well, who was he to deny you offering yourself up so nicely.

between the heartbeat rattling against his ribcage like a bird in captivity and the same heartbeat just below his waistband, he’s wound up enough to know he doesn’t need to ask anymore questions–not that he really had to. he unclasps his belt with one hand, keeping your legs up with the other; not bothering to pull his own pants down more than necessary. just enough to flip the zipper open and dig his hand down his briefs to yank his cock out.

and he wastes no time at all lining himself up with your weeping hole which he just can’t seem to tear his eyes from, clenching around nothing but his swollen tip and turning his mouth dry. it’s as he blinks slowly, almost a split-second decision to sink himself in entirely that he curses lowly and the breath is punched out of both of your lungs.

you feel even better than he could’ve imagined, somehow. whether that be the weed in his system, or that pill in yours, or his own underestimation. he’s throbbing and aching to pound you silly and soothe that tight burn low in his gut–if only he could get a grip first. his sweaty palms release your legs which fall uselessly to either side of his hips, the heat from them alone enough to have him reeling. he hunches over you like he’s mounting you, gripping at your hips like a lifeline and holding your ass up off the couch to get even deeper. nudging right up against the spongy spot inside that makes you whimper. so pathetic and high-pitched he’s convinced you’re out to kill him.

he almost laughs, “ooh, fuck.. you have such a slutty little hole–” a depraved smile on his face but his brows furrowed, really just in disbelief. and it’s as if saying it out loud made it all the more real, but he still holds his breath as he grinds involuntarily into your gummy walls just to check. “s’like you’re suckin’ me in..” he scoots in closer, letting your hips rest on his thighs. and interestingly enough, he can’t seem to sit still.

the hot drag of your walls along his cock is all he can focus on, all he can bare to keep up with. he’s truly screwed himself somehow–put himself in the position of being devoted to humping up against you until he can’t anymore. “fuck, wait.. quit– quit squeezin’ so hard,” he’s choking up, unable to catch his breath with how restless his hips are. practically huffing down your neck and drooling over your skin, hunched over like a man starved finally getting fed. in some twisted way he is; finally found the one that’ll satiate his craving, sit back and let him take what he needs, but not just that–you asked for it, and that fact alone is making him go haywire.

“c-can’t,” you hiccup, mind already utter mush and body jolting with every gushy thrust. your fingers are clawing at the outturned sleeves still encasing your wrists; unable to get them off with your arms as weak as they are, you opted for leaving them there. in hindsight, it was a good decision. especially considering it was the only thing keeping you grounded right now, no thanks to the guy who was seemingly trying to fuck you right off the edge of the couch. the one who doubles down when he notices your back bowing reflexively, using it as motivation to really give you more like you asked for. “s’too m-much!”

“nonono, you wanted this,” he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and tugs you back towards him with his bruising grip, your head ending up positioned in such a way where you have no choice but to watch him sink into you over and over, “yer gonna– mmfuck– take it,” his voice breaks and so does the sharp tone, pleading more than anything through his low whines.

for a moment, you cant look away–every lewd clap of skin ringing in your ears accompanied by the sight, the feeling–and when he drags you on the couch to properly fuck into you, changing the angle and rearranging your insides to fit his shape you fall apart.

every thrust is a pain turned pleasure shooting up your spine, the blunt tip of his dick bullying your poor cervix, but you still only want more. you’re so close already, can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. whatever was turning you silly was doing a damn good job, engulfing you in a heat that’s only being soothed by how relentless his thrusts are into your gummy walls. tightening the knot in your core, promising that sweet release, making your head and eyes roll back just before you will your lazy gaze to the source of a low broken groan.

you almost yelped out, one of his hands suddenly flying up to brace himself up against the armrest and effectively caging you in. after getting over the startle your eyes blink open again, refocusing on the face above you. his furrowed brow and slightly parted lips are dripping both sweat and saliva on your flushed skin, his own cheeks and nose similarly pinkened. the expression he makes, the utter desire and desperation written in his darkened eyes, literally drooling over you–your heart flutters suddenly and you can’t break your eyes away.

before this all started, before the drink and before even having the conversation that led you into this very room, you couldn’t deny your attraction to him. all quiet, brooding, mysterious; the only thing you knew about him was that the sight of his talented fingers stroking at the keys of that keyboard, lost in the music amidst the impressively-bustling bar crowd made you feel things. things not too different from what you’re experiencing now, just… intensified.

you tuned out everything else between the ad-libs of other onlookers and the pestering of your friends, your eyes settled snugly on the dark haired man up on the short stage that you could swear looked back at you. multiple times. and every time he did it was like you were bolted into place; at a standstill ignited by the skip of your heart like you were exchanging unspoken words.

after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

in the end, all you really cared about was getting him into your pants. and it ended up happening.

a broken moan tears from your throat, garbled and needy in a way that makes his head spin, almost confusing him, “f-fuck.. you really want this, don’t you…” it takes everything in him to stay up straight and not crush you under his weight when all you do is stare back like he’s the only person in the world. he drops his chin to his chest, hearing the beat of his heart rumbling in his ears to the same rhythm of his pulsing cock. turned so sensitive from the weed and the tight squeeze of your cunt like you’re trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

in an effort to stave off his own orgasm he grabs at the fabric of the armrest and your waist like a lifeline, his eyes closed tight enough to see stars.

“gonna.. c-cum,” you really are out to kill him, he thinks.

“wait–” he gasps, if not a bit too late; the tight squelch around him a sign enough that you’ve already started tumbling over that peak, “just a bit.. l-longer,” with the amount of pre spilling from him already and how taut his balls get squished against your ass, he doesn’t know if the words are meant for you or himself.

after everything, tossing and turning the idea around in his head–the very idea that landed you here in the first place; he can’t help but want to savor it. at least a little, y’know? relish in the siren song that was your moans and whimpers, lose himself in the feel of your devilish pussy… but hell, he’s been holding on by a string for too long and it snapped the second he felt a gush of pure wet splash up against his pelvis.

his hips squish down into you, trapping you between the scratchy couch cushion and the sudden flood of hot cum in your walls. “fuckk–” he hisses close to your ear, the arm holding him up having finally given up and opting to rest on his forearm instead. he doesn’t dare to let up on grinding down into you, the feel of you constricting around him and the mixed release spilling out far too addicting. you clamp down so hard it’s like you’re trying to force him out, pulling out every last drop of the thick white his cock rubs into you.

his heavy pants feel almost sticky against your neck and collarbone, spreading tingles over your sensitive skin. as the tension dies down the chill of the room enters your senses, prickling at your skin to raise goosebumps, cooling your throat as you drink in the freshness.

breath finally finds you again–him as well, it seems–the labored rise and fall of your chest evened out. but you still hear the beat of your own heart, noticeably speeding up when he starts shifting above you.

even after just resting above your head your arms are still weak and trembling, like loose rubber bands. you find the strength in your shoulders though to finally pull them back down and the sweater sleeves around your wrists finally slide off. not knowing what else to do with your hands, you decide to take a risk and rest them on his arms.

he lifts himself back up but his head is still cast downwards. the long hair of his fringe covers his eyes, messy and riddled with stray hairs. his skin is flushed a deep pink, but that can easily be explained by anything that took place within the last 10 minutes. what otherwise can’t be is how he doesn’t even try and meet your eyes–but he also doesn’t move to take his softening hard-on out yet either. both of his hands grip into the cushions of the couch, the fabric straining and groaning under his palms like he’s holding himself back from something.

his entire mind has been jumbled into disarray–he’s not sure where to start with the scattered pieces floating around his head. you’ve effectively thrown a wrench in his plans. it was simple before; easy, foolproof even. but it turns out he was the fool the whole time. how was he to try and go through with finishing up quick, dumping you out back after having his way with you once like was written in his mental plans, head out with his bandmates and fuck off to who knows where next. how could he ignore the residual rhythmic spasming of your cunt, your thighs pressing meekly to his hips, how the slight inhale of breath you take before speaking to him sounds so similar to the ones you took while he filled you to the brim–

“c.. can we keep going? m’still, y’know…”

the good thing about plans is: when one fails, there’s always a plan b.