cigaretteparfum-library

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Imagine, a lonely monster who lives in the shadows of city streets. Lurking in abandoned buildings, only creeping out at night. It has learned from bitter experience that it is a thing to be reviled, feared, or hunted. It kills well enough for food. Rats mostly, night birds, sometimes foxes if it's lucky. It lives a hungry, empty life.

One night when on the prowl, the beast comes across a little kitten alone. It's no bigger than a rat, and one leg too few. It would make a fine morsel to the monster, an appetiser- but...

Something in the way the little thing wobbles and mewls gives the monster pause. Such a young thing, alone and emaciated. Abandoned by its mother, perhaps, or just hopelessly lost. When the beast reaches out a clawed hand, the kitten cowers into it. As though the beast is a thing which can protect. As though the beast is a thing which can be gentle.

It begrudgingly spares the kitten, and pretends to be disinterested when the little fluffball follows it back to its lair. Food is scarce enough, for a monster this size, to sustain itself on rats alone. All the same, it leaves half a carcass for the kitten, pretending to be full.

Cold nights pass and though the kitten is too small to be of useful warmth, the creature curls around little fluffball. Neither of them have a concept of names, or security, or even a home. But as the winter comes to an end and the soft spring rains roll in, the monster starts to feel inklings of what a those things could be. What they would like them to be.

In the daylight, the kitten wanders. Just about the building at first, which is unsafe enough, but as it ages it grows bolder. Ventures out onto the streets. No longer so small and cute, the humans regard it as vermin. A problem. The monster tries to communicate this to fluffball - that they will never be wanted. That they must stay out of sight. But the cat is curious, and restless. Each dawn when the monster sleeps, it frets that the kitten will go out alone. Each dusk when it wakes, they are relieved to find fluffball there, sometimes with a fresh kill to share.

Then fluffball gets sick.

The beast hopes it will pass naturally. A wrong thing eaten, perhaps. A few parasites too many, maybe. These are the risks of being stray.

The sickness doesn't pass. Fluffball is passing blood regularly, growing thinner than thin, becoming weak. The beast does what it can to find enough food and fresh water and newspaper bedding. Nothing helps.

One twilight, the beast wakes and the little cat is not there. It waits and waits. Hopes fluffball will return on his own. He doesn't. He doesn't.

The monster does something he never does, then. He creeps out onto the human streets, following the familiar scent. Fluffball didn't go much farther than the road, it smells like. Hopelessly, the beast searches for the cat, alive or dead. Searches for closure. It finds none. The scent just... Ends.

A week of despondency passes. The beast has never felt this before. Loss. You cannot lose when you have nothing. It is a nauseating feeling. It is a curse. The beast curls into a corner and weeps.

Then, a familiar meow.

The monster bounds out of the shadows, delight proportional to the grief suffered. Fluffball is back - Fluffball is alive - Fluffball is... wearing some sort of contraption on his neck. The monster removes it; a plastic cone. Perhaps that is why the cat was gone, it thinks. Perhaps he got caught in litter and became trapped by it. A fate that befalls many urban strays.

The beast is just grateful that fluffball survived. More than survived, he looks healthy. Energetic. Hydrated. No more blood.

It is night when the intruder comes.

Human. Alone. Shining an electric light and calling loudly on the street outside. Humans don't normally linger by the abandoned building. They stop to do their secret transactions, sometimes, but usually they simply walk past. A part of them senses the monster, even if they don't understand why their hair stands on end. They never, never come inside.

This one does.

A healthy human, the monster thinks, watching unseen from the shadows. Lots of meat on the bones. Unaccompanied. No witnesses. It would feed Fluffball for days-

Fluffball betrays their position, prancing happily out of their hiding spot with a series of chirps and meows. The monster cannot believe his recklessness, until...

"There you are!" The human stoops and Fluffball runs right to their waiting hand. He rubs himself against them with a traitorous purr. "My poor little Peanut," the human coos. "You found your way home, huh? You must think this is still your territory."

The monster waits and watches, tail flicking in annoyance. This human must have alternative motives. Their kind never show patience to the strays. If Fluffball is harmed, the beast will not hesitate.

"No, don't apologise, it was my fault," the human makes kissie noises as Fluffball meows. Chattier than normal.

The beast restrains a huff. He's only this chatty when he's pleased.

"I thought that window was on a latch. It won't happen again," the human promises. To the monster's mortification, it picks Fluffball up. Fluffball let's it.

"You've got to take your medicine, oh yes you do," the human nuzzles, and Fluffball nuzzles back.

This is... a new kind of pain to the monster. Jealousy. Abandonment. And something more, something like... yearning.

"Let's go- hey!"

When the human attempts to take Fluffball away, the cat wriggles and jumps from their arm. He runs straight back to the shadows, the hiding spot, the monster.

The beast freezes, half pleased he is not forgotten, half petrified to be discovered. If it cannot kill the human, and Fluffball's affection means it cannot, then it doesn't know what to do with humans.

Fluffball meows in an announcing way.

"Hmm?" The human follows him over. Their light sweeps through the space. The beast cowers behind the debris of the old building, trying to hide. "What is it, Peanut?"

Oh no, the monster thinks. Oh no.

"Do you have a brother in there? I can take him home, too." The human crouches down near the shadows, rubbing their fingers together and making soft, hushing sounds. "Out you come, little guy. I don't mind another stray."

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Voluntary Sacrifice

inspired by this prompt/setup by @snowkissedmonsters as well as their art

The local werebear is in heat and its become a town concern. You, who's always been fascinated by him and doesn't much to lose reputationally, volunteer to help him through it.

If only he believed you were doing so voluntarily, instead of being forced by the council.

Can you convince him of your sincerity before the full moon rises?

Male werebear x human reader, Heat, NSFW

Status: Complete (One-shot)

Length: 12k

AO3: Voluntary Sacrifice

Prompt:

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

/

“Good luck!”

You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. You’ve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.

But you are, so so embarrassed. You don’t know exactly what you thought his reaction to you might be, but stonewalled indifference and complete refusal to even entertain the idea of mating with you wasn’t one of them. Heat licks at your cheeks from the way he’d looked at you, his lip curled in a snarl, something more than even just annoyance in his eyes. You’d felt the urge to shrink right then and there and only surprise kept you frozen upright.

You know you weren’t as young as the other unaffiliated women in town, weren’t as pretty, weren’t as agreeable, but surely he couldn’t smell your infertility or whatever made you feel so out of place with everyone else. What about you had been so offputting he’d not even considered you for a mate? You’d almost hoped that whatever made you so unappealing as a human mate might make you more appealing to a werebear. So much for that.

You’re not one for much dignity as it is, no one to stand on high graces, and you try not to let others’ opinions bother you, beyond where they interfere with your own ability to make your living. But even you can’t bring yourself to try to convince him to mate with you when he so clearly has absolutely no interest. Did you sacrifice what little standing you did have a reasonable and respectable person by volunteering for this only to not even be able to manage it? Was it for nothing?

You had only found the courage to approach him because of the surface-level reason of slaughtered livestock and fear for a person’s injury, but now, now you felt almost responsible for not being able to prevent such an occurrence. All because Temar found you unappealing.

You can’t leave without even saying more than a hasty word to him though. Maybe there’s some other way you can help. You’ve wanted an excuse to get to know him better for years, since you first saw him. Even before that, when someone stopped by your shop with some of the pelts they’d bought from him.

Beyond his attractive appearance being more than enough to draw your attention, he’s lived such an interesting life. The liaison was liberal with his stories and his own accomplishments in the war, but he never short-changed his friend. You also found the stories of people who have crossed him or questioned him entertaining more than scary. His refusal to play along with the petty etiquette of the town was funny, as were people’s puffed up reactions. Perhaps you should have expected this reaction after all, maybe he just doesn’t like humans.

The thought against brings embarrassed heat to your face once more as you remember how he’d looked in the doorway. His beard and mustache, short but full, the scar across his nose, those dark brown eyes. His hair was shaved on both sides, but long in the middle, pulled back into a loose bun and peppered with gray like his beard. Tall as you remember, but stockier—his frame particularly broad in the narrow doorway. You’d always found him especially handsome. There was no question what sort of were he was.

Before today, the closest you’d been was at the general store, behind him line for some flour, putting to rest the rumors that werecreatures only ate meat. His presence had fascinated you, large but contained. Wild but settled. Immovable, but not aggressive. Deliberate. You’d found your mind drifting to thoughts of him that night. Your mind liked to turn the idea of him over, half speculation, half pieced together clues from overheard gossip. When you were particularly lonely or even just particularly cold, it was comforting to know he was on his own too. He seemed to prefer it even. You preferred your solitude most of the time as well—half caught between feeling like an outsider for the inclination, half relieved since that’s where you ended up. You wouldn’t mind another friend who felt so, a bit of company you didn’t need to perform in front of. And it would be nice, to be useful to someone else who had no one.

You know he needs help now, more than ever. The liaison had assured them at the meeting that Temar was making every attempt to contain himself. Which reassured you that you’d not missed a callous trend in his nature, but also made you want to help more—not help with the abstract problem, but help him. The next best solution that had been discussed—and would likely need to be implemented now that it turned out you’d failed, you realize with a sinking heart—was to institute a town wide curfew until this ran its course. But maybe there is still some way you can aid him, even if not by soothing his heat directly.

You stand up straight, pushing off the railing you’d been leaning against, and resolve to at least try to talk to him. After all, you understood his continued solitude, but it felt silly during the meeting, that he wasn’t there to lend his own input. Surely he had the most insight into his situation. He must know what he needed. You raise you hand to knock on the door when it opens before you even get the chance.

“If you ain’t gonna have the sense leave, then get in,” a gruff voice orders.

Your feet are moving before you fully register the words. Relief floods your veins. Well, that was easier than you expected. Perhaps things were turning around.

/

They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.

It had seemed promising: the smell of cooking food, the heat that filled the main room from the large fire, the sound of crackling logs. All ease some of the tension in your bones immediately—not to mention that same deliberate air Temar had, the one that made you feel steady and safe. Safe enough to want what you want, without your usual instinct to hide such thoughts and feelings until you were alone lest others use them to hurt you.

You try to focus on the room itself, from the handmade furniture—you’d have recognized Ben’s work if it was—to the scant decoration. The cabin was simple, unadorned, but solid. It suited him. It made the few personal items he had stick out all the more. The large blanket and rug to make the room feel lived in. The well-cared for hunting gear in the corner. The collection of copper kitchenware, clearly used often.

Nearly as soon as you finished your preliminary survey of his home, he makes it very clear he still did not want you. “No notion of what’s going on in that fool Anton’s head, leaving you on my porch like bottles of milk,” he sighs, looking disgruntled and you fight the urge to apologize. He tucks a strand of hair that escaped his bun behind his ear and your fingers itch to do the same. You clench them tighter behind you, upset at how wild your thoughts are in the face of his rejection. “Fess up, what did they tell you? I don’t know what those old fearmongers at the counsel did to make you come here, but I’ll not hold it against you—only them.”

You tilt your head as you watch him pace over the fire, trying to keep your eyes on his head, not how well he fills out his trousers. You realize belatedly that you must still need to clarify. “There was a town meeting, but I volunteered, like Anton said,” you reply tentatively. He’d heard what his friend said. Right? Maybe that was why he’d refused? Not because he found you so abhorrent.

Temar scoffs. “Anton wouldn’t recognize subtle coercion if it stabbed him the back.”

You frown, starting to get a little frustrated with his seeming inability to hear you properly. “Be that as it may, I can. It’s the truth.”

Temar raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he says flatly. “Just like five years ago, when I moved here and Miss Ketevan was left on my doorstop around harvest time. She just wanted to offer some apples before high tailing it out of there once her grandfather was out-of-sight. Must have been crying and yelling for some other reason.”

Your frown deepens. The last of your family had died around then and you’d not joined a town meeting for a full year, plenty busy with grief and figuring out how to run the dye shop without any guidance. Keti was a younger than you but had a reputation as a troublemaker so she had been in the gossip plenty. Her grandfather, Carlos, was on the counsel and had seemed to consider her something of an embarrassment.

You thought she’d run off with the milkmaid, not because she was a failed sacrifice to the new werebear neighbor. It does throw into relief some other statements at the meeting. Like Anton’s emphasis on volunteers as he’d stared Carlos’ down, which had led to no one but you speaking up—not even the brothel workers. They’d not said but you knew they feared clients shunning whoever they sent, let alone however they felt about the stigma and fear associated with werecreatures.

 “I have no idea what did or did not happen five years ago, I wasn’t at any of those meetings nor at your house,” you say with a shrug. “Keti’s moved to the other side of the river, according to her sister, and is quite satisfied there. None of which was brought up at the meeting today.”

“What do they have on you?” Temar asks, squatting to stoke the fire, as if you just didn’t want to tell the truth his face. Ignoring everything you were saying while still trying to get answers from you. You liked tell about how stubborn he was in gossip. You liked it less at this moment. “If I can aid you and you can go on home, you’re welcome to ask.”

“They don’t have anything on me,” you reply slowly, trying to match his even tone so he doesn’t think your lying. The embarrassment that comes with volunteering so plainly to mate with him comes and goes in waves, but having to repeat it to him is a different flavor all together. “I am here of my own free will.”

Temar scoffs and huffs. “If you don’t want to tell me then fine.” He heaves himself back to his feet and peers out the window. “Sun’s going down. You can stay here for dinner and for the night. That better satisfy them, because you’re leaving first light in the morning.”

You turn away from his back, staring blindly at the countertop covered in ingredients for dinner. The one you interrupted with this piss-poor intrusion. He was likely just trying to give you an out, an excuse to save some dignity. You should’ve known you’d have no skill at seduction, not that you’d believed you’d need it. You’d hoped he be satisfied enough, in need enough that you’d suffice by being willing and not unattractive. Or so you thought. How pathetic. “I just wanted to help,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

You sigh before walking over to the counter and picking up a knife. “Thank you for your hospitality,” you manage, your voice stiff with discomfort, but unwilling to completely give up yet. “Allow me to assist with the food.”

Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temar’s already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.

He only speaks to point you toward where things are when you ask. You’re happy he’s letting you do this much as you’ve more than got the message he’d prefer to do it all alone. You try to concentrate hard enough not to think about anything else.

“These dumplings are delicious,” you say belatedly, after you’ve already scarfed down two of them. They really are, hot and flavorful.

Temar grunts in response and you can’t help but pout, wondering if he thinks everything you say is a lie. You try at some other small talk, but nothing gets more than a yes or no out of him—after the first few, he just makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as he steadily eats through three times the portion of food you got, which had been more than generous. You’d been skeptical of how much he was making until you’d seen how much he was eating.

Did he also have to eat more before winter, like a normal bear? Was he going to sleep through it too? You swear he still came in with pelts, but you don’t really know. You’re more than aware that he’s not likely to give a straight answer if you ask. You ask anyway.

He gives you a look like you’re touched in the head. “No, I don’t hibernate. I stay in more, sleep more since its dark more, but I’m not actually a bear.”

“I know!” you protest, blushing, “but I’ve heard there’s overlap of some kind, forgive me for not being an expert. You’re the only werebear I know by name.”

“You know nothing,” he retorts, words finally bursting from him in a fit of frustration. You’re taken aback, but eager for any information given his recent impression of a clam. “You say you volunteer and yet you don’t know the first thing about werebears, let alone heats. You expect me to think you know what you’re saying you got yourself into when its clear no one explained anything.”

“Well, then you tell me,” you bat back, fed up by now with being treated as a criminal for even entertaining the notion you might be a suitable mate for him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have called me a liar even if I’d written a book on werebears and their heats.”

As his way seems to be, he ignores you to keep focus on whatever incorrect train of thought he has stuck in his head. “Even if you’re ignorant, didn’t your family object? Doesn’t someone have sense or self-preservation?”

You glare. Of all the—. “No—” you reply hotly before he cuts in.

“I thought that was something y’all paid attention to,” he drawls, waving with his fork. “ Fraternizing with the werecreatures is still a no-no right?” He leans forward, eyes bright, like a predator finally spotting their prey. “Is it them that the council is leaning on?”

Unfortunately for him, its a false sighting. “Don’t have any,” you reply bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “They died. About five years ago.”

You wonder if he’ll make the connection and to your surprise, he seems to as his brow furrows. “I see.” He leans back in his chair as if surrpised to notice he’d moved at all.

“Besides, I’m grown,” you’re annoyed you even have to remind him. He’s treating you like a child, ignoring you, calling you ignorant, making you out as a liar. Like a fool. You’ve long resolved not to let anyone treat you like a fool. “I make my own choices.”

He scoffs in that same manner that’s truly getting under your skin. “Right. How could I forget.”

“I don’t know,” your voice is sharper than its been all evening. “Seeing as I keep reminding you.”

Discomfort creeps into his frame and he looks down at his plate to mutter, “What even made them come up with this plan? Was this Anton’s idea?” He warms up to this new wrong idea—it was Jessaly on the council who had mentioned “heat soothers” seconded by Carlos. Anton only stepped in to mention volunteers. “Because if so, I’ll be having words with him next chance I get, strong words. I anticipated an order to leave town or to be taken to jail or a fight. I’m surprised the council even risked the chance for cubs.”

That last part completely derails you from your planned support for Anton. “Oh,” you can dismiss that concern easy, so you don’t hesitate to, “I can’t have children.”

That stops him completely, freezes him in his chair. “What?”

His reaction surprises you. “I thought…” You thought he could smell the infertility on you. You thought that was part of why he’d refused, like the others. If he couldn’t tell, you still didn’t think he’d have a reaction like this, like everyone else. “I can’t. My monthlies stopped only a few years in and a doctor confirmed the nature of the issue. It’s noted in the records because my engagement to—” You don’t even want to say his name, for all you don’t blame your former fiance. You hadn’t even been that excited about the marriage, but the reality of no marriage ever, well, that had been more of blow the coming years dealt to you. You manage a shaky smile. “No risk of children with me.”

You meet his eyes valiantly and he stares back. You hope you’re right when you don’t see any blooming realization that you’re broken, that you’re any more undesirable, but you’ve long given up trying to tell. Still his focus makes you babble, “I don’t want children anyway.” That at least is the truth and the reminder steadies you. You thought you’d gotten over the worst of this self-recrimination years ago. You were happy not to have that burden, that expectation, that danger in your life. You just want Temar to think well of you, and this always changes how people perceive you, no matter how much you wish it didn’t. That is what truly gets under your skin. Your shoulders drop some tension as your smile softens, becomes more genuine. “Better me than someone who did. It worked out for the best that way.”

If only it meant no partner, no chance for sex beyond work at the brothel—which you were not interested in despite them asking—or  visiting one, which you have in years past. Or the affairs some of the less reputable had tried for in the past. They always made it clear in the end, even if you were alright with the infidelity—it was only because you were ‘safe’ that they wanted you.

“Neither do I,” he says, causing you to look up at him. His expression turns defensive as he clarifies, “That doesn’t mean anything anyways. Still the most foolish idea I ever heard.” He stands up abruptly to refill his plate with a fourth helping.

You eat the remainder of the meal in silence.

Finally, your plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. You’re determined to do something useful while you’re here and he’s feeding you.

Maybe all lack of eye contact was for him and not you. Maybe you’ll have better luck staring at the water. “So, is there anything you’ll actually let me do to help?”

Another huff, almost a growl of frustration, and Temar replies, grit in his tone, “I told you I ain’t taking a mate just because the town’s made my heat their business this year.”

You don’t even bother arguing the point again and consider his words. You hadn’t thought about other years. There’d never been notice of it so you assumed it wasn’t actually an annual event. What made this year so different? Instead of asking, you return his own volley. “I heard you. I didn’t mean that, though I must mention that the town is only involved because it has become their business this year.”

Temar doesn’t answer, but you can feel his gaze on your back. Being the focus of his attention is electrifying. “Other than having a mate,” you remind yourself outloud. “Are there other things that I can help with? Measures to be taken, information to be shared. Anything?”

There’s silence behind you before he stands up from the table, the scrape of his chair loud. You hope to the gods he’s actually doing something, thought of something in response to your question rather than just leaving. Although technically, you suppose, that would also be a response to your question.

You methodically scrub the dishes while you listen to him move about the main room of the cabin. He sits back down at the table, bringing something with him. You can’t dry this tankard any more thoroughly so you turn around to see if he’s simply ignoring you or not.

He’s bent over something on the table, a piece of paper? You frown and walk over to get a closer look. As if he can sense you, once you’re close enough he points one thick finger at the paper. “Who’s land is this?”

You frown as you study what you realize is a map of the town. Unlike most you’ve seen, it doesn’t have roads or even real buildings on it. Abstract symbols represent structures—you think—and the town center and main street buildings are one big marker. Nothing indicated for individual stores. It takes another minute to realize the outlined shapes covering the map are the property lines, not buildings, roads, or rivers, though some overlap with where you know those to be. Leave it to a werebear to have a map of the town by territory.

“If you don’t know—” he says, huffing per usual.

“Apologies if I need more than a minute,” you huff back, more than fed up and far more assured after the time spent with him that he has no plans to kick you out tonight. “I’ve never seen a map like this.”

He quiets down and you manage to follow your memory of the road out to… “The Meskal’s Farm, Evanna and Leon.” You also manage to make the connection, although you’re not sure he meant for you to. They’d been the most recent farm that had suffered from slaughtered livestock.

Temar brings over a slate with some notes in chalk already written out. He’s got shorthand notes, similar to those on the map, but all unlike any you’ve seen before. He jots down what must be their name above some already existing notes. You squint, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers. “Two ewes and one lamb,” you correct, hoping you decoded right.

He freezes and you hold your breath for annoyance or anger, but instead he merely erases one number and writes in another. “I assume this was discussed with the council?”

“Yeah,” you see no reason to beat around the bush. As you continue to squint at his notes, leaning over his broad shoulder to see better. “The Oche’s steer had to be put down, but they salvaged the meat. Anton reassured them it was edible and bought some himself so the rest of the town followed suit.”

“Still, I’ll be paying my debt, it just might take some time,” Temar replies gravely. “I’ll not have anyone say I don’t pay what I owe or think I don’t owe it, like some uncivilized beast.”

“I can pass that along,” you offer, still reaching for some way to contribute, to help. His integrity touches your heart, makes that urge to give aid stronger. Anton had something vague to the affect, but the town had little confidence in Anton’s assurances. You have confidence in Temar’s.

“I would appreciate that,” he sounds a little belligerent, a little abashed.

You smile, happy to have found anything useful to do and lean in again, to study his map more closely. You mentally map out the other families who had damage and notice they’re all in a line from his property west and against the forest. He does seem to be attempting to keep to limited area. How much control does he have? Could you help corral him somehow?

You reach to point. “Is this the river or—” You start to lose you balance from the awkward angle you’re at. Your other hand reaches for the next closest thing to steady yourself—Temar’s shoulder.

Next thing you know you’re knocking into the table and he’s standing several feet away, a snarl on his face. “Don’t.”

You’re stricken by the vehemence from a such a small, almost-touch of his person. It had been too easy to forget he disliked you so, is so offended by your very presence. “I’m sorry!” It’s as if he thinks you were attempting to trick him. You hasten to clarify, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t trying—”

Temar leaves the room before you even finish speaking.

/

Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.

He’s hoping he’s gotten used to your scent, built up a tolerance, but knows it’ll only have gotten stronger for each moment you’ve been here. Gods know he’s only become more susceptible to it. How anyone in all his life has such a bewitching scent, he’ll never know.

The second he’d opened his front door, he’d wanted to drag you inside and never let you out. The beast inside instantly proclaiming Mine. Only mine. He’d barely heard anything Anton said over the roaring in his ears. The slam of his door had been as much panic defensiveness as it had been frustrated aggression.

The line between those two does seem to blur most during heat.

You stayed out there, looking so lost and somber on the porch, lip caught between your teeth as you thought. He’d had to get you to stop before he took over the task for you. An early sign of heat madness surely because of fucking course it was far worse having you in his home. Where his beast said you belonged. Where you could say all the words he was salivating to hear as truth even though he knew them to be false.

Those council assholes would pay for putting him through this torture. Temar knew he was a werebeast and yet this was inhumane even for his kind. He tried to find a proper target for his aggression, but you’d given him nothing to work with, persistent in your tale. As if a kind, quick-witted, pretty thing like you would ever subject yourself to a beast like him unless you felt you had no other option.

Distractions haven’t been helping, trying to keep his eyes off you was impossible to sustain, and stonewalling didn’t ever seem to deter you for long. It’s as if you were perfectly designed to get past all of his defenses. There are still so many hours until sunrise—if Temar’s even going to last that long, even be able to let you go at that point. After you’d seeped into his home, his life. You seem to fit so well.

You play at being kind like a master actor and he hopes that’s not all a front. You’re smart, independent, but oh so willing to help. Duress, he reminds himself, you’re here under duress. The fuckers in town must have forced you here somehow. He can’t believe how low they’ve stooped, taking advantage of your lack of family, of your infertility to make you into a sacrifice. The perfect sacrifice.

His beast still wants to try to breed you, undeterred by logic, but it’s his human head that’s unfairly tempted by the knowledge. When he’s in his rational mind, he stands by what he said. The risk of children, others with his condition, his ostracization from society is something he’d never condemn an innocent soul to suffer. Not mention he likes his solitude, likes only being responsible for himself and only answerable to himself. It’s why the council involving itself is so frustrating. Its why the idea you might be here of your own free will is so appealing. Lack of such a child-bearing risk is even more appealing, more alluring than he’d ever realized it would be. Than it had any right to be. Why are you so damn perfect for him?

Clearly distance was not helping. Perhaps it was even making his beast stronger, without you to look at him and, for all your knowledge of his nature, expect a rationale man to look back.

Temar walks back into the main room, feeling like a man condemned, only to immediately regret his choice as he rigidly locks every muscle he can to prevent his beast from pouncing. He’d thought you’d stopped trying to seduce him with your faux willingness and pretty eyes. Your soft, steady kindness…

Even he’d admitted to himself once alone that you likely hadn’t meant anything by hovering so close, by trying to steady yourself on him. Your fall onto the table, not to mention the complete startlement on your face from his reaction. But what the fuck is this?

“What are you doing?” he asks through clenched teeth, hoping the beast inside isn’t giving away the feral lust coursing through his veins.

“What?” You look up, surprised he’s back, but there’s no embarrassment in your face. If anything, your expression smooths back to usual faster than he feels it has a right to. “Oh, I hadn’t realized how wet my apron had gotten from the dishes, sorry about the wasted water.”

“Why have you removed it?” Temar’s voice was strangled as the words passed through his lips. Ordinarily, he knows it would barely register with him, but you removing any article of clothing has his beast pulling at the chains he’s trying to use to keep it inside where it belongs.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to dry off,” you reply, brow furrowing in confusion as you dab at yourself with part of the folded-up apron. Temar can see the damp stains where the water had soaked through the light green fabric underneath. “Besides, I don’t want to catch anything, sitting around in wet clothes. It’ll be dry by morning if I leave it by the fire.”

Temar’s mind is already overrun by the reminder he’d invited you, like the numbskull he is, to stay the night. You’re unlikely to sleep fully dressed. You’ll take more than just your apron off in his home. You’ll strip down to your chemise. He can see the edges of it under your dress—white cotton poking out. Nothing more under that except soft skin—skin he isn’t allowed to touch.

Temar tries to combat the pleasing images of you splayed naked in his bed with images of your bruised and bloody from his claws, his strength, his carelessness. They’re impossible to sustain with you so hale and unbothered in front of him. The comfort of his den discourages such violence from his thoughts, his heat poisoning his mind against him. You aren’t here by choice, he reminds himself.

It’s hard to believe when you cross his room with self-assured confidence, bending down to arrange your apron by his fire, acting as if you’ve no fears to worry you. Your hair is ruffled from either the dishes or taking off your apron and you pat at it absentmindedly. Temar wants it spread across his sheets, his pillow, mussed and messed by his hands while he claims you for himself. The town clearly doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t value you what they have. He’d treat you right. He’d make sure you loved being his.

With a shake of his head, he blinks and the image before him resolves to you seated on a chair, delicately rebraiding your hair. He can’t keep his eyes off the swift movements of your fingers. Temar imagines what it would feel like if you did the same to him, this simple careful, everyday task. You look up at him from under your full eyelashes, looking perfectly innocent and not a creature pulled from his greatest nightmares and most sincere dreams. “So do you have a plan for managing however many days are left? Have you gone into heat in previous years? How did you manage then?”

The flush that blooms on your face is endearing and attractive. Temar wants desperately to know what you’re thinking when you say ‘heat’. You’ve avoided saying the word nearly the entire time you’ve been heard. Temar knows the rumors that fly about the human population about werebeasts, about heats, he’s overheard it all. From eating human mates to potent fertility and everything in between. Which ones have you heard? Which do you believe in? Likely none of the violent ones or you’d find the prospect far more intimidating than whatever bullshit the council is using to coerce you.

“Temar?”

“You’re right, I’ve already managed to work out a solution on my own, making you presence doubly wasteful.” You flinch at his words and every instinct screams at him to sooth you, to take it back—whatever is needed to make his mate stay. Temar turns rather than continue to watch your reactions to his harsh words. Despite knowing its necessary, it hurts to see your hurt and only encourages the beast to want to soothe, to steal your mind from any hurt by drowning it out with lust and heat. “Follow me.”

“You’ll sleep here,” Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.

His control would surely shatter if he saw you so close to it. He imagines how easily he could push you down on the furs and sheets until he had you spread out like a feast for him and him alone. How he would savor you. How he wouldn’t let you up until he was more than satisfied. A glutton of lust.

The cold metal of the door knob jolts him out of his thoughts. “I’ll be out back.” The crisp air, the brisk breeze, blow your scent from Temar and clear his head. He nearly sighs with relief as he walks off to the right, purpose in his steps, a reminder of his duty as he follows the familiar path.

“Here.” Its clear no matter where you thought he was leading you “pit” was not on the list. Your eyebrows lift nearly to your hairline as you stare down, allowing him precious seconds to gaze at you without a mask of stoicism or frustration, only naked hunger.

“You asked where I weathered heats of the past?” Temar neglects to mention that the first couple years in town rendered his heats short and taxing. Just a handful of nights around the late summer full moon, when the first chill to the air heralding the coming winter. Between his beast’s discomfort with new territory and his own war memories haunting him, his heats were not a concern. It’s only last year that his heat was how it used to be in his youth.

Wild. Hungry. Enduring.

This year is worst yet, not only because of the tight grip it has on him and how he can tell, despite more than a week in, that he has days to go, but also due circumstances outside of his control.

You’re smart enough to spot it. “Did something happen to this…?”

Temar puts you out of your awkward misery. “There was a flood after that storm a couple weeks ago. It dislodged that tree and a wall collapsed.” He’d hoped his heat wouldn’t return with the vengeance it did and so had put off excavating. “In the end, the den took longer than I thought to rebuild, to dig deep enough again. Still not sure I have,” he confesses when you look at him with such open, receptive eyes.

You frown and squint down at the den and Temar doesn’t like the reminder of how dark it’s getting. This entire evening has been a distraction, from the knock on his door, to the meal, to now. He ought not neglect the den any longer, not let his beast draw this out until it can overpower his conscience.

He puts down the ladder, hands grateful for something to do besides itch to settle on your hips. “I’ll be needing to get everything out of here, before the moon finishes rising.” Temar descends as quickly as he can, jumping the last few feet and turning to survey the den.

It was nicer before, he thinks with some dismay, some shame at you seeing such a bare hole in the ground. It’s primarily filled with tools for digging and fortifying, none of the minimal furs and blankets that should be givens for a den. The roof had been damaged when the tree fell in so he hopes it doesn’t rain. Temar resigns himself to waking up covered in dew. It’ll still be better than waking up covered in blood, even after verifying it was all from livestock.

“Temar?” His name on your lips draws his attention back up, like a flower to the sun, like a fish to water, like blood to a bear.

“Can I help you clear it out?” Temar just stares at you, part of his mind still surprised you’re here. Still here. Still offering to help. Help him. You cross your arms again and Temar wishes it didn’t look so good on you, the way it pushes up your chest, makes your arm muscles more prominent. What sort of shop did you say you had again? “Look, I’m another pair of hands, ain’t I?”

“Technically,” he allows, speaking without thinking. All his thought concentrated on your form above him, ripe for the plucking.

You seem to take that as permission and start climbing down the ladder. Temar turns so quickly to avert his eyes from your ass that he forgets to forbid you from coming down. You touch down lightly and Temar reluctantly faces you again, a puppet on the strings of his inner beast, to soak in the sight of you in its den.

The cabin belongs to Temar, the man. The den belongs to Temar, the beast.

Something of that must come across on his face as you pause, one hand on the ladder. “Does it break a rule, for me to be down here?”

A den is a personal, sacred space, with only those closest allowed entry. The beast does not allow you to lie. “No.” A prospective mate is more than a natural allowance. It’s expected.

You nod with satisfaction. The beast preens in approval at your persistence, at your ease in its den. “Then I’m helping. What’s next?”

Wordlessly, you point to the table with the hand tools.

“All of these?” you ask, even as you begin to gather them.

Temar turns away, unable to watch you ascend, and focuses on the final wheelbarrow he needs to move out, the planks he’s using as ramps he’ll need to remove. “Gotta get everything out of here so it don’t get broken.” Also so he can’t use it to escape. When he’s more beast than person, the use of tools doesn’t come naturally, but he’s relentless. Safer to keep them out of reach. That’s the real challenge—keep himself out of reach.

“Right.” There’s a pause while you move around behind him. Temar tries to focus on the feeling of the smooth wood of the wheelbarrow handles, the shudder of the wooden planks below as he moves it out of the den. “How come the walls are like this?”

You must be gesturing to the flat stones embedded in the dirt walls. “Harder to climb, although I haven’t had time to finish the back wall that collapsed yet. Claws don’t do well on smooth stone. A lot if the grout needs to be redone. Something for tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you say, sounding impressed.

Temar grunts in response, trying to focus on pulling the crude ramp out of the den and not on puffing up at your approval. Not seeing how else he might earn your esteem, might otherwise impress you.

“What’s it like,” you ask, quietly but clearly. Temar had been wondering if you’d ask. Waiting. “When…”

You trail off so he’s not sure if you meaning being a werebear or being one in heat. He supposes the answer isn’t terribly different. “Simpler, harsher, more vivid,” he says, “Less control when in heat than the rest of the time. In the army, we were trained to control the transformation, taught how to keep our minds more intact—it doesn’t work like that for heat. Getting locked up is how it was dealt with even there.” Not that they lasted long back then for anyone.

“I’ve heard of the loss of control.” You don’t specify if you mean in general or in heat, but Temar supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind both of you what’s at stake, how dangerous Temar is in heat to anyone vulnerable around him. “Just a beast at that point.” Temar doesn’t look you in the eye as he keeps talking, heading back down into the den now the planks are out and it’s the only way down. “Can’t understand human speech. Can barely tell human from animal. No reasoning with me. I’ll do what I want when I want to. Damn anyone else.”

Not that you’re as intimidated as he wishes you were. “What about other weres?”

“Aye.” Temar doesn’t mind confirming that, not when he knows it can’t encourage you. “Thats a mite different. We can handle each other better, can find that sliver of common ground. Family can calm you, your own territory, and of course, if you’ve got everything you want, you won’t go roaming for it. Won’t get angry and frustrated you can’t find it.”

“That all the time, or just in heat?” He can still hear the shyness in your voice whenever you say heat, but its obvious your curiosity is too great. Temar surveys the den while he considers his answer, hands you left over plates and cutlery from his noontime meal, eaten down in the den while he worked furiously to get it ready for tonight. He’s careful not to let his fingers brush yours, not to look you in the face, lest he see some fear there that hadn’t been before. Lest the beast see a lack of such fear. Temar truly felt caught between a rock and hard place.

He can see the question you’re dancing around and cuts to the quick, praying you’ll be sensible and leave since he wouldn’t be able to make you anymore. He’s not sure he even could back on the porch. “Its dangerous for any human to lay with a werebeast. Injury from strength or claws or teeth is impossible to prevent. Even if you’re mates.” He reminds himself as ruthlessly as tells you. It was rare, but it happened. Heartbreaking accidents. “Even if you’ve known each other for years. Someone in my troop had killed their husband in a heat frenzy once.”

“Not always though,” you reply, too hopeful by far, too logical not to notice the exaggeration. “It can’t be or weres would have died out.”

“No, not always,” Temar allows. “The tendency towards multiple children in a litter helps. But usually longer held relationships fare better. If the were isn’t in a bad mood, isn’t stressed—if the partner cooperates right.”

He hands you the last item that needs out and once you get to the top, he says, “Pull up that ladder, now.”

You pause, standing stock still and for a second he wonders if you’ll even listen. Temar’s not sure he has the strength to ask a second time.

“Sure.” You pull up the ladder.

His human mind eases at that, at the sight of you more than seven feet overhead, out of reach. His beast disagrees, seething in displeasure and unfulfilled lust. Naturally, you can’t leave well enough alone and sit down, legs dangling into the den. He knows he could grab your ankle at this, yank you down and—

Temar turns to study the den once more. It won’t stick in his mind with you clouding his judgment the way you are. He narrows his eyes, forcing himself to assess if its deep enough, the walls defended enough. “I still need to get the cover fixed, if that damn blacksmith ever manages to be around when I stop by. The back wall needs to be stoned, but if I try to climb it like it is, it’s just as likely to crumble which’ll keep me in just the same. It’ll do. It had better more than satisfy those bastards on the council.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it will.” You shrug, as if you’d forgotten about them. “Will you let me visit? After I leave in the morning—” you add swiftly as if to cut off a correction Temar for once wasn’t offering. “In case there’s anything else I can help with? I meant it when I said we could help each other out. I admit I do not relish the chore of fetching all fuel for my fire in these coming months and perhaps I can provide something for you? I’m a skilled weaver in addition to my work with dyes. If you would not be opposed?”

How can you forget the council so easily? Dismiss them offhand like that. Why do you speak of ‘after’ so lightly? As if you expect to see him again, as if that’s something you might want. Temar’s thoughts turn in circles once more over your duress. He must remember you cannot be here by choice. It’s getting harder by the minute. By each minute you sit on the edge of his den, not a care in the world. Not a notion of his steadily deteriorating self-control. His lack of giving any indication of his growing need has gone from helpful to sinister, a wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer trying to reassure, but to lure closer its prey.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say.

You continue to talk, but the words’ meaning slip through his fingers. The change is pushing itself on him while he wiles away a few more minutes in your presence. Just to try to burn off excess energy, Temar turns to push one of the stones in better, to align it flat with the rest of them. Except… he can feel your eyes on his back while he does so.

Your scent to spikes.

He wheels around, wildly, and belated realizes the height you’re at, brings your loins far more to a height with his nose than ever before. Did his display of strength inspire something of lust in you? His beast roars for you once more at this indication of receptiveness.

The moonlight colors your hair, emphasizing your etherealness, the wonder at your very presence. How much Temar wants to hold you in his hands, claim you for his own. How much he wants to bring you down to earth, push you under him and take his pleasure from you.

He takes a step closer and it feels like the first sprung leak in a dam. The first domino to fall. The spark of fire on dry, dry tinder.

“R-un.”

In retrospect perhaps the most provocative thing Temar could have done was instigate a chase. Actually, the most provocative was definitely you listening and running.

You pull your legs up swiftly, battling your skirts to get your feet under yourself with a haste that surprises even yourself. Only one word and a glimpse of those glowing eyes, and you’re dashing for the cabin. Adrenaline pours into your veins as you the image of the fur rippling out over Temar’s body as he gave that last command fills your mind. 

In retrospect, the fur had been spreading steadily since you’d taken away the ladder without you fully registering it. His voice had been changing, although that you’d noticed plenty. The lower tone was a little harder to make out, even more pleasant to listen to, stirring up those lascivious thoughts that hadn’t left your mind since the town meeting was called. You swear his muscles had swelled too. The way they had moved beneath his shirt, which fit tighter with each minute that had passed. You’d felt spellbound, even though you swear that’s not a rumor associated with weres, and unconcerned by said compulsion.

Given the seriousness with which Temar gave the order as well as his earlier apprehension, you feel guilty for the mad sort of excitement rather than fear that courses through you. A roar, harsh and throaty, comes from the den behind you. It's one of rage and frustration. A beast that’s just realized it's been trapped. That it can’t get to what it wants. A loud thud follows. A growl of continued frustration hurries you on, feet pounding the ground as you run. You can almost trick yourself into thinking you hear your own name mixed in with the next roar that comes from where you’ve left Temar behind.

Due to your haste and unfamiliarity with Temar’s land and the fallen gloom, you end up missing the door along the back of the cabin and re-enter through the front. You lock that door with shaking hands and a pounding heart. The sounds of nature, of wind, of the echoes of Temar’s growl, are replaced by quiet solitude and the crackle of the fire, still burning in the hearth. You attempt to catch your breath. You try to let the mundane familiarity of the cabin and the silence calm your nerves. It’s not working very well.

You’re not sure what prompted his yell or his roar. Temar had said if he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t want to go searching for it, so it must have been his inner beast’s continued frustration at the lack of a desirable mate, which you continue to attempt not to take personally.

You’re still keyed up from the experience and seeing him actually start to transform, which still held some magic to you having never witnessed such a thing before, as well as all your interactions with him this evening. Temar seemed somewhat open to the idea of being friends, which was nice, you remind yourself. He is still immensely fascinating to you—this night has only made that more apparent. He feels less onerous to be around than some of your other acquaintances. He doesn’t put up any fronts and you feel like you don’t have to either. Even when he was clearly frustrated or angry—which you believe is exacerbated by whatever physical and mental toll his heat is putting on him—he never raised his voice. Temar only ever physically moved away from you, not towards you. 

Speaking of physicality, he was so strong. The way he moved, carried, and shoved the tools out of his den had been impressive. The skill and strength it must have taken to make it in the first place, from the manual labor of digging it out, to stonework, to the manner of transportation in and out were all impressive. You’ll have to make sure to stop by Nicolas’ forge tomorrow to ensure Temar can get his roof fixed. But for now, your mind’s eye lingers on how his muscles had flexed, how easily he might be able to move you about, lifting you, arranging you to best please him.

You shake your head to try to rid yourself of such thoughts when none of them are going to come true. Temar is the one who’s having a hard time, not you here in his home. He hadn’t complained about the den, but you can tell it must be a far cry from what it was before the damage, it saddens you to think of him out there and alone. You long to comfort him, even though you know he doesn’t want your comfort. His roar had only proven his frustration and unhappiness, how unfulfilled he must be, stuck in the pit. You swear you can still hear yet another roar mixed with your name. 

You take another look around the room and sigh, finding it far less interesting without him present. You’re still wound up from today’s jostling ship ride of events. Your hormones are out of balance after plans and hopes of helping Temar through his heat. While ending your night alone in Temar’s cabin, in his bed, while he’s stuck out in a hole in the ground isn’t where you expected or how you wanted the night to end, you suppose it's better than him still out in the woods where he might cause more damage or hurt someone.

Your hands go to your buttons as you start to undo them. An early night is in order. Just because Temar doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to go unsatisfied. Your outer clothing drops to the floor, leaving you in your underthings. Draping the cloth over the couch, you wonder if he might be able to smell what you get up to in the morning. Would it be cruel to leave such a trace behind? you wonder as you slip over to the bedroom door. Or would it be your due after his refusal?

Something to worry about in the morning. You’re too hot and bothered to care much now. You turn the knob and enter the dark room. Your eyes just barely adjust enough to make out the outline of his large bed of furs when you’re pushed back against the door, slamming it shut. 

An almost subsonic growl fills the small room as you look up and up to meet glowing yellow-green eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, even faster than it had when you’d been running only a few moments ago. A cloud moves from in front of the full moon and the beast that Temar must be now looms over you.

Heavy hands—or are they paws now?—pin you to the wall, one spread over your sternum and the other engulfing your hip. Your hands reflexively reach out and curl around his arm, fingers sinking into dense, soft fur. With the hand pressing against your chest, you barely manage to make a sound more than a surprised inhale, anything else compressed by Temar’s savage strength and your own shock. 

Fight or flight seems to have tried to kick in only to unexpectedly leave you both at ‘freeze’ while you stare one another down. The moonlight illuminates his face, throwing into relief the complex mix of man and beast Temar now is. The same black salted with gray that had been evident in his beard is now more evident in the thin layer of fur covering his face. His jaw is larger to accommodate the sharp teeth and prominent fangs now present. His mouth is open as he pants and huffs, eyes fixated on you. You can still see the man in the beast, but he’s more than he was only moments ago.

You hold perfectly still as Temar leans down and starts to huff and sniff at your neck, shifting his fingers as he does so. You can feel his claws snag in the looser weave of your chemise as he does so. Has he always smelled like the forest? you think in a shocked haze, like the pine trees and the freshly turned earth with an undercurrent of musk. He growls into your neck while you stay pinned like an insect on a card, unable to do anything else when confronted by the reality of his transformed appearance, of his touch when he had recoiled from you so vehemently before.

You jolt when he manages to do more than growl, when you realize it isn’t your imagination that puts your name on his lips. Heat sears through you to hear the need in his voice, the demand, by the idea that you’ve managed to make such an impression on him that he managed to speak at all. Then those lips cover your own in an uncoordinated but wanting kiss. Instantly, your mind is wiped clean of rejection, and disinterest, and undesirability. Those ideas can’t exist in tandem when he kisses you like he’s starving. 

When you break apart, you breathlessly gasp out his name, a hand cupping his jaw. You suck in shallow breaths, as if you only just stopped running, as if he’d been chasing you since he’d told you to run. You tremble with shameless lust at being sought after specifically—he hadn’t just been demanding after vague wants but for you.

He manages your name once more, tongue and jaw and teeth making the word hard to understand except that all your senses are straining for him, desperate for anything to help you understand him, to understand this change. “Mate.” 

You don’t know if it's a question or not, but it's all you’ve been offering since you first showed up on his doorstep. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly, suddenly more desperate than ever in his hold. Desire burns through you for him. You tug futilely at his jaw, push desperately against the massive paw on your chest to reach him. “Temar. Mate.”

You don’t fool yourself into thinking your strength is what moves him, but perhaps your words do manage to penetrate his mind because he presses his lips to yours once more, immediately deepening the kiss. He fucks into your mouth with filthy promise. Your head is held between the door at your back and him, hot and massive, crowding you, boxing you in, cutting off any escape. Escape is the absolute furthest thing from your mind.

His grip on you strengthens, the hand on your sternum moving to bracket your neck. His thumb rests lightly against the column of your throat, the claw drawing a line of danger on your collarbone. His fingers hooked over your back, their claws digging into the meat of your shoulder. They haven’t broken your skin but you know they could, the sting of them makes you want to arch both away and into them. 

You tremble as you realize how securely and sinfully caught you are by this werebear, by Temar. You know that he could hold onto you like this for hours and nothing you could do would be able to force him to let go. You never want him to. Instead you melt in his hold. His hand pinning you by your hip is likely the only thing keeping you on your feet and not just a pool of lust at his.

His need is evident given the way his hips rock against your own. The press of him against your whole body is unlocking some hidden need in you and you attempt to push back, to rut against him in return. You feel desperation growing in your bones, in the heart of you, something wild and wanting that can only be sated by him. Temar rumbles his approval, moving more deliberately against you until a growl of frustration escapes him.

When he pulls back, readjusting his hold on you, you open your mouth to protest, to say something, anything to get him back. It’s reflexive after how this night has gone, but unnecessary now. Temar picks you up with no apparent effort, only impatience, and tosses you onto the bed. 

You land with an oof, scrambling to think around the rolling heat that moves through your body threatening to drown you at such a display. You’ve barely made any sense of yourself after being flung through the darkness when he’s dropped low and moved on top of you. His movements are strong and decisive as he pushes your chemise up. He noses his way between your thighs, spreading them apart to make room for him. You barely have time to consider being embarrassed about being exposed, at how wet you know you are, when his wide tongue, inhuman roughness obvious, covers your cunt.

Your yelp of surprise turns into a long drawn out moan as he licks at you, vigorously, hungrily. He places a massive hand on each of your thighs, claws stinging just enough to quicken the pulsing need between your legs. You twitch and shiver as he pushes your legs further apart to accommodate his bulk. Your heated skin finds the remaining fabric bunched around your waist too much and you hastily try to shuck it the rest of the way off as fast as you. It's the most uncoordinated you’ve ever felt due to the manner in which Temar is concentrating on sucking your mind out of your head via your cunt.

Free at last of the uncomfortable and restricting garment, you reach down, fingers threading into Temar’s wild mane of hair on instinct alone. You don’t kow if you’ve even stopped moaning since his tongue attached itself to your cunt. Simultaneously, it's too much and not enough and all you can do is try to hang on for the ride he’s determined to take you on. Sweeping you down into the heat of feral lust with him. 

One of his hands leaves your thigh to clamp down across your stomach and hold down your hips. Your fingers tighten as he holds you in place to take what he wants from you. His unwavering focus is on eating you out, so starving for you that for now even the beast is content with your taste, leaving his hips rutting against the bedding. 

Temar wrings sounds from you know you’ve never made before. You never want anyone else to even try. Fuck, so good, you think. Or maybe you say aloud because you swear he grunts his approval and his tongue somehow manages to reach deeper. 

The black pad of his thumb rubs your clit perfectly and you scream you shatter. He growls triumphantly as he greedily drinks down every last drop of your release

You feel unspooled and languid, molten in your pleasure. Temar too seems satisfied with the meal he’s made of you for now as he pulls back, licking his lips. His fingers tighten their hold on your hips as your only warning before he flips you over. Dazedly, automatically, you try to brace yourself. He grunts in approval at how he has successfully maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. Right where you wanted to be ever since you first understood that he was in heat without a lover. Since you realized you wanted to be that lover.

One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke up your spine and you shudder at the feeling of calluses, iron strength, and claws. Instinctively, you arch into the motion, wanting to encourage him to touch you as much as possible. You’re so grateful you’ve already tossed your chemise gods know where. “Please,” you gasp out.

He rumbles with approval and as if having heard your unarticulated thoughts, drapes himself further over you. He pulls you against the cradle of his hips with one firm motion eliciting a squeal from your lips. It's evidently not close enough, as he wraps his fingers around your shoulder and pulls again until he can rut his cock against where you feel oh so empty. 

With you where he wants you, Temar releases his hold on your shoulder to lurch you both forward, him bracing you both with that hand on the bed. It leaves you clearly trapped under him. You close your eyes to savor the position and you’re struck by the image you two would paint, were you able to see. Perhaps that should be more intimidating or even frightening than it is, but you like the heavy weight of him, the power evident in his body as he cages you in. 

The ache between your legs only grows more acute. “Temar,” you plead, attempting to move your hips against him despite the hold he still has on one of your hips. The gnawing hunger and persistent emptiness are starting to hurt, desire buzzing along your every nerve. 

“Mine,” Temar proclaims as the head of his cock finally catches perfectly and he starts to drive into you. The stretch and ache of him causes your moan to fracture under the strain. It’s been so long, but you're so wet it almost doesn’t matter. He’s so thick, so long, you’re losing all sense of anything outside of where the two of you are joined. The last few inches cause a pleasurable burn as you clench around him. Gods it's been too long since you were filled like this, if you’ve ever even had someone with his girth before. 

Temar growls contentedly once he’s fully seated inside you and you gladly take the precious few seconds to adjust. Soon enough, he pulls nearly all the way out of you causing a desperate whine to build up in the back of your throat until he thrusts back in, ripping a ragged sound from your throat that might resemble his name. 

He picks up speed with each movement of his hips, getting surer and stronger each time. You feel your whole body move and jolt with his each and every thrust. Your hands scrabble fruitlessly at the bedding under you, trying to brace yourself or get a grip but you can’t, uncoordinated and weak from your previous orgasm as well as the overwhelming way Temar is fucking you. 

He’s going to ruin you and you’re going to thank him.

His control seems to be fraying the longer he’s inside you. You can see the claws tipping his fingers get longer where they dig into the bedding and you can feel the way they dig into your hip. The pain is the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure of him finally hitting that perfect spot inside. You can feel your inner walls flutter from the sensation. Temar must like that because he groans and makes a noticeable effort to strike that same spot repeatedly.

The unrelenting attention pays off immediately as you can feel your need wind tighter and tighter while your mind empties of thought except for the sensation and heat Temar is bringing forth from the depths you. The continual barrage of his cock finally shoves you over the edge of pleasure once more and you obligingly shatter.

He groans as your clenching around him seems to be all he needs to let go. He hilts in you one last time and you feel him come hard. He fills you up with his seed, warmth spreading, and continuing to make little half thrusts, as if trying to make sure it stays deep within you. You’re still coming down from your orgasm but the sense of satisfaction expands in your chest now that Temar’s reached his peak too.

You close your eyes, limp underneath him, but more content than you’ve felt in ages, in perfect harmony with your werebeast mate.

At some point, you feel him tip you both over onto your sides, though he keeps his cock firmly seated within your heat, keeping you full. Temar’s rumble is full of satisfaction and he engulfs you in his hold, making it clear neither of you are separating anytime soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there on your side, blissfully fuck out, still full of him. You don’t care. You enjoy floating in the hazy afterglow. Eventually he slips out of you, pulling a gasp from you and a whine from him. He nuzzles against you, as if to comfort you. You’re too boneless and witless to do anything more than nuzzle him back. 

At some point you do notice him start to move against you once more. His large hands are running along your body, as if committing it to memory. It’s not until he starts to focus on your nipples, rubbing his thumb in increasingly tight circles. Desire starts to zip through your sluggish veins and you whine, twitching in his loose hold. He seems to appreciate your reaction, nudging your head with his until you turn it to face him better. He catches your mouth in a consuming kiss, more coordinating than any previously but just as hungry. It's deep and filthy and leaves you vibrating for me.

His hand covers your cunt, still swollen and wet from your combined cum, in addition to the desire within you he’s stroking back up into a blaze.  Your sensitivity causes your hips to stutter as you’re caught between wanting more and being too tender for it. He loses interest in using his hand once you’re pushing towards him more than you are moving away. Pulling you down his body once more, his fur causing goosebumps to ripple across your flesh until you’re back where Temar at least seems to think you belong: in the cradle of his hips.

“Oh! Temar, you—mm, o-oh,” you attempt to say something to address the reignition of his desire, but before you can, his stiffening cock has managed to press against your cunt just right, moving through your lingering wetness and the spend that’s leaked out of you since said cock last left you.

“Mate,” he intones, lust certainly back into his voice. He pulls you up off the bed, securing you to his chest with the hand still clutching your chest. You’re not sure his other hand he's left your hip since it settled there. “More.”

“I, yes,” you reply, trying to pull yourself back together. Of course while in heat, he’d want to—you cut your own thoughts off with a surprised moan as he pushes back into you. Your fingers clench in the sheets as your sore, but slick muscles allow him back inside. The overstimulation is giving your head a rush. 

Luckily, this time Temar seems more deliberate and rhythmic with his thrusting rather than frenzied and desperate. His other hand resumes kneading your chest and rubbing against your stiffened nipple. The change in angle seems to keep him from going too fast and luckily requires none of your strength. In fact, the sensation of him fucking you while you lay limp in his grasp is quickly bring your own lust back at a dizzying pace you don’t expect.

He shifts and the angle gets even better, causing you to moan loudly in encouragement. You sag against him, your bones feel liquid from the way he’s been relentlessly thrusting within your cunt. His grunts and your pants fill the room. You’re still so hot, with sweat rolling down your back only to be absorbed into his fur. The sensation ensures you never forget who and what is taking you. You glory in it, in knowing he chose you.

You feel like he’s determined to fuck you until you can’t see straight, can’t move and you’re beyond willing for him to try. 

Gods, he’s going to make you forget your own name.

Something curls deep in you, winding around itself with each passing second he continues moving within you. He hunches forward, just enough to press against you, to change the angle some minuscule amount, and that spring releases. You fracture around him. As before, that appears to be all he needs to push as deep as he can and spill his seed in you one more time. The sensation of his release, of the desperate way he continues to try to fill you are the last things you remember before the pleasure pulls you under.

-/-

In the morning, or given the angle of the sun, the afternoon when you wake after a sleep longer than an hour, Temar surrounds you still. You’re in no rush as you take the time to regain your bearings and take stock of your aches. Without opening your eyes you can tell he’s looking at you. “Regret?” you ask simply, stock still in his hold, voice scratchy from overuse. You lost count of how many times aTemar fucked you last night. It's all a blur of heat and desire.

“No,” Temar rumbles, adjusting his hold. “Mine.” The added growl behind the words even in his human form sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the ache in your muscles in the most pleasing manner. 

It's more than you were hoping for, and yet you can’t help but ask, cautiously, “For the rest of your heat?” Some small part of you is still expecting to be sent on your way far sooner than you’d like to be. 

“I suppose you’ve convinced me,” Temar replies, the amusement in his voice unable to stay hidden under his put upon reluctance. “If you’ve made this foolish choice, I suppose I’ll let it stand—for now.”

“You may be stubborn, but I think we can agree I won this battle,” you point out. You finally blink your eyes open for long enough to look over your shoulder and meet his brown ones. He looks indulgent when you cup his cheek. “What makes you think you’ll fare better in the next one? I’m not sure I want for this to end with your heat.”

“I thought you’d say something of the sort,” Temar replies with a roll of eyes. He nips at your ear and pats you on the hip. “We can discuss after your bath.”

You hum, pleased immensely by the prospect. “See? Perhaps it’s you who is mine after all.”

---

Extra thanks to everyone who followed along with the original posting! all your comments and tags and asks were super encouraging!!

[cigaretteparfum-library]

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

Right, then. Good luck! Calls the liason as he hurries to the horse and carriage without you. You stand on the porch, embarrassed and confused, wondering what about you must be so undesirable.

After a few minutes the door opens again, and a gruff voice orders you inside. He knows you're not there by choice, he says, he knows the town elders probably forced you there to settle him. You try to explain that's not the case, but he doesn't believe you. He says you can stay for the night, as the sun is going down, but he expects you to fuck off in the morning.

You try to talk over dinner, but he's defensive and quiet. You try to convince him that you want to be there, but he scoffs that you have no idea what soothing a bear's heat even means.

Over the evening, you try different techniques to tempt him. Using his bath, undressing a few layers by the fire, sleeping nude in his bed. He expresses total disinterest the entire time, a steely lack of any desire towards you.

Disheartened, you're about to give up. You have no idea the reason he's being so aggressively stoic is because the moment he opened his cabin door, the moment he saw and smelled you, the beast inside him said Mine. Only mine. You have no idea that every breath he's taken since has been measured and cautious, every effort he's made not to pounce and claim you. Gods, he can barely stand to look at you without the saliva filling his mouth, the feral lust clouding his thoughts.

There's no way you're here by choice, he reasons privately. No way any nice, pretty human would volunteer for the social ostracism that would come with mating a werebear. And whatever those fuckers in the elder council did to leverage you into coming here, he can't let himself take advantage.

Because once he let's his control slip, once he let's the beast inside know that yes, you're his for the taking, nothing will be able to stop him. Not reason or conscience, not if you're kicking and begging, not any ounce of moral goodness in him. Once the beast has you, it's not stopping until it's filled you up over and over and over again.

So he can't let it slip. He has to remain cold and stiff and rude, and just pray you leave him alone and then leave in the morning.

Little does he know, you have one last attempt at seduction up your sleeve. Little do you know what the consequences will be.

[cigaretteparfum-library]

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

Right, then. Good luck! Calls the liason as he hurries to the horse and carriage without you. You stand on the porch, embarrassed and confused, wondering what about you must be so undesirable.

After a few minutes the door opens again, and a gruff voice orders you inside. He knows you're not there by choice, he says, he knows the town elders probably forced you there to settle him. You try to explain that's not the case, but he doesn't believe you. He says you can stay for the night, as the sun is going down, but he expects you to fuck off in the morning.

You try to talk over dinner, but he's defensive and quiet. You try to convince him that you want to be there, but he scoffs that you have no idea what soothing a bear's heat even means.

Over the evening, you try different techniques to tempt him. Using his bath, undressing a few layers by the fire, sleeping nude in his bed. He expresses total disinterest the entire time, a steely lack of any desire towards you.

Disheartened, you're about to give up. You have no idea the reason he's being so aggressively stoic is because the moment he opened his cabin door, the moment he saw and smelled you, the beast inside him said Mine. Only mine. You have no idea that every breath he's taken since has been measured and cautious, every effort he's made not to pounce and claim you. Gods, he can barely stand to look at you without the saliva filling his mouth, the feral lust clouding his thoughts.

There's no way you're here by choice, he reasons privately. No way any nice, pretty human would volunteer for the social ostracism that would come with mating a werebear. And whatever those fuckers in the elder council did to leverage you into coming here, he can't let himself take advantage.

Because once he let's his control slip, once he let's the beast inside know that yes, you're his for the taking, nothing will be able to stop him. Not reason or conscience, not if you're kicking and begging, not any ounce of moral goodness in him. Once the beast has you, it's not stopping until it's filled you up over and over and over again.

So he can't let it slip. He has to remain cold and stiff and rude, and just pray you leave him alone and then leave in the morning.

Little does he know, you have one last attempt at seduction up your sleeve. Little do you know what the consequences will be.

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Snapped - Part 1

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 1

Part 1 [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4 - NSFW]

Mech’s working on one of the control panels in the main cavity of the ship where he can hear the sounds that reassure him he’s back home—that they all are.

The distant voices of the others getting ready to go out, the whoosh of air through the vents, the clang of distant machinery are usually comforting, but tonight even they can’t fully sooth him, not after such a close call.

He keeps having to take deep breaths, keeps having to stop the black spines which line his back from flaring sharply in agitation. He’s even having trouble stopping the venom from gathering in his mouth and at the glans at the base of his claws, which keep wanting to extend. His body is too convinced there’s still a threat he needs to be ready to fight off to relax.

The distant voices of the others getting ready to go out, the whoosh of air through the vents, the clang of distant machinery are usually comforting, but tonight even they can’t fully sooth him, not after such a close call.

He keeps having to take deep breaths, keeps having to stop the black spines which line his back from flaring sharply in agitation. He’s even having trouble stopping the venom from gathering in his mouth and at the glans at the base of his claws, which keep wanting to extend. His body is too convinced there’s still a threat he needs to be ready to fight off to relax.

Graviels’ have a contradictory reputation of being both emotionless and berserkers, fueled by their planet’s history of controlling its citizens chemically. Having only dismantled that system of tight control a generation and a half ago, the teachings and beliefs are still prominent, just without the chemical suppressants and with a slightly laxer rule set. However, all have found their emotions and instincts too difficult to control at times after so long with something else doing that for them. Some graviels, especially those who went off world on their own, simply gave themselves over to such impulses.

Mech is usually pretty good at keeping himself under control, having found a good balance for himself of letting him feel those emotions without surrendering to them—or letting others see how they affect him. Still, usually a round of meditation and deliberately calmer tasks—necessary, low stress, rather boring ones—are enough to get him feeling back to normal.

This time though…

This time, nearly a full day later, he continues to be actively trying to push from the forefront of his mind how Gwen felt in his arms, limp and still. He’d been captured first and the way they had thrown her in however much longer later, unresponsive and unmoving, plagues his every other thought. She already worries him with that strange human mix of fragility and resilience. Able to withstand so much, but just as liable to be broken by something inconsequential like the rest of her vexing, paradoxical species.

Mech had scooped her up as soon as he’d been sure the guards were gone and dragged her to the corner of the room where the speaker couldn’t pick up sound. Tried to do what he could to make her comfortable and bandaged anything he could, as best he could. Hoping his warmth and knowing a friend was there would stop any panic when she awoke.

The sight of her light brown eyes blinking up at him had sent the strongest jolt of relief and dread down his spine. It’d been so long since he cared about someone enough for such a simple gesture to mean so much. His reaction, his relief, terrified him because he could no longer pretend or ignore what she was to him. And yet he hadn’t been able to resist the smile he’d given her in return when he saw something similar, some relief close to his own reflected back in her eyes.

She’d smiled despite her injuries and it had taken all he had to calmly relate what had happened to him since he’d been separated from the group. Limiting himself to light strokes of her hair, her arms, needing that physical reassurance even after checking her for injuries. She had reciprocated, passing the time listening to him by playing connect the dots with his black speckles, until she filled him in on what had happened with her and the others.

They’d formulated the next part of their plan quietly, practically talking into each other’s ears as they lay curled up in the corner together. They’d had to make escapes before or plans on the fly or fight their way back to the others—but it had been rare they were in such a tight spot and injured as they were.

But they made it fine, in the end. He tries to replace the sense memory of her limp body with the feeling of her hand in his, of her body braced behind her smuggled shield protecting them both from that missile after they escaped the cell. Of their reunion with the rest of the crew, of the ship still whole.

It's difficult though, when the ghost of her injured form still haunts him so persistently. 

He blinks and the image is gone, replaced with the wires he’s working on instead. His right hand is clenched around the edge of the panel, nearly denting it—his red skin made paler from his tight grip, the black splotch on the back of his hand standing out darker than usual in contrast. He lets go immediately, running his fingers more gently over the metal to check for damage.

After assessing it’s unbent, he drops his hand and runs the other through his black hair. He attempts to distract himself by wondering if it's time to cut his hair from just above his shoulders to closer to his eyeline, but settles for just tying part of it back so it’s out of his face.

Maybe he should go down, further into the bowels of the ship. Usually the main deck is more soothing because of the others around, but he thinks that some isolation might do him so good—especially if he’s going to be getting lost in his thoughts so obviously. 

Sure enough, only a moment later, he hears the others begin to gather behind him in the main area by the door. 

He knows they’ve stopped at this port for a reason. Finest taverns and dancehalls for miles around. They each deal with their leftover adrenaline from such a narrow escape differently. He’s channeling his into patch jobs for the ship. He knows Lara’s off training with some sparring program, Jace is running laps, and Tee is in deep meditation somewhere precarious. The rest of the crew, excluding himself of course, is going out—for drinks and dancing and companionship. 

Everyone trying to remind themselves that they’re alive in their own way.

It's practically a routine at this point, he reminds himself. They’ve been on dozens of missions just as close. Closer even. 

So why is something about this time so different? So unshakeable?

He can always sense when Gwen’s near—can’t even begin to remember when that started—but it’s so strong this time. He knows with complete certainty when she steps over the threshold into the room. It’s like they’re reaching out to each other despite the distance, despite the spanner in his hand and the favorite silver clutch that must be in hers. 

Slowly, like a condemned man, he braces himself on his hands before pulling back from the wall and the panel he’d been futilely trying to work on. With unerring accuracy, he turns his head smoothly.

His eyes met hers in an instant and he feels it.

Snap.

Her eyes widen slightly, like there was a physical sound to accompany the sensation. He’s almost sure there wasn’t—certainly no one else is saying anything. The rushing he hears is surely the blood pumping through his veins and not auditory to any one but him. Same for how his heart pounds, tension tightening its way through his every nerve. None of them seem to notice the way the atmosphere is heavier, thicker. Sounds seem louder. They grate on him. Everything around him suddenly chafes against his very being—everything except her.

“Gwen,” he says without even realizing he was going to speak as he straightens up. His clear voice rings across the space, cuts through the other’s chatter. His eyes drag down her form. Instead of her usual baggy uniform of cargo pants and a long-sleeved top—as suited to their traveling, casual lifestyle as his own black tank top and dark gray pants are—she’s in a dress. 

It’s light blue, with a pattern of swirls of dark blue and silver all over it. The flowy skirt looks like it’ll flare as she spins in a dance. The top part of the dress looks like thick sashes tied around her chest and behind her neck. He doubts she’s got much on under it—the lines would show. There’s a strip of her midriff bared, showing off the delicate ring she has there. The whole dress looks like one tug would leave her bare. 

The idea of someone else’s hands on her, even in a friendly dance, makes bloodlust fog his vision, makes the spines on his back flare. He ruthlessly smoothes them back down.

His voice manages surprisingly well to not betray any of his sudden turmoil when he continues, “You can’t go out tonight.”

Her brow furrows, the others stop talking immediately—they must finally sense something’s wrong too. They normally never shut up that easily. “Why not?” she asks, but there’s no outrage to it, not the way there had been when he used to order her about. He’s long broken himself of the habit—she never listened anyway and most of the time was right not to, no matter the experience he’s got on her. She can tell when he’s messing about or too far up his own ass–and when he’s dead serious long before the others can. 

“Need you to stay here,” is all he says. His fingers clench around the metal tool in his hand and it bends. It’s taking everything in him not to pull her in his arms this second, not to finally taste her. 

He drops the wrench with a muted clang.

“There a problem?” Gwen asks, frowning in concern. And does her voice sound a little breathier than usual? Must be his fevered thinking.

“Yeah,” he admits because he can’t deny it, not to her. He’ll say whatever he needs to in order to get her to stay. “Need your help.” His tail is holding the panel shut, while he re-secures the panel he’d been working on with one hand without looking. Wild veruden raiders couldn’t pull his focus away from Gwen.

“What’s wrong?” Captain Staci looks between them, alarm growing on her face and he remembers the others once again.

“None of your business,” he replies sharply before he presses his lips together. Shouldn’t have said that. 

“Want to try that again?” He can’t look away from Gwen, but he knows Staci’s got her frills up if her voice is any indication, reminding him that talking to her like that is a very thin line to tread.

“Sorry, Captain,” he says, trying hard to think through the pounding of his blood, the hormones dumping into his system. He needs Staci to head out, but he also needs her to let Gwen stay back, so she can’t be too angry or worried. “Personal problem,” he manages, sticking to short sentences as he tries to find the right combination of words. “Ships fine. We’re fine. Need Gwen though.”

“Alright,” Gwen says, a little slowly, but she knows he wouldn’t ask for her help without reason. Knows he would never admit to a ‘personal problem’ without it being a big one. She’s aware of exactly how private he is. Respects it. 

Part of why she’s his favorite.

“Gw—” Harry speaks up that time, but Gwen cuts him off before Mech has to. He’s never liked Harry, too flirtatious and cavalier by far, with a liking for Gwen that makes Mech jealous even on a good day, no matter how illogical.

“It’s fine,” she looks away from Mech to give Harry a reassuring smile. He knows she’s doing it because she’s agreeing to stay back with him, but he hates that she’s even looking at someone else. 

This is worse than I realized, he thinks as he drops his remaining tools back into their box a little too roughly.

He methodically packs everything up, trying to pull himself under control, while she reassures and jokes with the others. By the time he’s walking over to her, she’s waving them out.

She looks up at him with a wry smirk. “Gonna tell me what’s wrong now that the peanut gallery is gone?” 

Under her posturing, he can tell she’s worried for him. Makes everything inside burn brighter for her. He appreciates the attempt at levity for all it’s not actually doing much good. He opens his mouth and all the things he keeps locked up tight the rest of the time, all the things that he wants to say to her, about her and what she means to him and how she makes him feel, threaten to pour out. He closes his mouth again before grunting, “Medbay.”

She blinks up at him and he sees true concern blossom on her face. “Mech…”

Gwen reaches out and he can’t let her touch him right now. He’d never let go. Mech stalks out of her reach, wondering if she’ll follow. Praying she won’t. Praying she will.

She’s always had too much faith in him. 

She follows.

[Part 2]

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Snapped - Part 2

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 2

[Part 1] Part 2 [Part 3] [Part 4 - NSFW]

Gwen always knows when he’s acting gruff because that’s his default attitude and when he actually needs the space, needs the quiet. She follows him silently, casually messing with her screen to make sure he doesn’t feel any pressure to talk, but he can feel her attention on him regardless.

Part of him is pleased by that, in the way he always is when he has her attention, but the growing part is more thrilled than usual, is already planning how best to prove he deserves her regard, how to convince her to keep her attention on him, only him. He presses his lips together to keep everything he wants to say trapped in his head where they belong.

Mech resists the urge to quicken his pace, determined that these ridiculous hormones not make him rush, not betray how tenuous his control feels at the moment. Usually, his grip on displaying emotions and not giving into them—no longer regulated for his people, but large displays of emotion in public is still generally considered vulgar—is solid. 

What many consider a graviel’s typical lack of emotions is merely habit and politeness these days, as they’d never managed to breed or medicate those emotions out, no matter how much the coalition had strived to. With the coalition overturned, there were plenty of graviels who choose to show their distaste for past norms by letting every stray thought show on their face, but most still played things very close to the vest when compared with the other species out here in space.

Between the common demeanor which most read as stern, the counterculture berserkers, and the intimidating vibrant red, orange, and yellow colorings most had, rumors about graviels spread far and wide from their corner of the galaxy. Sometimes it was useful—common knowledge of his unique biochemistry is what granted him the private, personal medbay that they are now heading towards. Socially though, it was often a detriment. People tended to be either intimidated or determined not to be intimidated with false shows of bravado—all of which grew tiring very quickly.

Gwen was one of the few who had been neither. Mech had been suspicious at first, expecting her casual facade to fade over time and betray which camp she belonged to. Yet it never had. Instead, one day, she’d called him out on his own attitude and how he’d been looking for fault in her reactions which she explained, in clear concise detail, were only the consequences of his, admittedly poor and suspicious, attitude. They’d both backed off that day and slowly, tentatively, come to a new understanding which had blossomed into one of the richest, most rewarding relationships he’d ever had.

And now it’s all in danger because some stupid primitive hormonal shift out of his control. Mech tries to focus on his frustration with the idea that something so stupid could mess up this precious connection instead of all the reasons to push the edges of their relationship like his instincts are whispering in his ear to do. 

The impulses are getting stronger and he knows he hasn’t hidden his relief at finally reaching the medbay from Gwen well enough judging by the way she looks at him with mounting concern. The door swishes open at his touch and for once he goes in first, instead of ushering her ahead of him. He knows he couldn’t handle her so close to him as she would need to be in order to walk by him.

Without looking back at her, he can sense her second of hesitation, her notice of this change to their normal, but he steadfastly refuses to look back. He walks over to the monitor and instantly begins calling up the diagnostic software.

Mech wishes the small medbay next to his quarters was bigger, wishes her scent wasn’t already flooding it. Humans, always giving off so many pheromones and scents, spilling their chaos everywhere. 

He loves it most of the time. He hates it right now. 

“So, now can you tell me?” Gwen asks and honestly it's a good show of her restraint that she waited until they were in private to push again. Gwen’s always been the curious sort and he doubts this is any different.

He just grunts in reply though, not sure where to even begin to explain. The noise in his head is a cacophony of sexual impulses and desires he can only ignore by single-mindedly focusing on putting together something to shut them up, even temporarily, so he can think and find a more permanent solution. He needs to create the largest hormonal dampener—without actually knocking himself out or putting his mind into a loopy haze—that he can.

He hates having to do so, hates going back to that past history of his species, but the sad truth is that many such concoctions do exist, he just needs to pick the one with the most tolerable side-effects. 

Methodically, he begins going through the cabinets as soon as he sets the database running through possibilities for treatment. He’s never been so glad he has his own medbay and that everything is in his native language so she can’t read it. He doesn’t want her to know about this weakness of his, this lapse in control. It’s too shameful, too revealing. 

“Seriously, Mech?” Gwen says, insistent and annoyed. He chances a glance in a mirrored jar to catch a glimpse her glorious form and has to swallow the venom pooling in his mouth at the sight. Her hands are on her hips—never a good sign and yet, he’s always had a soft spot for the heat of her anger. Well, perhaps soft spot is the wrong turn of phrase for what a feisty Gwen does to him. 

“What’s going on?” her tone is no-nonsense and supportive at the same time and he wants to let it all just spill out.

Every second that goes by makes it that much harder to war against his instincts. Instincts that have suddenly decided he needs to claim his mate before she is taken away, by death or rivals—by anything. The fact that she isn’t actually his mate doesn’t matter to the primal beast within. Only that he wants her to be, desperately. Only that she hasn’t rejected him, since he’s never bothered to ask when he knows the answer. Only that she cares about him enough to fool his hormones into thinking she’d be receptive. 

“Told you,” he replies, pulling down bottles and ignoring the extra layer to his voice—a deeper, throatier tone that betrays what he’s fighting so hard to control. “Personal problem.”

“Yeah, well, that’s useless,” Gwen replies, throwing her hands up. She’s not wrong—that’s sort of the point of giving an answer like that. Half the time Gwen is good at taking the hint, but if she’s actually worried then— “And I don’t see what it has to do with me. So if you’re just gonna ignore me, then I might as well go—”

“No!” He’s suddenly in front of the door out, his typically black eyes wild—glowing with orange light strong enough he can see it on her face. She freezes, finally eyeing him like the beast he’s turning into. His claws lengthening, starting to drip with venom that isn’t harmful to humans, not exactly, but still instinctive given his need to keep her here. He tries to calm down, tries to breathe, but her scent is everywhere—all of his senses heightened and trained on her. He tries another tactic, reminding himself that she’s here—she’s just worried about him, she’s not going to leave.  

“I. Apologize,” Mech grits out. “I will try to explain. Just please.” He knows she can hear the desperate edge to his voice but he can’t bring himself to reign it in, “Take it back.”

Only now Gwen isn’t showing any fear, like a sane person would at even the hint of an out-of-control graviel. It looks like she was just startled. She only looks worried—for him. “I’m sorry, Mech. You just…” she trails off and he feels himself lose some tension as she continues to stay where she is, as she makes no move to disappear. But he stays where he is and she seems to realize that. She frowns, but figures out what he’s waiting for before he has to clarify. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says clearly, meeting his eyes sincerely. “Promise.”

He feels the spines along his back and arms slowly relax—he hadn’t even realized they were up. He closes his eyes, breathes in another lungful of Gwen tinted air. His eyes are back to normal as carefully he moves back towards the bench. “I don’t mean to—” he cuts off the excuse before he can finish it. “It’s very hard to think right now. I… need…” He shakes his head, finding words to say to her that aren’t just a list of what he wants to do with her—carnally—fails. 

“Take your time,” Gwen soothes. She hops up on the med table. “Just… let me know what I can do to help.”

He pushes down the image of her spread out across the table, skirts up around her waist as he— Mech staggers to the workbench, combines the last few compounds. It spins together while he continues to work on his control. It's not working, every second that passes he can feel the strain growing. “Talk.” It takes him a second to realize he was the one who spoke, his voice still far too full of gravel. He nearly doesn’t recognize it. His eyes flick to her face and away. “Could you…just talk about something? Anything?”

Gwen picks up on his need for distraction easily. After they got over the first hurdle of their initial misunderstanding of each other, she’s been more in sync with him than anyone else he’s ever met. “Sure. Staci knows some people here—it's why we’re parked for free.”

She chatters on about their crewmates for a few minutes while the sedative mixes and he holds completely still—a rigid statue in all but substance. His thoughts try to hold onto what she’s saying, but he’s focusing on the way her voice sounds more than anything. How she would sound as he carefully coaxed her to ecstasy. 

His thoughts narrow down to, wait, wait, wait. One more moment. Just need to wait for—a small ding sounds and he can’t help but lunge for it. He doesn’t bother drinking it, taking the vial, fitting it into a syringe and plunging it into his thigh. Luckily, his aim is true and he hits the vein, even aiming through his clothes.

She gives a small yelp of surprise at the abrupt motion, the desperate way he acts. 

It doesn’t matter because he can feel it helping—cool numbness spreading slowly through his system, dampening the fever and the need to take her. The hormonal haze dissipates to something that can coexist with rational thought.

Mech breathes in and her scent no longer makes his fingers twitch with the urge to feel her. Well, no more than usual. He’s long perfected the art of ignoring those urges and he’s finally able to do so again. He feels his grip on himself tighten mentally and he slumps in relief. 

He won’t make a terrible mistake, he won’t ruin their friendship—he won’t expose himself and have her reject him, tainting their relationship irreparably. 

“What was that?” Gwen’s voice shakes as she asks and he realizes just how much effort she must have been putting into making it seem like everything was fine. Because she’s not anymore. Her honey brown eyes are wide with worry and concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Mech’s voice is still rather rough, but he sounds more like himself. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I…” He reaches up to run his fingers through his thick hair. “I seem to be suffering under the effects of some abrupt and intense internal chemistry problems.”

She seems relieved to see him acting more like himself, that he’s speaking in full sentences with more of his usual precision, but her eyes narrow as she considers him. “Something happened back there, didn’t it?” Gwen asks shrewdly.

“Yes,” he admits, not bothering to ask when she mean—there’s no point in trying to deny that. “No idea why, but it did. Let’s just say after generations of my people controlling themselves chemically, that it’s left us with an unpredictable element to our biology. Even though we’ve stopped and are trying to recover from that sort of…repression, it’s not an exact science. Flare ups happen.”

“Right,” Gwen says slowly. He knows she’s always paying attention to what he reveals about himself—there’s a certain intent look she gets in her eyes. Not to mention what research she might have done beyond what he lets slip. Hopefully she knows enough not to press too much. That he can say just enough to weather this storm without her finding out the exact nature of the ‘flare up’. “And that’s what that was?”

“What it is,” he corrected because it's important she not completely let her guard down. “I only slowed the reaction down with that shot.” He grunts as he pulls out a heavy metal case—it contains all the rarer substances from his home planet. “Now that I can think, I need to figure out how to stop it and flush out my system.”

“What does this all have to do with me?”

He freezes for a second before he goes back to cataloging what he has at his disposal. Leave it to his clever human to ask the right question. “My instincts are in turmoil right now,” he settles on. “Having you here—it helps.”

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. A cheeky grin spreads across her face as her legs swing lightly against the table, as Gwen starts to relax the longer he acts like himself again. “Because I’m your favorite?”

Mech barks a laugh at the echo of his thought from earlier on her lips. “Exactly.” Then the mirth slides from his face. “The idea of letting you out of my sight, where something might happen to you is… Unbearable. Even more than usual.”

Gwen’s face softens and her hand twitches as if to reach out to him. It settles back in her lap, evidently she remembers what he had done earlier to avoid said touch. “Mech, I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine now.”

“I know,” Mech says gruffly, feeling like a child after a nightmare, upset even though he knows it's over and unable to believe in current safety despite every evidence that it is. “I know. Just, indulge me.”

“Of course,” Gwen says graciously—obviously not completely understanding the nuts and bolts of the situation, but seeing enough. As always. “Anything more helpful I can do though? You know me, I hate to sit around on my hands.”

That sends a spike of heat through him. He can think of a number of ways she could help him out, no hands required. His eyes flare and he tries to breathe through the sudden impulse. 

This sedative isn’t gonna buy him nearly as much time as he thought.

“Mech…” She notices his reaction, no matter how quickly he’d clamped down on it, because of course she does. Sliding down from the table, she reaches out to him—obviously having decided it's worth the risk. Normally her touch calms him, but he knows it won’t right now so he ducks out of the way, putting a cart between them. 

“Sorry,” he says, a pang of guilt at her hurt expression. “It's complicated. You can’t touch me. Would make it worse.”

Her face screws up in confusion. “Why?”

“Just will. Need to balance all the, the factors,” Mech turns back to the computer and feeds it a drop of blood, the brief stick of pain helping. “Territorial instincts can be contradictory. Need you close, but not too close or other…” The computer beeps and his heart sinks as he reads the report. A rare condition, with minimal case studies and all reports of this happening have been with mated couples, not unmated ones. Well, there’d been one who’s mate had died a month prior. He did not survive the imbalance.

Mech slams his fist into the desk in frustration. A flask on the counter jolts wildly in reaction and starts to tip over. Mech reaches out a hand to stop its fall at the same time Gwen does. Her hand lands on the back of his. His hand instantly flexed at the feel of her soft skin against his own, as the nerve endings zip with pleasure at the touch of the one he desires.

The flask gives a short whining creak before it shatters under the pressure he’s exerting on it. Cursing again, Mech pulls Gwen back, his tail looping around her elbow to tug her away from the glass as he lunges for a towel. 

He ignores her squawk of protest at his actions and focuses on the fact that glass could hurt her so as to ignore the feel of her under his tail. 

It’s only when he’s cleaned it all up in record time that her voice finally breaks through. “Mech! You’re bleeding. Let go of me,” she gives a short tug to where his tails is looped around her arm, “and let me help. I know how to act around a little broken glass.”

He blinks down at the towel he’d been using to see some streaks of dark blue staining it. With a grunt, he drops it down the disposal shoot and grabs a roll of bandages. As he sprays the shallow cut across his palm with disinfectant, he tries with the rest of his focus to convince his own tail to unwrap from Gwen’s arm. Even after he’s secured a neat bandage to the cut he still can’t even feel, he’s not made any progress in releasing her.

“Mech?” Gwen’s voice has a tremble he hates in it. “Will you say something? You’re…just look at me, please?”

He’s never been able to refuse her before, not really, and there’s no chance of him doing so like this. He sets down the roll of linen and turns to look at her.

Her eyes widen at the glow in his own, the shame in his eyes must be obvious at how he’s lost control of this reaction too, just like his thrice cursed disobedient tail. “Mech, I thought… This still seems pretty bad,” she settles on. “And, I’ve gotta be real, you’re confusing the hell out of me. First you don’t want me to leave, but then you don’t want me too close. Now you won’t let me go.”

Mech’s hand shakes for a second before he grips the edge of the counter so the tremor is disguised. He knows he’s being a contradictory bastard. “I—Am I hurting you?”

“What? Of course not,” Gwen replies, sincere confusion in her face helps some of the shame at his brazen actions, but it also encourages him. His tail’s hold loosens but the amount of skin it’s covering grows as the tail lengthens. Gwen twitches a little at the move, before she ignores it to keep her gaze fixed on him. “But I don’t get it and I can’t help if you keep being so vague. Please, just drop the pride for a minute and talk to me. We can pretend it never happened, but you know you work better with someone to talk at. I don’t even care if you go over my head with the terminology. But stop trying to pretend this isn’t happening and that you have to solve it on your own.”

Mech closes his eyes because she’s so right, damn it all. He often can’t make sense of his own thoughts unless he talks aloud. Gwen’s his best sounding board and she asks just the right questions that let him make the necessary connections needed to solve problems. This isn’t any different, but it has to be, because he can’t tell her. He’ll lose her for good if she finds out what he wants. And, for all its his hormones dialing everything so far beyond usual, he does want her. More than anything he’s ever craved in his life.

But what choice does he have? How closely can he walk that line with his body turned against him like this?

“Alright, alright,” he gives in. “I’ll try to explain.” 

[Part 3]

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Snapped - Part 3

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] Part 3 [Part 4 - NSFW]

“Right now,” Mech begins, trying to think of the best way to explain this without giving anything too revealing away. It doesn’t help that his mind and instincts want to tell her, his trust in her overriding his knowing that she doesn’t want him in that way. “My brain has decided to flood my bloodstream with hormones to an alarming degree, which are in turn, affecting my thought process and making my brain produce even more chemicals in response.”

Gwen nods and Mech tries to think on how to continue his explanation instead of how her hair would feel, slipping through his fingers as he–. “I need to either reverse, neutralize, or however I can stop more reactions from happening. Then I need to see if I can flush any of these hormones out of my system. While the sedative is helping for now, we’ve got a time limit before I won’t be able to think again. In that case, you’ll need to lock me in my quarters and hope I can just wait it out.”

“Sounds like we should work now while we can,” Gwen says, but he watches her head over to one of the ship’s computers and start pulling up the security for unused cabins. Smart girl. Mech purposely looks away from what she’s doing and back to cycling through possible serums. If they get to that final option, he wants locking him up to succeed even if his mind has forgotten why it needs to. Mech appreciates her not drawing attention to this option or arguing with him. It’s in everyone’s best interests that, if he can’t find a solution, he’s locked up where he can’t get to her. Gwen continues, “What was that, um—you called it a sedative, right? What was that supposed to do?”

“It was supposed to slow down the release of additional hormones and counteract some that had already been released,” Mech replies, trying to stay focused on the content of her words and not how pleasing he finds her voice. Not being able to see her helps, but he can still sense her heat, her scent swirling through the closed room with ease. He pulls up the sendative’s formula and the sample of blood he fed the system, trying to see if there are any obvious reasons it’s failing. 

“How well is that working?” Gwen asks, but she saw his reaction, his lapse in control, earlier. She must know the answer already.

“Not well at all,” he confirms. He can see now it’s not that the sedative isn’t working. It’s outnumbered and overwhelmed. His blood has a truly staggering amount of hormones, still being released in waves. The sedative has already bonded with as much as it can. “I thought it would have a more significant impact, but it could only do so much and it’s already used up, so to speak.” He would have to take a lot more for an additional effect. That would likely lead to blocking the release of necessary chemicals as well as an overabundance of the compound the bonding process produces. “If I take enough to handle the problem, it’ll poison me.”

“Ok-ay, yeah, no—don’t want that,” Gwen replies, turning her back on the screen she’d been using—so hopefully whatever room she set up to quarantine him is prepared now. That sends some ripples of relief through him—he’s not sure how he’ll able to weather the hormones one his own, but at least she’ll be safe. Hopefully, she’ll stop looking so concerned once he’s locked away. Although, when had he turned back around to look at her? 

“So what’s the next move?” Gwen asks, interrupting his thoughts. She nibbles on her lower lip as she thinks and he wants to replace her teeth and tongue with his own. Her lips must be so soft and– “You gave your computer something to analyze, right? What did it say?”

“The program identified my condition,” Mech says, forcing his eyes away from tracing her collarbones, all the lovely skin her pretty dress is still leaving on display, to the screen in question. He pulls the case studies back up. “It’s happened before, but not often and under different circumstances.”

“Like what?” Gwen asks, her voice more curious than concerned, but another glance he can’t help her reveals she’s only trying to act that way. She always starts messing with her hair when she’s worried. The strands twirl around her finger and he wants to see them haloing her head as she lies underneath him, moving as he–

“Two people at once,” Mech manages as he stares furiously at the screen. Recriminations sound through his head just loud enough to drown out any imaginings of what she might sound like as he claimed her as his mate. He begins running through some of the medications they tried on these individuals. They’d all been on his home planet when the imbalance seized them. Does he even have all of these materials? Their weathering of their systems was primarily done with supportive care as they gave into the insistence of their hormones. Mating for days in some cases until the hormone surge was satisfied. His voice is rough once more as he continues, “So they were able to help each other.”

“But there’s just you,” Gwen realizes, worry and sympathy in her voice. She’s such a compassionate person. Surely she would understand his predicament, if he just explained.  Maybe she would be willing to help him. She wouldn’t want him to suff–no, Mech cuts off his traitorous thoughts, knowing he would hate himself if he awoke from the surge to learn she’d mated with him out of pity or worse, that he’d tricked himself into hearing what he wanted to hear. “And you said I was only sort of helping.”

Mech bites back the words to explain in graphic detail exactly what she’s doing to him. Her presence remains a double-edged sword—a distracting one that is as liable to defend him as it is to cut him. “Right.”

“Sorry,” she says and her voice is so falsely casual he has to turn around. He sees her shrug and give an attempt at a smile. “Only human I’m afraid. Still, better than nothing, yeah?” She looks like he might blame her for being human, like she feels bad she can’t do more when it's a miracle she’s being as tolerant of this, this disgraceful lapse in control on his part.

“Of course.” Mech can’t have her thinking any of this is her fault. He reaches out to comfort her, to reassure her that she’s not failing at anything, that there’s nothing for her to feel guilty for, before he remembers why that would be a mistake. His arm falls back to his side, useless. Instead he tries to meet her eyes, needing her to understand. “I’m very grateful you’re here, Gwen.”

Her eyes measure his words before her smile turns far more genuine and it’s like the first drops of rain after a drought, refreshing and revitalizing. He can see the individual flecks of gold in her brown eyes, the delicate curls that frame her face, the red of her lips.

A beep draws his attention away, causes him to realize he’d stepped closer to her without even noticing.

“Okay, it’s generated a list of formulations we can create here with the supplies on hand,” Mech says, forcing his mind into the science as deeply as he can. Trying to lose himself in the problem rather than in Gwen. 

The news is as sobering as it can be. By virtue of the previous cases affecting couples, most of the treatments heavily relied on their mating. Significantly, they require complimentary pheromones as a key ingredient to lessen the intensity of the effects. Dosing the affected individuals with each other hormones in addition to those introduced via actual mating, tricking the hormones into thinking they already had enough of what they craved. Judging by the one couple who surged at the same time, but hours away from each, that was also how the duration was shortened. 

Human hormones of his “mate”, if he were in close enough prolonged contact, would likely help, but they could not be extracted from the venom for extra dosing because humans didn’t have any venom. And it would need to be human sexual pheromones, more concentrated than just the typical riotous blend they generated in abundance. So even that solution is heavily reliant on mating with Gwen, which is the one thing he definitely cannot do. 

He furiously types updated parameters into the system, ruthlessly screening out all suggested formulations that required the use of complimentary mate hormones. He can see, out of the corner of his eyes, that Gwen has drifted closer, clearly attempting to understand what the results might be since he’s stopped explaining. 

Mech can’t let her get any closer. “Most of these require supplies we don’t have or chemicals from the other who’s afflicted. I’m trying to narrow it down to a list of solutions I can actually make.” She still takes another distracted and curious step closer. He can’t even make his mouth form the words to tell her to stay back because he wants her closer. Wants to feel the heat she gives off against his skin, he wants to take in her scent directly from the source, lick the taste of her and—

“Can you get that other case of materials? I think it’s just back up of what’s here, but maybe there’s something else in there I forgot about,” he asks and Gwen brightens at the chance to help.

“Sure thing,” she replies and heads over to the other side of the room.

Mech turns his attention back to calculating which of these proposed solutions has the most promise and is the most efficient use of the compounds on hand.

He actually is able to refocus on the problem. He’s starting to hope that maybe the sedative just needed more time to kick or that he can create a more targetted one that won’t have too many negative side-effects. He doesn’t even notice when Gwen comes over, a cabinet or two down from him, with the case he asked for. She opens it and slides next to the other. It's only then that he looks at her again. He forces his eyes to stay away from her, forces them to stay focused on the carefully labeled packages and plants from his home in the case.

Just as he thought, there’s really only one or two that are different from the primary case—minor seasonal fluctuation in when they were assembled. Still, he dutifully plugs those new compounds into the system and waits to see if that alters the results.

The distant sound of the air filter system kicking on almost doesn’t rate notice either until it blows a strong stream of Gwen’s scent right into his senses. His nostrils flare and so do his spines, his claws extending into the wood of the countertop instantly.

“Mech!”

He’s already flung himself back towards the door, eyes lit up as he tries to get out of that tempting, delicious airflow. “Turn it off!” he hisses, closing his eyes as he anchors himself in place. Gwen doesn’t answer, but he can hear her pushing the cart aside to get to the control panel on the wall.

Despite his best effort, the airflow has re-circulated Gwen’s scent thoroughly throughout the medbay. He feels the pull to where he can sense she is. Humans have such strong pheromones by nature that Gwen’s typical scent is more than enough to convince his mind in this state that she’s ready for mating. His mind is spinning as he digs his claws into the wall as he strains to hold onto the knowledge that he can’t go to her.

His senses are in such an aware state that the sudden rush of cool air over his head feels more like a faucet of cold water. He lets out a surprised noise, that was not a yelp, and blinks up to see the vent over the door wide open. Tilting his head back down, he sees Gwen still at the controls, clearly running some sort of air purification program, pulling the air from her side out of the room and pushing out fresh, sanitized air from his side. 

Mech had forgotten that of course the medbay was equipped with more than the ship’s typical air filtration system. While obviously they couldn’t run a full air sanitation program with two living people still in the room, this refresh is still very helpful. Gwen’s eyes meet his own and he’s surprised by how much worry he can see in them. He thinks his eyes are still glowing, but he’s careful to relax his spines, breathing deep of the fresh air and withdrawing his claws from the wall. “Thank you,” he says, mind actually fixed on the gratitude he feels for the clear head and only minorly on how lovely her hair looks as artificial wind tugs at it.

Gwen gives him a shaky smile and wisely keeps the program running, staying where she is on the other side of the room. “Glad I still knew how to do that. Never thought I’d have any reason to be grateful for that shipment of squezares for bursting.”

Mech shudders in memory of the smell that had spread throughout the ship what that particular cargo had been damaged. “Not sure it was worth it.” Gwen’s smile gets more solid at the joke and Mech finally feels something like solid ground under his feet. He hadn’t noticed how much her scent was affecting him. Staying as close to the fresh air vent as he can, Mech reaches over and manages to pull the diagnostic screen to him. But before he can look at the results it’s populated, Gwen speaks up again.

“I know you said that even if I’m not a graviel, I’m better than nothing,” she says, looking hesitant and frustrated and guilty for no reason Mech can think of, “but are you sure that’s true?” Gwen meets his eyes and he hates how desperate she looks all of a sudden. His reaction to her increased scent must have really worried her. The mental clarity the fresh air has brought him is overwhelmed by his innate desire to comfort her. He takes a step closer on instinct, needing to sooth her anyway he can. She holds up her hand, this time telling him to stay back and it cuts far deeper than he knows it should. Because she’s right. He should stay away if he’s the reason she looks this distraught, the reason they're in this whole mess. “Because I still don’t understand what’s happening to you and it seems like I’m making things worse. Every time it’s gotten worse has been my fault.”

“Not your fault,” he insists. “I promise it’s my fault. I keep forgetting or trying to—” He cuts himself off before he can say “claim you as my mate”. Between his own mind and the way, no matter what filters he puts on it, the system keeps insisting he do so as well the thought is always on the tip of his tongue. “Trying to act as though you’re affected too, like the other cases.”

“Are you sure there isn’t more I can do?” Gwen pleads. “You’re holding yourself back and it's hurting you. I’m not gonna break or get mad at you or whatever. It’s not as though your instincts want to fight me or something, is it?”

“No, not…” Mech swallows down venom and forces himself give an answer, any answer to get her to back away from this line of questioning. Even now he can feel himself wavering. Would it really be so bad to tell her the truth? What if she wants—No. He can’t let himself think such things. But he can’t have her thinking he wants to hurt her either. Not that he seems able to help it, going by the look on her face. All he can do is shake his head and hope she can hear the truth in his voice, “Nothing like that.”

“Mech…” 

Gwen gives him a look he can’t interpret, only that her skepticism is clear to him. But at what he has no idea and with all his hormones raging it's too easy for that confusion and fear to meld into frustration. “It’s very hard to think, alright?” he snaps. “It’s heard to hear, in a sense, anything that isn’t what my body is telling me.” He needs her to understand what’s at stake. “If I stop being able to hear you…”

“But if you don’t want to hurt—” Gwen tries to argue, a stubborn look on her face. If only she understood what she was pushing for and how much he wants to take her up on that offer, damn the consequences.

But he can’t. He knows the risks, knows the consequences. Even now, his instincts also want to keep her safe and happy, even as they want to claim her. Mech’s pretty sure that’s the only reason he’s as lucid as he is. That he’s resisting as well as he is.

“Accidents happen, Gwen,” he replies, frustrated at his inability to articulate the danger to her without giving himself away. “I’m stronger than you, physically. I could hurt you. And I didn’t just mean literally hear you. I meant interpret any communication, including physical movement, as signs of possible distress. I’m essentially drunk. People do all sorts of dangerous and potentially harmful things, when out of their mind, even if they don’t intend to. Even if they wouldn’t under normal circumstances.”

“Okay, okay,” Gwen puts her hands up. “I get it. I just think that if chemistry isn’t working—which it really doesn’t seem like it is—that you should just stop beating around the bush and tell me what your instincts want.” She looks over at him earnestly. “I don’t know shit about your biology or chemistry, but maybe I could help you figure out another way to handle everything. Something practical instead of scientific. I feel like I’m trying to help with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Gwen,” he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

Gwen glares back at him, the frustration in every line of her body mirroring his own. “Just tell me!”

“Fine! You really want to know? My instincts,” he lets the words out through gritted teeth. He no longer has the strength to keep them in any longer. All his focus has to be on not acting on them. “They want you. They want me to claim you,” he chances a look at her face, “Make you mine. My mate.”

“Oh!” Her eyes go very wide before they dart away from Mech’s, likely embarrassed for him. And herself. And this whole cursed situation. “I’m sorry. I know you must…” She bites her lip which Mech really wishes she wouldn’t. “Sorry. How can I stop…” She makes a vague gesture at herself.

“You can’t,” he replies bluntly. “You need to be here so I don’t think you’re in danger or with rivals, but you can’t touch me or I might not be able to hold myself back, not quickly enough.” He swallows, finally articulating his greatest fear which feels more real now that she knows. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Gwen’s whole expression softens. “You would never hurt me.”

“Wouldn’t mean to,” he allows, flicking his eyes back to the screen, but all the words are out of focus.

“Wouldn’t,” she replies stubbornly, jutting her chin out. To his relief she doesn’t keep pushing it, allowing the sound of the vents working to fill the room as he finally is able to read the screen. 

She can’t seem to keep silent long. “Do you know why your instincts picked me?” she asks tentatively. “Or why now? If we knew that, maybe we could reverse it or fix it.”

“Don’t know why now—makes no sense. Must just…” Mech shakes his head. Probably just a matter of time. “Here,” he pulls up a fieldguide and throws it over to the screen near her. “Find that.” He points to a particular plant that’s in a seasonal variety only in the second case while he pulls the original main case over to him with his tail. He can’t risk going any closer to her than he already is for the moment. Even doing it that way, he knows it's only shame that she knows his weakness that’s keeping his tail from reaching out to her. 

Mech can’t dwell on what he reveals and the only good consequence is that he’s embarrassed enough, and afraid enough of how this might affect their relationship going forward, that it's actually helping to quell the hormones in his blood. Still, he knows he can’t lose focus and so he throws himself into creating the most promising looking medication. It’s untested, but it should compensate for the lack of an actual graviel mate to wait through the reaction with. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to get him into the secure room Gwen’s prepared. Maybe by the time this chemical snap has blown over, Gwen will have not forgotten, but be willing to pretend he never said anything.

He crosses from one wall to the other on his side, feeding the machine there the compounds he’s prepared. “Can you add the amount on the screen?” he asks, voice gruff and awkward. “Then close the lid, that’s the last ingredient.”

“Sure,” Gwen says. He hates and is grateful for how normal she sounds, like he hasn’t just disrupted the perfectly calibrated balance their friendship had managed to reach.

He doesn’t dare look up, waits for the sound of the lid closing and of her footsteps as she crosses back to her side. Even that short trip closer resulted in some of her scent blown his way and she smells like temptation distilled down to its truest form.

He sets the machine running and carefully breathes shallowly until the vents have once more blown away her enticing scent. 

“Mech, really, why me?” Gwen asks, interrupting the quiet. She sounds cautious but unwilling to leave well enough alone. He almost can’t handle that question. “Why would—”

“Of course, it’s you!” the words burst from him without thought, without permission. He’s already bared more of himself than he’d prefer, but this question is the worst because how can she even ask it. “Who else could it be? There’s no one—” He shakes his head and glares at her, unable to help himself. “There’s only you. Always you.”

Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, genuine shock evident. “Mech…”

[Part 4 - NSFW]

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Snapped - Part 4

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human, (4 / 4)

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] Part 4 - NSFW

“Who else could it be? There’s no one—” He shakes his head and glares at her, unable to help himself. “There’s only you. Always you.”

Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, genuine shock evident. “Mech…”

The silence that echoes through the room is deafening, even the vents seem subdued in the wake of Mech’s most recent confession. 

It’s only broken when the synthesizer machine beeps, signaling that the compound has been mixed and is ready for use. Mech darts over to it with speed. It’s not going to do enough, he already knows that based on the limited ingredients he has on hand, but it should stabilize the reaction and ideally shorten the duration. 

He refuses to think about anything but the chemistry as he dully loads the dose into a syringe. Shame and fear has crystallized into a shield against the lust raging through his blood that’s proving surprisingly effective. How could he have told her how much he—the sharp prick of the needle as it enters his skin cuts into his train of thought and he lets it. He immediately sets the machine to rigging up another dose. He won’t be able to take it for twelve hours, but hopefully G—hopefully, it can be brought to him wherever he’s isolated.

The diagnostic machine buzzes next and he dutifully walks back over to where it’s been compiling a list of least dangerous medical concoctions to simply knock him out cold. Given how today has gone, he shouldn’t be surprised that nothing has a particularly high chance of either success or safety. As much as he hates this situation, he’s not quite at the level of self-destructive to truly consider taking most of these. Even if he wishes for nothing more than to stop thinking since the ground hasn’t managed to swallow him up.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes causes him to turn sharply. Gwen’s been silent since she said his name in that quietly devastated tone in reaction to his confession. Now he sees she’s taken a step closer for some gods forsaken reason out of her self imposed corner.

“Stay back,” he hisses even as she walks even closer. And gods, is this dose even doing anything? He swears her scent is heavier, more enticing—richer and more appealing in every way. It reaches him with no trouble despite the vents still pulling air out and away from him and her downwind. She looks even more beautiful, her eyes dark and her blue skirt fluttering around her enticingly. “I told you.”

“Hush,” she chides gently. She walks even closer, with a look in her eyes he can’t fathom. Her hair dances in the breeze too, looking thick and touchable, her figure inviting him to see how soft her skin likely is, to imagine it yielding to–

Frantically, he reaches for outrage or worry or anything other than arousal in reaction to her approach. Where is her sense of self-preservation? He backs up, spines hitting the door behind him. “Do you want to leave?” he asks, grasping at straws. Why wouldn’t she say so? They could find some way to shift around the room while maintaining proper distance. He’s told her what state of his mind is. She can’t expect him to understand what she wants from him when his instincts have such a strong hand on the controls of his imagination. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

“Do you want me?” she asks, her eyes intent as she takes another step closer. “Without all this,” she gestures with her delicate hand in a circle as if to encompass the room or his heightened state, “do you want to be with me?”

There’s no point beating around the bush anymore, is there? Even if he thought he’d been plenty clear before, he supposes she wants to hear it outright. “Yes,” Mech admits, hanging his head because now she knows it's his fault his instincts picked her. If he hadn’t already thought of her like this, when she saw him only as a friend, then maybe this, this break wouldn’t have happened. “For…” He shakes his head, unable to remember when his feelings became something other than platonic. “I don’t know why today pushed me over the edge, but I promise I can get back under control.” He can’t lose her, not from something so abrupt and uncontrollable. “I can,” he insists desperately.

Her face softens and she must feel some sympathy for him. Gwen’s one of the most compassionate people he’s ever met, surely she can forgive him for this. “Oh, Mech, you silly alien.” She steps even closer and before he can react, her hand lands on his cheek. It feels electric, each point of contact. His worry and frustration and shame all war with his hormones with her so close. His claws dig back into the wall, venom pools in his mouth, every nerve and muscle in his body straining for her held in check only by sheer force of will. “I don’t want you to.”

“W-” Her lips on his silence whatever protest he was going to attempt to utter. His whole brain skitters to a halt, unable to do anything except stay perfectly still and process what’s happening with every sense. Her lips are warm and soft, pressed with perfect pressure against his half-open mouth. Was he saying something? Her wonderful, delicious scent envelops him completely until there isn’t anything except Gwen. Her hand on his cheek is the comfort of home and hearth. The little stroke of her thumb on his cheek is everything he’s ever wanted.

This perfect moment is all his raging hormones need to take over. Mech has Gwen pushed up against the door within a second. He splays one hand around her hip, holding tight as his other hand laces with her free hand to pin it to the wall. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth as he presses every inch of his body he can manage to keep her there. The ache of his cock finally has some friction to satiate it. His whole body sings with relief, the itch and pull and desperation blissfully satisfied with the contact with his mate. Or rather, his soon to be mate. 

With that thought in mind, he skillfully takes control of the kiss, needing to show her exactly why she should choose him. Why he deserves her regard. He shall prove his worth as a kisser and therefore a lover so she’ll have no doubt in her mind that he should be hers. He can’t resist a more substantial taste of her regardless. Mech slides his tongue carefully and deliberately between her lips to slide against her own. He loses himself in the kiss, in giving and taking in as equal measure as well as he can handle when confronted with the reality of her hot, inviting mouth.

Mech distantly remembers humans' more limited lung capacity and pulls back to trail kisses down her neck, questing for where it meets her shoulder. His jaw opens, fangs dripping and scraping along her heaving body. Gwen whines and pants as he touches her and he never wants to be anywhere else doing anything else ever again. He can only think as far into the future as to picture her with his marks on her and his blood boils with desire.

“Mech…” It’s his own naked wonder at hearing Gwen moan his name that breaks through the haze of lust and hormones and instinct to remind him of exactly what situation they’re in. How nothing he’s ever done with his life would have granted him such bliss.

He wrenches his mouth from hers with all the self-control he likes to pretend he has. Panting, breathing in lungfuls of her scent with her still pressed tight to him nearly undoes that, but he holds fast. He can’t get himself to break from her further, but he just needs her to tell him, needs her to reset the boundaries before he goes too far, before he ruins her and himself in the process. 

A puff of fresh air from the vent above allows him to latch back on to his more rational objections. “I don’t need your pity,” he practically spits, doing his best to find something that can force him to back off and salvage their relationship before he’s doomed it with his rash actions and clouded judgment. Luckily, it is an almost sobering thought—the idea of being with Gwen only to have her reveal she put up with his advances solely in an attempt to help him. That would destroy him.

Instead of helping him, Gwen’s eyes flash with incandescent, fierce anger. She shifts in his grip, not letting go or trying to escape his grasp as might be sensible, but to maneuver him where she wants him. She hitches herself up and then grinds down against his thigh now between her legs. She practically growls in relief as the thin skirt she wears and even the thicker fabric of his trousers do nothing to disguise the heat and wetness he feels against him.

“Gwen,” he gasps in true shock even as his body quickly angles his thigh to an even more advantageous position. His instincts are hyper-focused, straining to satisfy his mate in any way she wants him to.

“Does that feel like pity?” she demands, groaning as he moves and tightening her grip on him. “I want you,” she says plainly and everything in him comes to a halt for the second time in a minute. His eyes faintly glowing red ones frantically meet her own. They’re dilated, black swallowing up brown, but her sincerity, the raw honesty in them is crystal clear. “I want you bad. Have done for a while now.”

“Fuck, Gwen,” is all he can manage to almost whine as his mind frantically tries to make sense of the impossible.

She smirks in response, head ducking close to manage a nip at his lower lip and a lick to one of his fangs. Her eyelids flutter at the taste of his venom as she breathes, “Yes, exactly. I need you.” 

He can’t help but give her what she asks, what she needs. Why in the universe that's an ornery, suspicious, antisocial bastard like him, he doesn’t know. But he’s lost the will to keep fighting her. He chases after her mouth, his chest an iron wall against her own slighter, softer one. She doesn’t seem to mind being caged in by his hand, still pinned as his thigh has her hips. She just grinds closer, releasing hitching little breaths and moans as his venom mixes with her saliva. 

His silvery venom is primarily deadly only on his planet, but plenty of other species have reactions to it. Some it numbs, some it hurts, and others it heals. Humanity seems most varied in their reaction, but his understanding is that it tends to fizzle, to buzz. After all, theirs is a race that poisons itself recreationally, sought out toxic plants for the sting to add to their diet, and regularly ingests powerful drugs most races take in only the smallest of doses. However Gwen’s personal chemistry might feel about it, at least it's nothing terrible enough to break their kiss.

In fact, their kiss only breaks when she runs out of air and tips her head back to breathe. He lets go of her pinned hand, an absent minded extra push before he does to tell her to leave it there, and skims his hand down her flank, strokes across the swell of her stomach. She’s so plush and warm under his fingerpads especially through the cutouts of her dress. His claws snag in the material that does cover her. He can’t retract them. He resists the urge to cut through the fabric still keeping the rest of her lovely skin from him, resists the urge to dig his claws in enough to leave a lasting mark, showing any who might look upon her that she had allowed him the luxurious indulgence of touching her.

It reminds him he still might lose sight of his strength, of everything until it was too late. And Gwen doesn’t deserve this, rutting against the medbay wall while he’s out of his mind. She deserves to be courted and treated and to be laid down reverently in a bed of silk. He should be able to touch her without worrying his darker impulses will overtake him and hurt her. “Not in a sane state of mind to do this right,” he growls out in frustration. His head nuzzles into the crook of her shoulder as even in his irritation he can’t resist the allure of the comfort Gwen offers his soul so effortlessly.

“It's you and me,” Gwen replies, her voice sure, “‘course this is right.” She pulls his face out from where he’s hiding so she can meet his gaze. “You think I don’t know what I’m asking for?” her voice is cajoling and challenging, “I dreamed of you, pressed against me just, like, this.” She punctuates each word with a roll of her hips.

He tries to claw back a hold on his senses. He knows he should, knows no matter her words, Gwen doesn’t know. But she’s intent on wrecking him. “Need you to fuck me now, Mech.”

He snaps his teeth together, baring his fangs as his whole body tenses with the urge to do just that. “Gwen,” his voice is strangled. “For graviels, you don’t know what mating—”

“But I do,” she insists. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “You don’t.” He tries desperately to find the words to explain, but there’s only Gwen. His hands clench tighter in the fabric of her dress and he dares not look down for the tears that have to have accompanied the ripping sound. The fabric is no longer covering her well, but hopefully it’s still enough to keep his claws and venom away from her skin. His eyes track a bead of sweat that drips down her neck. He longs to stop it with his tongue. He longs to sink his teeth into where it pools on the curve of her shoulder.

“Yeah, I do.” Gwen finally sounds serious. “I looked it up.” His eyes snap to her own. She raises an eyebrow. “You think I’ve wanted you this long and not investigated what it would be like?” No, he hadn’t. He’d never even thought she might feel the same, might want this too. Had she really done so? He can almost picture her in her bunk, hair twirled around one finger as she scrolls through articles and stories about the rare couplings of human and graviel. He knows they’re out there because he checked too. “How compatible we might be? I want you and all you come with, no matter the scars. Want you so damn much.”

“Gwen.” There’s awe in his voice he can’t control. Even when humans aren’t put off by the venom and how it feels, many are at how it factors into graviel mating. How it seals over the scratches and bites and marks his kind like to leave on their mates, not too deep, but guaranteed to leave permanent marks. 

Her only reply is to grind against the thigh still between her legs. His tail winds itself up her leg to stroke her upper thigh before adjusting her to an even more advantageous position. There is a fearsome look on her face, as if she feels like she’s made more than enough allowances for his anxieties and fears. Like she’s done waiting. “Gonna fuck me, Mech?” Her smirk is wicked, the look in her eyes even more so. Her hair is spread in a messy halo around her head, her skin starting to sparkle with sweat, her body never ceasing its movement, its gentle undulation against his own. He’s never seen her eyes look so dark or so appealing. She looks edible. She arches with the motion of her grind  and one of her hands reaches blindly behind her, finds the doorpad. “Or do I need to find someone else to?”

Something inside him roars at her direct challenge. Maybe it was more than an internal roar because she shudders in response. There’s triumph in her eyes at his reaction. If she’s aware enough to provoke him… The last piece clicks into place and he finally takes her at her word, That she wants him. He’s got no resistance left. 

All he has is a need to make her his in any way he can. In every way he can. 

“Mine,” he growls as he takes her mouth in a ferocious kiss, hands already ripping her dress to shreds and stripping her of it. He barely notices her own hands scrambling at his shirt except that the feeling of her hand splayed over his stomach is nearly as euphoric as his hand closing around her breast. 

“Wanna mark you,” Mech warns. The urge to properly mark his mate as taken, as his is pure instinct. To leave physical evidence of everything boiling over inside him on her skin is overwhelming.

Gwen’s rucked his shirt up high enough that she can reach up, set her nails to his shoulder blades, and rake her nails down his back. The sharp pressure, the surprising sting of her nails, and lingering feeling of her touch send if possible even more blood rushing to his throbbing cock. He groans, arching into her claim. “Yes. Long as I can mark you too.”

“Perfect,” he says reverently into the skin of her neck where he presses a kiss and sucks a mark. “How are you so—”

Her moan of approval as he begins to knead to soft flesh of her breast under his hand is muffled by his lips back where they belong on hers. He grinds his palm down on her nipple and before long his eyes are fixed on where the claws of that hand just barely scrape against her skin. It becomes pink and sensitive as she squirms under his attention.

His claw finally breaks the skin right over where her heart pounds furiously. A short red scratch that he traces back over, venom running into it. She trembles in his arms with a whine as the cut seals shut, the line a subtle white against her skin. A glance in her eyes, fogged over in pleasure, is all the reassurance he needs. He latches onto her other breast with his mouth, allowing his venom to encase her nipple as he sucks. He twists his grip, claws scraping and healing as he does so around her other breat. Gwen practically screams her pleasure to the ceiling, to the whole damn ship if he’s lucky.

Mech wants everyone to know Gwen is getting the pleasure she deserves nearly as much as he wants them to know he’s the one giving it to her. He brings his fangs down to bear, gazing and abrading her soft soft skin. Gwen whimpers. He’d be concerned if the sound wasn’t also accompanied by the wet slick against his thigh increasing. 

Her hands scrabble at his back and her head thunks against the door as she arches, pressing her chest into him with another gasp of his name.

The sound galvanizes him. Somehow finally giving into his desires has helped the fog in his brain caused by this hormonal snap clear. The door isn’t going to let him ravish her the way he craves. He doesn’t want to be distracted by keeping her held up against it when there are far better things he could be focusing on.

He reluctantly lets go of her breast to grip at her hips again with both hands. She whines when he lets go of her tender nipple with his mouth to trail up to her shoulder. Her whole body tenses when the threat of his fangs are brought to bare, like she’s holding her breath. Still she doesn’t do anything more than whimper when he removes his damp thigh from between her legs, hanging pliantly in his firm hold. 

Gwen’s fingers wind their way into his hair, firm but not tugging in protest—yet. Before she can ask about the sudden stop to the way she’d been grinding herself to some sort of peek, he pulls her off the wall with a grunt. Lifting his head to remind himself of what exactly he’s working with in the medbay, he strides over to the bed in the center of the room where Gwen had been sitting only twenty minutes ago, distracting him while he tried in vain to solve this problem any other way than through.

He’ll bring her to his rooms once they’ve mated here, maybe more than once depending on their stamina and his hunger. This’ll do fine for now. She looks gorgeous, Mech thinks as he lays her out. He pulls the remaining scraps of her dress off. His eyes trace the goosebumps that spring up after he backs off with fascination as he methodically begins to strip himself. Gwen seems more than understanding and is eagerly removing the last of her clothing—her panties—with a quickness that betrays her own need. The scent that flows out of her is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. But there’ll be time for that later.

Gwen props herself up on her elbows to watch him with half-lidded, ravenous eyes. His eyes keep straying to her chest, already bearing the red and white marks from his fangs and his claws. He’s never been more proud of anything in his life than that she let him mark her as such. He’s never giving her up.

“I don’t share,” Mech says bluntly as he places a hand next to her hip. He isn’t arguing or retreating or trying to back out anymore. This is at worst a warning, at most a promise.  “This can’t be a one-time thing. I won’t change my mind, not about you. I’ll keep you all to myself.”

“Yes,” Gwen agrees easily. She lays back down while reaching for him, the invitation in the lines of her body obvious. Her fingers wrap around his forearm, the black spines that line it, and there’s no give to her hold. “Mine.”

He vaults onto the bed, over her, without thought and she welcomes him. Her hands map every inch of his skin she can reach, no fear at the way his black spines lining back and arms are standing at attention. Gwen’s touch starts off light as he arranges himself over her, but once he brings their lips together for another mind-melting kiss, she increases the pressure. Mech can feel each point of contact, each finger tip, as she digs them in and drags her nails connecting th black splotches that litter his red skin. 

Mech pictures his skin turning from red to pink, lightning from the force she’s exerting to try to mark him and he grows harder if at all possible. He ruts against her upper thigh with greater intent, getting impatient. All the relief from this much contact finally not enough to satiate his hunger for his mate. His Gwen.  

She must notice because she hums with smug satisfaction into the kiss and those same fingers start to migrate from his back to rest low on his hips. “Gwen,” he groans, pulling back from her lips just far enough to pant her name against her lips. 

Her fingers brush his cock in a deliberate tease, one he’s past having patience for. His hips chase those fingers for a more purposeful grip. Luckily, she seems unwilling to play this game any longer either. Her fingers wrap around him. “Yeah?” her voice is rough with desire and every nerve in his body sings at the sound, at her touch. She strokes down, from root to tip, seemingly not put off by the black ridges and bumps his red cock has that he knows humans don’t. She must really have done her—Mech’s thoughts scatter when she twists her fingers, lubricated by pre-cum the same silver as his venom which leaks from his erection. She grinds the palm of her hand against the sensitive head and he arches his back with a moan that feels like it's pulled straight from the depths of him.

“Fuck, Mech,” Gwen pants, eyes darting from his face to his cock and everywhere in between, clearly unable to decide where to look while Mech just tries to keep his eyes open so he doesn’t miss a second of his wildest dreams coming true right underneath him. “You’re gonna feel so good inside me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mech hisses even as he presses down on her shoulder, moving up to position himself for just that. “Need to be inside you now.”

“Yeah,” Gwen agrees, lining him up with perfect precision. “Now, now, fuck, n—”

Her words are cut off when she moans as he sinks into her welcoming wet heat. She gasps as he pulls her legs open further with his tail, lifting her ass off the bed to angle his thrust home best. He can’t think about anything except how good she feels, how hot and snug and perfect she is. He thinks he babbles some of that aloud as he pushes in. “So wet, so soft. Fuck, Gwen.”

“Ye-es,” she replies back, eyes closed to better savor the feeling of him filling her in one long inexorable movement. She hooks her leg around his for better stability and he takes advantage immediately. Pushing that much further in, massaging her ass with the hand he has on it, letting his claws dig in to her yielding flesh. She groans at the pinpricks of sensation from his claws and venom, from him finally hilting deep within her.

There’s a split second where there’s nothing but the sound of their labored breathing and the whoosh of the vents. The calm before the storm. Everything outside of them ceases to exist as every hormone is his body cries out in triumph. Mech’s eyes meet hers and he ignites once more. He pulls out halfway, but he can’t seem to exist outside of her anymore and quickly thrusts back in, adding a grind to the end that makes Gwen moan deeply. Her hands land on his shoulders as she pushes against him, matching his movements with a synchronicity he never should have doubted she was capable of.

Her palms push on his own chest for leverage and he gasps at how it feels against his nipples. Gwen picks up on his reaction immediately, her focus zeroing in on her new target. Mech bows his head, overwhelmed by all the sensation his touch-starved body isn’t used to. That of course brings his mouth within range of her delectable neck, all that lovely skin and sweat and scent, all uniquely Gwen. He laves his tongue along her collarbone, fangs grazing and mouth sucking in a random, hazy, instinctual pattern that seems to drive her wild if the way she clenches around him is anything to go by.

“So close, so close, so close,” Gwen chants, her hands moving to his spines, holding on tight to ride out how roughly he’s fucking her with his pistoning cock. The ache of her grip is sweet enough his next thrust has an extra swivel of his hips behind it. “Mech! Mech, please. Please.”

He knows exactly what she’s begging for and he’d rather die than let her go unsatisfied. His tail finds and grinds against her clit with unerring accuracy despite the  desperate motion of their coupling. Her reaction nearly throws him over the edge, the throbbing of her walls around his cock exquisite in their increased intensity. Mech preserves through the sensation, determined to make Gwen come before he does.

Luckily, it only takes a few more strokes and making a calculated tug on her clit for her to call out, “Yes! Me-ch!” The final strands of his self-control snap and he comes on the next thrust, his cock and fangs buried deep in his claimed mate. The ensuing euphoria blanks his mind from anything other than pleasure and he slumps against Gwen, satisfaction flowing through his veins.

Mech eventually comes to and finds himself carefully lapping at the bite mark he made on her shoulder, his venom already having closed the wounds, but leaving them sensitive if Gwen’s hums and twitches of pleasure are any indication. Her hands are running absently up and down his arms and limp spines, sending ripples of residual pleasure through him.

He’s never felt this content before, wrapped around this wonderful woman, still buried in her. He can still feel the unusual lust swimming through his body, but it's more than manageable at the moment. All he wants to do is enjoy this culmination of everything he never thought he would get to have.

Of course, that gratification and laziness only lasts so long. Gwen starts to stir more coherently beneath him and that insatiable desire begins to make itself known once more. 

“Are you hard again?” Gwen’s voice breaks the stillness, bewildered and still sounding a little orgasm-drunk.

“Yes,” he acknowledges, pressing a sheepish kiss to her neck.

She shifts, muscles clenching and relaxing. Mech fights the urge to whimper as she asks, more curiously than anything, “Is that a graviel thing or a mating frenzy thing?”

“I can’t remember,” he admits as a few seconds contemplation where all he can think of is how good she feels and what other marks he wants to leave on her. “Might just be a sex-with-you thing.”

“Hm, good answer.” Gwen rolls her hips, mouth nipping at his neck with a promise that sends anticipatory shivers down his spines as they stand at attention once more. “You’ve got five seconds to roll us over so I don’t knock us to the floor. I wanna be on top this time.”

“Whatever you want, my mate.”

[cigaretteparfum-library]

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

Right, then. Good luck! Calls the liason as he hurries to the horse and carriage without you. You stand on the porch, embarrassed and confused, wondering what about you must be so undesirable.

After a few minutes the door opens again, and a gruff voice orders you inside. He knows you're not there by choice, he says, he knows the town elders probably forced you there to settle him. You try to explain that's not the case, but he doesn't believe you. He says you can stay for the night, as the sun is going down, but he expects you to fuck off in the morning.

You try to talk over dinner, but he's defensive and quiet. You try to convince him that you want to be there, but he scoffs that you have no idea what soothing a bear's heat even means.

Over the evening, you try different techniques to tempt him. Using his bath, undressing a few layers by the fire, sleeping nude in his bed. He expresses total disinterest the entire time, a steely lack of any desire towards you.

Disheartened, you're about to give up. You have no idea the reason he's being so aggressively stoic is because the moment he opened his cabin door, the moment he saw and smelled you, the beast inside him said Mine. Only mine. You have no idea that every breath he's taken since has been measured and cautious, every effort he's made not to pounce and claim you. Gods, he can barely stand to look at you without the saliva filling his mouth, the feral lust clouding his thoughts.

There's no way you're here by choice, he reasons privately. No way any nice, pretty human would volunteer for the social ostracism that would come with mating a werebear. And whatever those fuckers in the elder council did to leverage you into coming here, he can't let himself take advantage.

Because once he let's his control slip, once he let's the beast inside know that yes, you're his for the taking, nothing will be able to stop him. Not reason or conscience, not if you're kicking and begging, not any ounce of moral goodness in him. Once the beast has you, it's not stopping until it's filled you up over and over and over again.

So he can't let it slip. He has to remain cold and stiff and rude, and just pray you leave him alone and then leave in the morning.

Little does he know, you have one last attempt at seduction up your sleeve. Little do you know what the consequences will be.

[cigaretteparfum-library]

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

Right, then. Good luck! Calls the liason as he hurries to the horse and carriage without you. You stand on the porch, embarrassed and confused, wondering what about you must be so undesirable.

After a few minutes the door opens again, and a gruff voice orders you inside. He knows you're not there by choice, he says, he knows the town elders probably forced you there to settle him. You try to explain that's not the case, but he doesn't believe you. He says you can stay for the night, as the sun is going down, but he expects you to fuck off in the morning.

You try to talk over dinner, but he's defensive and quiet. You try to convince him that you want to be there, but he scoffs that you have no idea what soothing a bear's heat even means.

Over the evening, you try different techniques to tempt him. Using his bath, undressing a few layers by the fire, sleeping nude in his bed. He expresses total disinterest the entire time, a steely lack of any desire towards you.

Disheartened, you're about to give up. You have no idea the reason he's being so aggressively stoic is because the moment he opened his cabin door, the moment he saw and smelled you, the beast inside him said Mine. Only mine. You have no idea that every breath he's taken since has been measured and cautious, every effort he's made not to pounce and claim you. Gods, he can barely stand to look at you without the saliva filling his mouth, the feral lust clouding his thoughts.

There's no way you're here by choice, he reasons privately. No way any nice, pretty human would volunteer for the social ostracism that would come with mating a werebear. And whatever those fuckers in the elder council did to leverage you into coming here, he can't let himself take advantage.

Because once he let's his control slip, once he let's the beast inside know that yes, you're his for the taking, nothing will be able to stop him. Not reason or conscience, not if you're kicking and begging, not any ounce of moral goodness in him. Once the beast has you, it's not stopping until it's filled you up over and over and over again.

So he can't let it slip. He has to remain cold and stiff and rude, and just pray you leave him alone and then leave in the morning.

Little does he know, you have one last attempt at seduction up your sleeve. Little do you know what the consequences will be.

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Hitched (M)

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: arranged marriage au, acquaintances(?) to lovers, smut

Summary: Can great sex make an unwanted marriage less shitty? Yes. Yes it can.

Warnings: explicit unprotected sex, semi public (outdoor) sex, edging, Baekhyun has a Big Dick, alcohol consumption

WC: 9.8k apparently I don't know how to keep things brief anymore!

A/N: The majority of this is extremely self-indulgent smut. Oops? You're welcome? It is (mostly) pretty soft though.

Masterlist

“Smile!” 

The cameras flashed, and you put on a show for your friends and family. Your new husband kissed you, and from the outside, everything seemed perfect. 

The perfect dress, makeup, hair, a rich and handsome groom, and everyone you cared about right there with you, celebrating you and the man who was supposed to be the love of your life. It was a lavish ceremony and even more opulent reception, but you couldn't enjoy it at all. 

There was nothing wrong with him, but you and Baekhyun had never even dated, and you definitely never pictured yourself marrying him. You didn't exactly have any reason to dislike him, you'd known him since you were a kid and he was undoubtedly an attractive guy, but marrying him had been your parents idea, not yours. 

As a kid your family had everything you could've imagined, foreign sports cars, numerous vacation homes, a yacht, nannies, tutors, and the list goes on. Your parents' companies had been doing well, and life was easy. 

But that didn't last forever. Now in your early 20’s, you watched as the fortune your family had built for generations was slipping away. 

You were still a teenager when it started and couldn’t fully comprehend what had happened, but it seemed like some combination of bad investments and unpaid debts. Slowly the vacation homes, yacht, and cars were sold off one by one just to pay the bills. As the years passed it seemed that the walls were starting to close in, but on the surface your family, especially your mother, made sure it didn't seem that way. 

The good family name was pretty much all that was left now, and your mother would do anything she could to keep it strong. 

Growing up with generational wealth, your family always associated with others of similar standing, and one of the families you'd grown up with had been particularly close; the Byuns. 

Their only son, Baekhyun, was someone you'd grown up around, but at seven years older than you, you hardly knew each other. He was the perfect rich kid, smart, handsome, and polite, but you still would've much preferred to marry someone you actually loved, or at least were close with. 

“Y/n, you're doing it again.” He whispered in your ear, and you realized that your smile had once again fallen as you zoned out, and his mother was right there in front of you, looking concerned. 

You perked back up, and saw her face flood with relief. You looked at Baekhyun, and he was still smiling for the pictures as well, but you noticed the slightly apologetic look he shot you. 

You really did try to play the part, for the sake of your families, but it was hard. This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life, but instead you were putting on an act, hiding how miserable you felt under the facade of it all. 

The worst part was just how happy both his and your families were. Both moms cried, and even your dad teared up a little. You couldn't even blame them, either. It had been a beautiful ceremony, and you and him both looked the part so perfectly. It was everything a high society wedding should be, and on top of that, it was the only thing saving your family from bankruptcy. 

Once pictures were done with it was time for the first dance- in a gazebo decorated with fairy lights and at least a thousand fresh white roses. All you could think was how incredible this would have been, if it was a real wedding, between two people who actually loved each other. Every beautiful thing was a cruel reminder of how you would never get to experience that for yourself.

Baekhyun did a better job than you, and if you hadn't been so depressed, you might've even gotten flustered a few times. He looked incredibly handsome in his tux, smiling sweetly at you as he led you through the dance, a painfully romantic song filling the spring air. He was the picture perfect groom. 

You so badly wanted to hate him for agreeing to all of it, but knew it was more complicated than that. Despite not knowing him very well, you did know how close knit his family was. If his parents really wanted him to do this, he would have a tough time refusing. 

You were closer with his parents than you had ever been with him, and they adored you. Despite not being related, you almost thought of them like your own aunt and uncle. Baekhyun, on the other hand, was like your mysterious older cousin. He always seemed preoccupied with his studies, or later, his job. You'd been around each other at holidays and various parties throughout the years, but he never felt approachable. 

To act so romantically with him felt unbelievably strange. On top of your disappointment at the whole situation it was also just very awkward. The kissing and touching, the dancing, the “loving” looks you shared, they all made your chest feel tight. Baekhyun was obviously very handsome, but the nature behind all of it still got to you. 

Before the wedding Baekhyun had asked you if you would rather not kiss or touch at all, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you'd assured him that it was fine. Aside from the parents and those closest to you both, most of the guests had no idea this wedding had been arranged just a few months earlier. If this was going to be believable, you had to make it look real. 

Eventually the dancing ended and the reception began, relieved beyond belief to finally get to have a drink. The champagne made things much easier, and as distant friends and family asked you and your new husband about your love story, you lied with increasing confidence. Baekhyun, too, was leaning into the act more heavily after a few drinks. His arm around you and the way he looked at you made everyone oooh and ahhh, giving them the same story you'd told minutes earlier, about how the two of you realized one day that all of those years you'd been hiding your love for each other, and when you realized that the other felt the same, you couldn't marry quickly enough. 

It was all bullshit of course, but they ate it up, and that was the important thing. You didn't want to think about how embarrassing it would be if an acquaintance or extended family member found out your parents had orchestrated everything. 

Several times people gushed about how lucky the two of you were to have found each other. The bitterness you felt was so intense you hoped dearly that they couldn’t see right through your smile. 

The relief you felt when the guests finally started to clear out, leaving the lavish ballroom for their hotel rooms, was monumental. Eventually the last of them were gone, and since both families insisted, you and Baekhyun retreated to your shared suite. 

Both you and him knew that your families were hoping for a grand baby soon, but that wasn't something you could even consider at the moment. 

“I don't mind sleeping on the couch.” He told you once you were alone with him. 

As nice as the room was, it didn't make sense for him to sleep on the couch. The bed was huge, and the couches weren't long enough for him to fully lay down. You shook your head. 

“Are you sure?” 

You smiled a little at his sweetness, “There's plenty of space for both of us, don't worry about it.” 

And so you and Baekhyun shared the bed on your first night together as husband and wife. You stayed on your side, and he stayed on his, not once touching, even a little. 

It was expected that eventually you and him would buy a house together and live there, but in the meantime, you stayed at that suite together. His parents owned it, and they hoped that living together would help spark something real, not to mention sharing a bed. 

Life after marriage wasn't that different, aside from your living space. You didn't have a job yet, having only graduated college a few months earlier, so you spent much of your time out with friends. As nice as the suite was, it reminded you of your loveless marriage, so you took every chance you could to get away. Baekhyun mostly just worked, keeping to himself, although he always asked you about your day when you’d get home. To his disappointment you kept your responses short. He wanted to try and get to know you better, but you didn't seem interested. 

The truth was, every time you saw him and he tried to talk to you, it made you feel worse. He did absolutely nothing wrong, but he, like the suite, was a painful reminder of your unfortunate fate. The result was you essentially avoiding him, even in your shared space. Baekhyun, however, wasn’t willing to live that way. 

A few weeks passed with hardly any words exchanged between you and him, so he decided to try something different. That evening when you returned to the suite, you were met with a generous dinner spread, the entire room meticulously decorated, and your husband sitting at the center of it all, looking at you bashfully in the candle light.

You were surprised, to say the least. 

He noticed the way you froze up, getting up from the table and taking one hand, guiding you to the table. He pulled out your chair for you, leading you to sit. 

Soon Baekhyun was seated across from you, looking back at you with a slightly unnerving intensity. 

“Why are you doing this?” You asked. 

He took a deep breath, “I want to try to make this work.” 

You raised an eyebrow. 

“I can tell how much you hate being married to me, and I’m sorry. I think we should at least try to make the best of it, though.” 

“Make the best of it?” 

“Well, yes. I mean it could be worse, right? Am I really that bad?” 

You sighed, annoyance taking hold at his nonchalant attitude. “No, Baekhyun, that's not the point, this whole situation just… sucks. Maybe it's stupid but I always thought I'd marry someone I was actually in love with, and it would be one of the best moments of my life. Instead I’m married to someone I barely even know.” 

“I'm sorry, and I know how you feel, I really do. But don't you think we should at least try to get along?” 

After a week of keeping your discontent to yourself, it came bubbling up and you no longer bothered to hide how you felt from him. You let it out, finally letting out what had been plaguing your mind since the wedding.

“Every time I see your face or even this suite for that matter, it makes me feel like shit. I really didn’t want this, and I don’t understand how you seem so unbothered. I mean, are you really not that upset about all this? Why did you agree to it so quickly?” 

“I didn’t have much of a choice either, you know how my parents are. A couple years ago when I still wasn't in a serious relationship of any kind they started floating the idea of setting me up with someone. Your name got mentioned a lot, so I've had more time to come to terms with it, I suppose.”

You scoffed, “So you've known for years that this would happen?” 

“Well, no. It was always just a suggestion, until a few months ago when they told me that they discussed it with your parents and actually wanted to go through with it.” 

Not sure what else to say, you shifted your focus to the plate of food before you, and he did the same. An awkward silence filled the dining room, though you still preferred the silence to his rationalizing of your miserable arrangement. Much to your dismay, however, it wasn’t long until he was again doing just that. 

“A lot of our parents' friends started out like this too, you know. To be fair most of them at least got to date for a while before getting married, but they’re happy now, so why shouldn’t we be able to do the same?”

He wasn’t wrong, this kind of thing wasn’t exactly rare, though you still hadn’t planned to turn out that way yourself. Still, you just stared back at him with a look of annoyance. 

“What I really wanted to talk to you about, the reason I made this dinner for us, I thought maybe, if you would be interested, we could go on a honeymoon. I know that wasn't originally part of the plan, but I think it could be good for us. Anywhere you want to go, I'll make it happen.”

His offer was extremely generous, but still didn’t exactly sound appealing. Being alone with him for days on end wasn’t your idea of fun, you worried that it would even become quite depressing, not to mention awkward. 

“I don't know….” 

“It can be as long or short as you like, and if you decide you hate being around me that much you can come back here anytime. You're my wife now, and I want to be able to make you happy, to make this whole thing work out for us. If there's anything I can do to help us get there, I’ll do it, whatever it takes.” 

When he put it like that, it was hard to argue with him. 

“Anywhere I want? And you’ll really fly me back if I don’t like it?” 

He nodded, “I promise.” 

Though you still had your doubts, you reluctantly agreed. A couple days later you were packing your bags, flying first class to Switzerland, where you'd stay for two weeks at one of his family's vacation homes in the mountains near Lucerne. 

Baekhyun grinned when you told him you wanted to go somewhere with mountains, “excellent choice.” 

The flight had been surprisingly nice. You’d expected that Baekhyun’s family would fly first class, but you were still surprised by just how nice the Swiss airline he’d booked was. You and him essentially had an entire bedroom, and while it was spacious for a plane, that was the closest you’d ever been to him in bed before. Maybe it was just hormones and general touch depravity, but you were all too aware of the way he occasionally brushed up against you as he slept.

When you finally arrived at the house you'd call home for the next couple weeks, walking into the main living area, you understood his excitement at your choice to stay in the mountains. It was nothing short of breathtaking. 

The house itself was beautiful, modern, and impeccably decorated, but you'd seen plenty of nice houses. It was the view that made it so special. The sprawling green valley surrounded by snow capped mountains looked like something out of a fairy tale. 

“My wife has awesome taste.” He said, not missing the way you grimaced, cringing at the word ‘wife’. 

“It still feels super weird hearing you say that.” 

You kept your eyes fixated on the view, and after a moment he was taking your hand and leading you into the master bedroom. Inside on a small table stood a bottle of champagne as well as two glasses, and beyond the sliding glass doors you could see the patio, fit with a hot tub and infinity pool. The king sized bed stood at the center of the room, covered in rose petals. 

You let out a short exhale of a laugh, mostly in disbelief at the sight in front of you. 

“Not bad right?” 

“Oh God, you really are trying to make me fall in love with you. Rose petals and everything…” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don't think two weeks is long enough to fall in love, but if you did, that would be great. I guess the staff went a little crazy with the romance since my parents told them this is our honeymoon.” 

He opened the bottle of champagne, pouring each of you a glass and handing one to you. God knows you needed it.

“Cheers.” You clinked the glasses together, each taking a sip. “By the way, I can sleep in one of the other bedrooms, if you'd prefer that. I know the rose petals on the bed are a little much.” 

Maybe it was the alcohol, but it looked like he was blushing ever so slightly as he said it.

Your immediate reaction was relief, that you'd get your own room, but then again that wasn't why you'd traveled all this way together. You were used to sleeping in the same bed with him by now anyway, so you shook your head, hoping you wouldn’t end up regretting it. 

A long sigh passed your lips.“You didn't take me here for us to sit in different rooms all day, we can do that back at home.” 

There was a faint smile on his lips and he nodded, cheeks still a little pink. You both knew what your families were hoping would happen in that bed, and you couldn't help but blush a little as well. For a second you wondered if you and him would ever get that far. He was perfectly fuckable, in theory, but the nature of your arrangement sucked all the excitement out of it for you. 

It was still early in the day, and once the champagne glasses were empty Baekhyun called a car to take the two of you into town. 

“You already seem less bummed out than you've been the last few weeks.” He commented as you headed into the city. 

“Yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’m still sad about everything, but you're right. It's better to at least try to make this work out. I'm trying to be optimistic.” 

He was smiling again, and you couldn't deny how gorgeous the sight of it was. He reached for one of your hands, giving it a light squeeze, holding it for the rest of the car ride, and then again as you walked through the streets together, window shopping.

The city of Lucerne really was like a fairy tale. The old buildings, the crystal blue lake, and the mountains in the distance were the perfectly romantic setting for your time with him. In front of that amazing backdrop, he truly looked like a prince. 

As sad and angry as you'd been the past month, now that your hand was in his, on this beautiful honeymoon, just enjoying the scenery, you couldn’t find the energy to harbor any resentment towards him. Although you still had a lot to learn about each other, you realized you could enjoy his company more than you expected. Either that, or it was just hard to be mad when you were in such a lovely place. 

You'd been walking together in comfortable silence for a while, just appreciating the city, when he told you, “If you see something you like, tell me and we can go inside for you to try it on.”  

As nice as it was, you knew you weren't actually going to go inside any of those shops. They were all high end designer outlets, the kinds of places you hadn't been to since your family was actually doing well. 

Baekhyun saw the way you shook your head, turning your eyes to the pavement in front of you. You felt him abruptly stop, your hand still in his. 

“What?” 

“Now that we're married, you don't need to worry about all of that anymore. Your family wasn't so insistent on you marrying me just so that they could finally pay off their debts, you know. They want a better life for you, too.” 

“Yeah well they have a funny way of showing it.” You mumbled, not even trying to hide the bitterness in your voice. 

“Did you tell them you didn’t want to get married?” 

You scoffed, because of course you didn’t, and he should know that. You gave him a bit of a bitchy side eye and he seemed to get your point. 

“They know I would’ve much rather chosen my husband myself. But I wasn’t really given a choice, just like you.”

He mustered up a surprisingly sympathetic look, sitting you down with him on a nearby bench. 

“I’m not saying this to call you ungrateful, really, but I think we should remember how lucky we are. Because of our parents we got the best educations, grew up in nice homes, get to travel the world, and so on. Money isn't something we'll ever have to worry about. When they asked me to marry you, I didn’t fight them, because I know how much they’ve done for me.” 

You understood perfectly where he was coming from. However, despite it all, you still couldn't deny your disappointment. 

“I know it would've been selfish to refuse, and of course I am grateful to be this fortunate. That doesn't make it feel any less shitty, though. I always had such big dreams for how I would meet the love of my life and get married, and they know that. When they told me I should marry you, they knew it would be heartbreaking for me, they just didn't seem to care. They didn't even want to acknowledge it.” 

“I'm sorry. I can imagine how hard that would be, I want you to know that I don't blame you at all for being upset. I just want to do whatever I can now to hopefully make this better for you.” 

When you didn’t respond his hand was pulling you back up with him, “Come on, there’s a really great ice cream place nearby.” 

He was relieved to finally see you smile again, even though you rolled your eyes at him. “I’m not a little kid, you can’t manipulate me with ice cream.” 

“I’m not manipulating you! I just want to cheer you up.” 

At least the ice cream really was fantastic. 

Eventually you returned to the house, deciding to finish the champagne in the pool together, enjoying the view. You'd seen Baekhyun shirtless in the past, but it had been years, and you couldn't deny how great he looked as he joined you in the water, holding both of your glasses of bubbly. 

The mountain air was chilly on your upper half, and you sunk deeper into the warm water as he handed you your champagne. Steam rose from the water into the cold air creating a wispy fog, the sun barely peeking out from behind the mountains as it set. 

You said cheers, clinking the glasses together, giving Baekhyun a funny look at how intently he insisted on making eye contact before bringing his glass up to meet yours. 

“You know why Germans are so insistent on eye contact when cheersing right?” He asked before taking his first sip. 

“No..?” 

His eyes widened ever so slightly, surprised, to say the least. 

“Oh… uhh, never mind.” 

“No, tell me!” 

This time, he was definitely blushing, “Ok but don't get mad at me! I was joking… I didn't think I'd have to explain it..” 

“So..?” 

He sighed, ready for you to scoff at his lame attempt at flirting with you. “In Germany, it's said that if you don't make eye contact while cheersing with someone, you'll have seven years of bad sex.” 

To his surprise, you actually let out a small laugh, again meeting his eyes and holding his gaze intently as you clinked your glass to his one more time. 

It had to be the atmosphere, both of you barely clothed in your swimsuits, the alcohol, the sunset, and the view of the mountains. That had to be it, that had to be why you were going along with everything he said so easily. Because at the end of the day, you both knew well what he was implying. He was your husband, and you his wife. Unless you both planned on cheating, which to your understanding still wasn’t acceptable despite the nature of the marriage, he would be the only one you'd be having sex with anytime soon. 

You kept slowly sipping on your drink, enjoying the calmness and beauty of the landscape. This time, the silence between him and yourself actually felt comfortable. 

“Do you really think that it's possible for us to eventually be happy, like any other married couple? You know as if we'd actually chosen this for ourselves?” You eventually asked. 

“Yeah, I definitely think it's possible.” 

“You really mean that?” 

He shrugged, and nodded. “I don't want this to sound too forward, but that's part of why I wasn't too upset about the marriage. I would've liked to marry someone I chose myself, just like you, but in our situation I think we still have a good chance at making it work. Even though we've never been particularly close, I feel like I know you fairly well, because of our families. I know that we had similar upbringings, share the same basic values, things like that, and those things really matter in a partnership. You're beautiful too, which definitely helps.”

“Thank you… I've never really thought about it like that.”

‘You’re beautiful.’ Those words had a greater effect on you than you expected.

His eyes had been fixed on the sun setting over the mountains, but slowly he turned back towards you. “Do you find me attractive, at least physically?” 

His sudden question left you dumbfounded. The answer was so obvious but the way he asked you truly didn't sound cocky at all. You had to stop yourself from making a dumb joke considering his abs were currently glistening in the light of the setting sun and his face looked like something out of a magazine. 

“Baekhyun, you know you're a good looking guy.” 

“Well, some women are more into big muscles, or really tall guys, or a more rugged “manly” look. I could still not be your type.” 

You shook your head, feeling the way your cheeks burned, knowing they were probably bright red. You kept your eyes glued on the valley below, avoiding the way you knew he was looking at you. “You definitely are my type, at least when it comes to looks.” 

You expected him to say something cocky and smug but instead he just smiled at you when you finally met his gaze again, seeming genuinely happy and relieved by your answer. 

“I appreciate that.”

It occurred to you then that despite the champagne, his words and eyes on you made you quite shy. He was simply an extremely handsome guy, and you found yourself having to fight the urge to downright ogle him. 

His broad shoulders and strong chest looked so inviting, the water on his skin adding a gorgeous sheen to his entire form. You wanted to touch him, to feel his skin against your own, and know how his slender hands would feel on your body. 

The view of the mountains was nice, but as the minutes flew by, your eyes kept traveling back to him. It didn't go unnoticed, as he felt himself slipping into similar thoughts as well. 

Maybe you really were just that easy to read, but it surprised you nonetheless when he stepped closer, taking your hand in his, before placing it on his chest. 

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Your eyes were stuck to his torso, heart beating rapidly at the knowledge of his eyes gazing down at you, his heartbeat under your hand a comforting reminder of the shared tension. His gentle touch on your chin triggered a small gasp, and he finally guided your face up towards his own where he could look at you, and you at him.

Being so close now, you noticed the scattered moles painting little constellations across his face. Each one appeared to have been placed with purpose, further adding to the near perfect harmony of his stunning features. 

When his eyes shifted downwards ever so slightly, gaze falling to your lips, you stopped breathing. You could smell him, so sweet and inviting, every minute aspect of his presence pulling you in. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

His eyes bore into your own again, and you could feel the magnetism between you both. All you gave him was a small nod, but that was enough, his lips meeting yours. 

This was so different, so much better than when you'd kissed before at your wedding. His chest under your palm felt warm and firm, the taste and smell of him surrounding you, easily letting you melt into him. His lips were soft, and the lack of clothing, the feel of his wet skin against your own, made you shiver despite the hot pool. 

Growing increasingly overwhelmed, you pulled away, red faced and genuinely a little embarrassed to have given into him so quickly. You quickly grabbed your glass and downed the rest of your champagne.

Baekhyun, however, saw right through you. He gave you a knowing smirk, he knew you were still skeptical of him and the marriage, but that didn't mean you weren't attracted to each other. Being half naked in a pool with a view definitely helped set the mood, too. 

“What? There's no reason to get shy now.” 

Still, you turned away from him, bracing both hands on the edge of the pool as you fixed your eyes back onto the mountains and valley below. 

“Hm? What's wrong?” 

His breath on the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine, surprised by the proximity. Gently, he brushed your hair aside, giving himself access to whisper in your ear. 

“As odd as it might feel to be married, as husband and wife, there's no use in denying that we're attracted to each other.” 

He didn't miss the way you whimpered when his lips gently grazed the sensitive skin just below your ear, turning your head to grant him more access. 

He took that as his sign to continue, leaving a trail of kisses along the side of your neck, his lips growing bolder as the minutes passed. Soon he was sucking and biting at the spot on your neck that made your knees weak, and his hands slowly came to rest on your hips, leaving you every chance to stop him, but you did no such thing. 

Maybe it was just how pent up you were after not having sex for so long, and barely even having an opportunity to touch yourself, but you found yourself squeezing your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the ache that was starting to form between them. 

When one of his hands left your hip, instead coming to your jaw, turning your head to grant him access to kiss you again, you easily let him. The kiss was nothing sweet, desperate and hungry as you both fought for dominance, though Baekhyun quickly took the upper hand, not that you minded. 

“Can I touch you?” He asked the second your lips parted. 

“You are touching me.” 

“That's not what I mean.” 

His hand moved slowly down the front of your body, the soft touch making your head spin, until his delicate fingers began to play with the waistband of your bikini. 

He resumed the movement of his lips on your neck, soon coming to whisper in your ear, “May I?” 

You nodded, breath shaking, and let out a soft moan when his fingers finally pushed beneath the wet fabric. His first touch against your clit sent a jolt through you, and you didn't miss his soft chuckle before pressing his lips against you for the nth time. 

The way he nibbled and sucked at the skin of your neck combined with the soft circles his fingers made on your clit, were nothing short or euphoric. You leaned back into his chest, quiet moans and whimpers filling the air. Being touched like this from behind had always been a big turn on for you. He already made you feel so weak under his touch. 

Baekhyun was obsessed with all of the delicate sounds escaping your lips, sounds that proved how much you were enjoying what he did to you. The more he listened, the more he felt himself grow needy for more.

A breath got stuck in your throat when he pushed his hips forward, letting you feel his hardness against your ass. Even through his swim trunks, you could tell he was big. 

With his cock pressed to your ass and his fingers moving perfectly between your thighs, you were already losing any rationality you’d once possessed. When his other hand untied the knot of your top and began to tease your nipples, you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about how exposed you were, outside in the open. You knew you would be pushed over the edge sooner rather than later if he kept it up, and he did. 

“Are you gonna come for me, baby?” He whispered in your ear, the smirk on his lips apparent in his voice. 

You nodded frantically, warmth bubbling up inside you, turning into a searing heat. 

“Good girl, let go, I got you.” 

His fingertips slipped across your clit just right, one hand pinching and twisting the sensitive nub on your chest. Your whimpers grew into delighted moans, the craving for even more growing almost unbearable. The promise of eventually having his length inside you was what pushed you over the edge, shaking and twitching in Baekhyun's arms as you fell. 

“Fuck.” He whispered into the crook of your neck. “You're really sexy, you know that? Can't wait to be inside you.” 

The combination of his words and breath against your heated skin prolonged your pleasure, nodding to show him just how badly you wanted him, too. 

As soon as his hand withdrew from between your legs you turned towards him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him into a heated kiss. It was messy, desperate, communicating the urgent need you both felt for more. His tongue greedily licked into your mouth before biting your lip, coaxing another weak moan from you. His hand on your thigh quickly had you wrapping both around him, and the feel of his substantial length and girth against your center, even through your bathing suits, left you panting, desperate for more. 

He put some pressure on you, pushing you against the edge of the pool, letting you feel even more of him. 

“Do you wanna go inside?” He whispered into your ear between kisses, but you didn't have the patience for that. 

You shook your head, “just fuck me right here.” 

His cocky smirk somehow had even more moisture flowing out of you, “as you wish.” 

With that, he undid the string of your bikini, and pushed down his shorts. 

You reached for him, intimidated by the size, hoping you would even be able to handle him. He was hot and hard in your hand, and you felt the telltale throb of his own arousal. 

Anticipation hung thick in the air as he positioned himself, his tip nudging against your clit, and you swore you were about to lose your goddamn mind. 

“You ready?” He questioned with an unexpected softness, forehead resting against your own. 

“Yes.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes, Baekhyun, please.”

As soon as he pushed forward, however, you understood his desire to double check. His size presented quite the challenge, your eyes squeezing shut at the discomfort of being stretched so much. He could sense how you struggled to take him, hands digging into the skin of his back, legs squeezing involuntarily around his hips.

“Fuck you're so big.” 

“Just relax, I'll go slow. Tell me if it’s too much.” He said before pressing another kiss to your lips. 

You couldn't remember ever feeling so full, and he was still only halfway in. Slow, shallow thrusts carefully let you get used to him, going deeper with every roll of his hips. Soon tears pricked at your eyes, the new sensation of being fucked by such a huge cock leaving you awstruck. 

When he finally fit himself all the way inside of you, his hips meeting your own, you felt his head pressing firmly against your cervix. The slight pain of it heightened the already intense moment even further. 

“Oh my God.” 

He pulled almost all the way out, sinking himself all the way back inside, and you swore he had to have the best cock you’d ever fucked, by a mile. Any unpleasant thoughts surrounding your marriage to him were long gone as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust pulling gasps of pleasure from you. 

The water splashed wildly around you but you might as well have forgotten it was even there, too overcome with Baekhyun’s length as it pleased you in ways you never knew possible. The way he filled you so completely was unlike anything you’d experienced with another man, blissed out by his incredible size and precise thrusts. 

“You’re so perfect, take me so fucking well.” 

His lips crashed into yours, hot and greedy as you moaned into one another. You were certain you’d never felt anyone that deep inside you before, and it was addictive. 

“Think you can handle more?” He muttered, now that you’d gotten fully acclimated to his substantial length and girth. 

You nodded, greedy for anything and everything he could give, and Baekhyun wasn’t going to deny you. 

His lips swallowed more moans and cries of delight as he picked up the pace, thrusting harder, faster, feeling you clench down on him as you got closer to your release. 

Every time he sunk into you completely, he felt your body tremble in response to the intense sensations. As much as you wanted to keep your eyes open to look at him, you simply couldn't. The force with which he pounded you and how deep he reached left you an incoherent mess. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, desperate whimpers and whines leaving your parted lips. 

“Will my beautiful wife let me feel her cum on my cock? Hm?” 

Frantically, you nodded. With only a few more pumps into your dripping core he made you cum, so hard that you just about forgot your own name. 

Baekhyun let out a deep groan at how tightly you squeezed him when you came, the pulsating of your orgasming pussy bringing him to his peak soon after. His hips fell out of pace, eventually slowing to a stop as he emptied his cum deep inside.

It wasn't until you slowly started drifting back to reality that you realized you were still outside in the pool with him. 

You continued to cling to him, feeling him gradually soften and slip out of you. When his eyes found your own you both stared, panting, basking in the afterglow. 

You finally stood back on your own two feet, leaned back against the edge of the pool, and couldn’t fight the fit of laughter that came over you. 

Baekhyun stared at you, confused, unnerved, and slightly bewildered at your sudden outburst. 

“Jesus fucking Christ Byun! That might be the best sex I’ve ever had. No, it definitely was. I can’t believe you...” 

A relieved sigh escaped him, grinning at your admission. “Go on. I’d love to hear all your thoughts.” 

“Oh shut up you don’t need any more ego stroking with a dick like that.” 

He leaned in closer, bracing both hands on the edge of the pool at your sides. “Well you’ll be happy to know that this dick is all yours, till death do us part.” 

A genuine smile graced your lips, and this time as you looked at him, your new husband, you actually felt a little excited for what your future with him could hold. 

You leaned in, giving him a quick kiss. “It's only day one and you already succeeded at seducing me. I have to admit I feel a little pathetic.” 

“I didn’t seduce you.” 

“Oh yes you did! You got me half naked and drunk and started kissing my neck. That has to count.” 

“You only had one glass of champagne and we're in a pool, what else would we wear?!” 

You rolled your eyes. “Okay fine, but you still seduced me. Not that I mind, that was fucking incredible. I hope no one saw us, though.” 

Baekhyun just shrugged. “I doubt it, but if they did, we put on a pretty good show.” he smirked. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You laughed, enjoying the way he admired you. 

“I asked if you wanted to go inside, but someone was too impatient.” 

“You’re awful cocky, you know that?” 

Again, he shrugged, moving away from you to find his glass of champagne. He finished it, and since it was getting late, you both finally decided to get to bed. This time, the rose petals just made you giggle. Once you'd both settled in, you even found yourself inching closer to him, until one of his arms pulled you closer, wrapping around you. It was easy to fall asleep like that, in his embrace. 

~

The first night in a new bed was usually pretty rough, and the jet lag didn’t help. When you awoke in the early morning, you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. 

Baekhyun had detached himself from you at some point during the night, the blanket bunching up around his waist. He seemed to still be resting peacefully, and you shamelessly enjoyed the view of his bare chest and sleeping face. Everything about him was just so gorgeous, it didn’t really make sense to you how you’d ended up with him like this. You’d been so pissed about the marriage for so long, but now a small smile crept to your lips as you watched him, his chest slowly rising and falling with every breath. 

You turned to fully face him, shifting around for a bit before settling into a comfortable position. From that point of view you could enjoy the profile of his face as he slept, taken with the seemingly perfect outlines of his jaw, nose, and lips. 

Minutes passed, dragging on painfully slow, and the sight in front of you definitely didn't help you get back to sleep. Images from your time in the pool with him kept resurfacing, along with the memory of how incredible he'd made you feel. You couldn’t understand how you hadn’t always wanted to touch him, even when he was more of a stranger to you. He was way too attractive to just ignore, you thought. Every cell in your body seemed to gravitate towards him, now that touching him was allowed, and even welcomed, holding yourself back was nearly torturous. 

You and him could nap during the day. Right now, you needed him to wake up. 

Carefully, you moved closer, molding your body to his, leaning in to press your lips to his neck. He stirred a bit, but didn’t wake up, so you went on to plant more kisses, moving down towards his chest. When you gently sucked on his collarbone, his eyes finally fluttered open. 

Much to your delight, he didn’t question your actions, or why you’d woken him up. He just took hold of your waist, pulling you on top of him, and into a kiss. You ended up straddling him, lips still locked as they moved together lazily. 

“Goodmorning,” He hummed, looking around at the dark bedroom. “Awake already? What time is it?” 

“Four? Five? I don't know.” 

“Why'd you wake me up?” He half groaned, half whined, voice rough due to the early hour. 

Instead of replying, you just kissed him again, kissing down to his jaw, then neck, moving your hips a little to make your intentions clear. 

“Ready for round two? Already?” 

“Shut up.” 

He chuckled, “Why don't you make me?”

You moved to bring your lips to his once more, but he stopped you, one finger pressing to your lips before they could make contact. You pouted.

“I have an even better idea.”

“Oh yeah?” 

A mischievous grin lifted his cheeks so prettily. 

“Sit on my face.” 

You froze, “Huh?” 

“You heard me. C’mere” 

He hoisted you up, eliciting a small shriek from you, but you didn’t let him take you all the way up the bed, instead settling atop in chest. 

“Are you serious?”

“Hmm I’m a hungry boy. Now come here.” 

His hands on your ass attempted to push you further up towards his face, but you stayed put. 

“I still have underwear on, dummy.” 

He looked down, narrowing his eyes when he spotted the lace that was, in fact, covering you. 

“Do you like this pair?” 

“Kinda? They’re a little old I guess, why do you-” 

Before you could finish his hands were taking hold of the flimsy fabric, easily ripping it and tossing it to the side. 

“Baekhyun! Are you out of your mind? Why-” 

He cut you off again, hoisting you up by your ass till your thighs were on either side of his head. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll buy you new ones.” 

With that his arms circled your thighs, pulling you down, until your center met his hot tongue. 

You inhaled sharply, bracing your hands against the wall as he licked and prodded at your clit. It was soft, teasing, wanting to warm you up before showing you what he was really capable of. When you would start to whine and plead for more, he would pull away entirely, instead leaving kisses on your inner thighs, letting the anticipation grow until it was nearly unbearable. 

Until then you'd still been hovering, not wanting to smother him, but when you once again began to whimper and ask for more, he told you, “I’ll give you what you want if you just sit.” 

“But-” 

Without giving you a chance to protest his strong arms, still wrapped around your thighs, yanked you down roughly. At last you got the kind of pressure you needed, putting some weight on him, no longer caring if he could breathe or not. His hums of pleasure made it clear that either way, he was enjoying this as much as you were. 

He lapped at your clit with greed, happily drinking you in. Every gasp, sigh, and groan he drew from you egged him on, eagerly awaiting your release, wanting nothing more than the taste of your delight flooding his tongue. When he transitioned from mere licking to sucking your bud past his lips, he felt your thighs shake, gripping them so tightly you almost wondered if it could bruise. In your ecstasy, however, there was no place for such thoughts. You were too preoccupied with your building orgasm. 

His fingers earlier in the pool had been fantastic, but his tongue and lips were on a whole new level entirely. The way the warm muscle flicked at your most sensitive spot was absolutely perfect, and when combined with the suction of his lips, you almost couldn’t handle it. He could tell you were getting close when you began to rock your hips against his tongue, silently begging for even more, and he was eager to deliver. 

He picked up the pace, suckling harder, licking faster, and he reveled in the increased volume of your moans as you got lost in it. When the moans were silenced, replaced instead with sharp gasps, he knew you were on the precipice. He didn’t falter, if anything, he gave you even more. 

Seconds later you fell apart, twitching and shaking while he still didn’t stop, the sensation flooding your body with relief and joy until it slowly became too much. Baekhyun still had a firm hold of your thighs, and he moaned with delight at the taste of your orgasm on his tongue. He kept lapping at your tired pussy, not wanting to let a single drop go to waste, until you basically begged him for a break. 

When his hold on your thighs finally weakened, you sat back, your ass landing on his chest eliciting a grunt from him. You looked down at your husband's face and he was beaming, lips and chin still wet with your arousal. You grinned right back, watching as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

Again, all you could do was laugh, and this time he happily joined you. 

“You know, I really hadn't expected all of this to happen on our first night here.” You told him. 

“Neither did I.”

He was still smiling up at you, now just watching, admiring you, and when he still didn't look away after several seconds had passed you started to feel shy. 

You rolled off of him, one arm covering your eyes as you basked in the unexpected comfort of the moment. Eventually you felt him move your arm away and his face was hovering above your own, slowly moving closer until he was kissing you. It was slow, relaxed, just enjoying the closeness as you gradually recovered from the heated moment. 

You felt him shift, realizing that he was adjusting himself beneath his silk pajama pants, and your hand followed. His eyes fluttered shut when you palmed him, and he took the hint, discarding the shirt you still wore before stripping himself. 

Wet lips met the sensitive skin of your neck as he positioned himself between your thighs, the heat and weight of him above you somehow making your heart race even more. His fingers entered you first, stretching you out to get you ready to take him. He started with two, soon adding a third as he leaned up slightly, watching your flushed form squirm and whimper beneath him. It was a sight that didn’t help his patience one bit, throbbing as he thought about getting to be inside you again so soon. 

It wasn’t long until Baekhyun assumed you were ready, that or he just didn’t want to wait any longer. Both of his hands found yours, lacing them together and pressing them to the bed above your head. His eyes were on yours, dark with lust as you felt him push inside, the stretch again making you wince, though you easily powered through, too enticed by what was to come to even consider stopping him. He rocked into you, getting deeper with each push, until he was burying himself into you entirely with each roll of his hips. 

This time, he was slower, savoring the way your tight walls hugged him, in contrast to the frenzied passion of the evening prior. You sighed gratefully each time he hit that spot inside you, appreciating the unhurried pace he set as he continued to thrust. Your previous orgasm left you especially sensitive, and you seemed to be floating on a cloud of pure bliss while he steadily fucked you, the euphoria of it reaching even greater hights than before. 

His size was one thing, but Baekhyun was also just good. He knew how to angle himself to make you feel just right, keeping a steady pace to allow the pleasure to build. 

“You feel amazing, so tight and wet for me.” He whispered into your ear, and your knuckles paled with how hard you gripped his hands. 

Normally faster, rougher sex was what you preferred, but now, with him, you couldn’t help but think that this slower, more relaxed approach was even better. Maybe it was because it was so early, and you were still a little tired, but this felt nothing short of perfect. Baekhyun was taking care of you so well, listening to your body, and giving exactly what you needed. 

Your orgasm was getting close again, warmth growing into a burning heat in the pit of your stomach, but as soon as you started to clench around him, about to let go, he pulled out. 

He chuckled softly at the way you whined in protest, but assured you, “Just trust me, this will be even better.” 

He stood on his knees and straddled one of your thighs, bringing the other leg over his shoulder before pushing back in. With the same leisurely pace from earlier he continued on, the new angle making you feel him even deeper. 

When you started to whimper and ask for him to go faster, he just shushed you, pushing his hips into you slower, but harder, leaving you with little room to protest. Either way, it was divine, and you knew he’d easily get you there in the end. After a while you decide that whatever he had in mind, you would happily accept it. He made you feel so damn good, you trusted him to take you however he saw fit. 

His thrusts were steady, letting you chase your orgasm, but when you started to get close he pulled out again, leaving you shaking and whining and clenching around nothing. 

One hand came to rest on your cheek and his forehead met your own, prompting you to open your eyes and meet his. He stared for a second before pressing a quick kiss to your lips and whispering, “Turn around for me baby.” 

You obliged, rolling onto your stomach, and you felt him straddle you, leaning down to leave a trail of kisses along your shoulder. Without any warning he filled you once again, and this time when he bottomed out, the increased pressure against your cervix made your stomach tighten, the pain almost too much for you. 

His moans and grunts made it clear that he, too, felt the added pressure, making sure not to press too hard, to be gentle as he continued working his way in and out, his eyes fixed to the view of your ass and his length plunging in and out of you. Every time he sank himself inside completely he felt the way his tip would reach the bottom, savoring the feeling while doing his best to not hurt you in any real way. 

Little did he know, you enjoyed the intensity of it, and your high was approaching even quicker than before. He’d been edging you for so long, all you cared about was getting your release. He could’ve fucked you as fast and hard as he wanted and the pain still wouldn’t have stopped you from cumming all over his length. 

But Baekhyun was cautious nonetheless, filling you in the same relaxed manner, wanting you to feel as good as possible, to prolong your pleasure, without bringing it to an end just yet. He, too, was enjoying himself far too much to rush this. 

However he soon felt the same tell-tale throb that your orgasm was quickly approaching, so he pulled out once again. 

Once he’d turned you over, settling back between your thighs, he took in your fucked out expression, eyes softening at just how desperate you looked. 

“Does my baby want to cum?” 

You nodded, frantic. “Please, Baekhyun.” 

He placed a tender kiss to your lips, then your forehead, before pushing forwards to fill you up. This time as he kept moving you could feel the difference, and you knew he was getting close to his own release. His thrusts were less consistent, and he became shaky, gasping and moaning more freely than before. 

For you it came as a relief, knowing that it wouldn’t be long until you finally got your long awaited high. You weren’t sure how much more you could take, more than ready for him to finally just fuck you through your orgasm, and let you feel his release, too. 

The push and stretch of his length inside you, the angle of it, and his entirety surrounding you, the heat and weight and smell of him, they all became too much. When he finally let you reach your peak it was strong, blinding you and making your skin tingle with the intensity. Every time he’d denied you he’d built the tension to such a degree that when it was finally released, it was otherworldly. Broken versions of his name passed your lips, though you weren’t conscious of it, the wave of pleasure leaving no room for coherent thought, only gratitude for the incredible feeling after having been deprived. 

He didn’t stop when he felt the obvious pulsating and twitching of your orgasm, he continued to chase his own high, which came soon after. He’d been holding himself back, so when it finally hit him, the burst of euphoria was explosive. As he shuddered apart his lips crashed into yours, hungry and rough as they sought greater contact, something to communicate how much it affected him. 

The kisses became more relaxed as you both slowly drifted back to reality, until he finally collapsed on top of you, burying himself in the crook of your neck. Gently kisses were peppered across your skin, each one paired with some sweet words, “So beautiful, so perfect, so good for me.” 

After some time his weight above you lost its charm, turning sweaty and uncomfortable prompting him to roll off you, though you still desired some contact. Your head rested atop his chest, and the feeling of his hand on your waist was a welcome comfort. 

Something about this just felt right to you. Your marriage to him, now, came as more of a relief than anything else. You knew that after having him, nobody else would ever be able to compare. As sure as you’d been that the jet lag would keep you up until daylight, his embrace ended up luring you into a peaceful sleep in mere minutes. 

As it turned out, your honeymoon ended up being a beautiful experience full of gorgeous scenery, plentiful laughter, and amazing sex. Most days were spent strolling through town, enjoying the spa and pool at the house, and in bed with your new husband. 

He was fun, maybe a little cocky, but you couldn't blame him for that, everything considered. At the end of the day, he was always sweet to you, and never acted truly arrogant in any way. Confident, that was how you would describe him, and that confidence came as a comfort for you. He was confident in himself, yes, but he also showed a lot of confidence and optimism towards his relationship with you. 

The initial awkwardness disappeared completely after your encounter in the pool. The sex had been great, but more importantly, it brought your guard down. You quickly became far more comfortable around him, and as the days passed, he started to feel like a genuine friend. A friend, who also gave you the best sex of your life. 

While it may have still been early in the relationship, by the time you were flying back home with him, you felt confident, too. 

You'd make it work with Baekhyun, your new husband. 

[cigaretteparfum-library]

how about something with demons and dancing?

You twisted the odd, metal ring on your finger, and ran your thumb over the strange engravings on the surface while couples and groups of friends let their bodies sway to the rhythms of the club and the patterns of the lights overhead.

You'd found the ring in a charity shop just that morning, and on a whim you'd slid it onto your finger just before you'd left your apartment for the club. You'd let yourself be towed along by your well-meaning friends, but at the end of the day, they all had partners, and you were alone.

As your fingertip traced the markings, you sighed. "God, I'd give anything for some gorgeous man to sweep me off my feet tonight," you laughed quietly, bitterly, under your breath.

The ghost of a breeze skittered across the back of your neck and you shivered, half turning.

Standing at your shoulder was a man who could not have been more attractive to you had he tried.

You blinked.

He held out his hand and you found your lips drawing up into a stunned little smile.

"Anything?" he purred.

"Not quite," you returned playfully, but you slid your hand into his all the same.

"Let's see if I can't make you forget your troubles for an evening at least," he said, and led you out onto the floor.

You pressed your body close to his and let him take the lead, and when he turned you in his arms and pressed his body close in answer to yours, you looked up into his eyes and felt something kindle.

"Exquisite," he whispered. "Truly."

[cigaretteparfum-library]

2024.06.04

Stay.

That is the word, I realise, that I hope to hear him say, which he never did: Stay.

I just want to know if the feeling was mutual: if he likes having me around as much as I like being around him.

Truly, what I want is for him to want me.

Stay.

I wish he would say that.

He never says that.

“Shit, it’s raining.”

The pouring came over so suddenly and violently during the day: one moment it was quiet; the next, all of a sudden hard raindrops were hitting the roofs. It came so suddenly, in fact, that he jolted awake on his bed because of it.

I swivel on his desk chair, having stopped the movie that I was watching on his PC, looking at him disoriented and surprised and I say, “It’s raining.”

He sighs. And he drops himself back on the mattress with a grunt, turning to lie on his stomach. I stare at him for a moment before returning to my movie.

The rain continues well into the night, only briefly changing in its intensity as though it was about to stop only to then pour hard again mere minutes later, as though teasing me specifically. I have to go home, but it’s impossible for me in this weather. I voiced my concern about it to him earlier, and with ease he said, “So just sleep over here.”

I blinked. And blinked. He has occupied his desk chair back and I sat on the second, smaller chair next to his. He looked at me with his eyebrows raised and shrugged. “Or you can call for a cab, that works too. Your choice.”

“No fucking way,” I scoffed. “That’s way too expensive.”

He shrugged again. “So, sleep over.”

I didn’t say anything, only took a long drag of my cigarette.

It’s a Friday on my off day, and tomorrow, Saturday, I’ll work on evening shift while he’s taking his weekend off. I’ve been here since some time past midday, and have now spent over six hours hanging out in his place.

He doesn’t care about the length of my stay: never does. But I’ve been trying to be conscious about it and limit my stay to up to 4-5 hours only. Social propriety and common sense, the two things I’ve never really been good at, are what I’m slowly trying to learn after I overstayed my welcome once.

He didn’t say anything then, but I was aware that I was overstaying my welcome. The reason why I didn’t leave when I felt that I had to was because I simply enjoyed being around him too much, and he kept saying that he was fine with it and that I could leave whenever I want. I wanted to be close to him. I wanted to be around him. So I shamelessly took his words at face value. But I thought he had already too much of my by the end of my visit. To this day, I still can’t tell how he felt exactly on that day, and any attempts to figure out has only served to make me more confused. He doesn’t really care, he said. But I know that people normally care. I don’t know whether to take his words at face value or not, and I already tend to overthink things, so I stopped trying to figure out and instead beginning to learn some self control.

I want to be around him as much as possible, but this is not about what I want: this is about what’s proper. Hanging out with a friend for three to four hours seem reasonable, five is the max limit and already pushing it; so I cap it off at five.

If it were up to me, however, I’d like to stay with him forever.

But this isn’t about what I want.

He has fallen asleep again and I curl on the thick carpet on the floor right next to him on the mattress. In his sleep he has let his right arm hang over the edge where it comfortably rests on my hand. I savour the skin contact as I watch him sleep, feeling quite tired and sleepy myself but not yet willing to succumb into it. I understand how Steven Tyler felt now when he sang that he didn’t want to close his eyes and missed a thing.

Our time together has been so limited lately and it’s all because I consciously try to limit it; that doesn’t mean that I want to, only that I think I have to. I don’t want him to dislike me; I don’t want to lose my privileges of being near him and have him consider me a friend. It’s agony, in truth: when I want nothing more than to breathe the same air as he does, but afraid that if I were to indulge myself in it too much, his patience would eventually run thin and our friendship strained.

I have truly become a satellite orbiting around him: close enough, but never enough.

I’d settle for this. I’d rather have a little bit of him than none at all.

I think I may be falling in love. That would explain why I’m so agonised when we’re apart, yet tormented still when we’re together: I know that I can’t have him. He’s not into me, and I’m way too green and naive for him.

I love the way he speaks softly, even if it’s sometimes hard for me to hear. I love the way that he smiles. I love that he’s so patient in dealing with me. I love the air around him that brings me calm. I love the way he gets mad at my superiors and bosses. I love that he lets me draw on his skin. I love it when he shows me things. I am forever grateful that he let me into his life.

I actively seek out his company—in fact, I yearn for it. He doesn’t feel the same way, though. He never seems to miss me when I’m not around, even if he’s always welcoming when I say that I want to hang out.

I think about him all the time; I reckon I barely cross his mind.

This is fine—this is not—but I’ll settle for this.

I’ll settle for this.

The hour is approaching ten: my phone notification has been sounding off nonstop with my work group chat when everyone is sending their proof of tidying up and cleaning the area after operational hour.

He’s lying on his side facing me still, and I’m still fighting off the sleepiness that has been trying to take over. His cat is curled behind my leg, asleep also.

I want to kiss him. To touch him. But I keep my hands to myself.

I remember the first night we spent together: we met on a dating app and went out for a date. Afterwards, he invited me to his place. I was fully expecting sex: not because I was already into him—not yet—but because that’s how things usually go for me. But although we made out and cuddled afterwards, we didn’t have sex.

I still think about his lips on mine and his arms wrapped around my back. I don’t reckon he misses my lips as much as I miss his. The feeling has only worsened with time. I force myself to settle with this: I am a friend of his, and that should be good enough. Even if I don’t think friends daydream about kissing and making love to the other.

I think he knows that I’m into him: he’s much smarter than me, with better grasp on social conventions and propriety. And I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, anyway—got me in trouble at work several times because of it. But he lets me make my own decisions, and I think he has actually let me down gently once, when he said that we were just friends. He took the word ‘just’ when he repeated his saying because I tilted my head at him, but I heard it.

I heard it, and I felt it.

He would never be mine, and I would never be his—not in the way that I want, anyway.

I’m already his, even if he doesn’t know it; even if he doesn’t want me. Should he ever call, I’m certain that I’d drop everything and come running. But he never calls. He never needs me. He never actively sought out my company: if I want to come around he’s fine with it; if I don’t, then he’s fine with it as well.

I’m the only one that feels this way.

I’m the only one in love.

It’s such a lonely feeling: being his satellite.

The rain has stopped and he shifts on the mattress, suddenly awakens. He’s always been a light sleeper, but this time he doesn’t go right back to sleep.

He looks at me blinking sleepy on the floor and rolls on the mattress. “If you want to take the bed,” he says.

I yawn. “No, it’s fine—I think I’m going home.”

He knits his eyebrows. “What time is it?”

I shrug. “Definitely past ten, but I don’t know exactly.”

He rises from the mattress and walks over towards his desk where his phone is plugged, charging. “It’s a quarter past eleven.”

“Yeap.” I push myself to sit. “So I should go home, while the rain has stopped.”

He calls my name in disbelief. “It’s late.”

I shrug. “I’ve gone home past midnight after drinking in bars; I should be fine.”

He calls my name again, a little more pressing this time. “Sleep over,” he insists. “It’s already late anyway, and I can see that you’re tired. Stay; sleep over.”

The word that I’ve always wanted to hear him say, but not in circumstances like these: I want him to ask me to stay because he wants me around, not because of the hour. I ask for too much, I know. But— “Seriously, it’s fine. I should’ve gone home hours ago anyway, but it was raining like hella.”

He shakes his head. “All right then,” he says, “suit yourself.”

I grab my jacket off the hanger on his walls and put it on without facing him. I wish he would insist more.

But he always lets me make my own decision, and I’ve already made it: even if it’s not one I’d rather make.

Text me when you get home, he messages me. I see the notification flag but not opening the text. I feel so empty on the ride back home—and cold, but I’d rather think it’s because of the weather instead of anything else.

I want him to ask me to stay, but not because he thinks he ought to. He’s a good friend: a caring one. But I can’t take being cared for by him when I crave for so much more. This is the way that I am: I take, and I take, and I take until there’s nothing left to take, and I’ll take that nothing as well. I already know that that’s how I’ll be, so I try to limit and control myself. But I often work in extremes, so if I can’t have it, because I know I’ll take more than what I’m initially given, then I’ll have none of it. This is what I figure is best for everyone.

I want him to ask me to stay, though. He did, but it wasn’t good enough. I always ask for too much.

[cigaretteparfum-library]

SWEET — BBH

PAIRING: baekhyun x female reader SUMMARY: it's one thing to run into the guy you maybe, used to have a little bit of a thing for at your mutual friends' birthday party. it's another thing to find out he maybe, used to have a little bit of a thing for you too. GENRE: friends (ish) to lovers! au, romance, a hint of smut, some pining if you squint WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol consumption, jenkai (humour me), wayyyy too much sexual tension, it gets a little hot and heavy towards the end but nothing super explicit (bc idk how to write that stuff sorry!), general mature content and themes WORD COUNT: 4.4k NOTE: super self-indulgent w barely any plot or characterisation (basically four thousand something words of foreplay lol), i saw that video of baek at one of the lonsdaleite stops unbuttoning his shirt and it drove me a little loopy ngl...

The last time you had seen Byun Baekhyun was two years ago.

Graduation. Gowns. Bouquets. There was probably a photo of the two of you, along with the rest of your cohort, sitting around somewhere in the depths of your camera roll, fresh-faced and eager to take on the exciting new world outside of 3000-word essays and 9 am tutorials. Four years taking variations of the same courses and bitching about the same tutors meant you were far from strangers, but sadly, the friendship had dwindled once you’d left the classrooms for good — something you had been just a little gutted about. These days, his appearances in your life were rare, save for the times he’d come up in conversation with the friends you both shared back in the day, or his sporadic likes on your instagram posts.

Except now, of course, as you watched him climb up the stairs to the rooftop bar, gift bag in one hand and suit jacket in the other.

“Happy birthday!” he beamed, enveloping your best friend in a hug. The fabric of his shirt strained against the movement of his arms, and you caught a whiff of his delicious woody cologne as he approached. 

You had known there’d be a possibility he’d show up today. This year, Jennie had made the enlightened decision to throw a joint celebration with her boyfriend, and obviously that entailed inviting all of his friends — which honestly, wasn’t even that many extra heads since Jongin only ever spoke to the same eight people. You’d seen Baekhyun’s name on the guest list that you had helped her put together, and seen it again listed under the ‘going’ tab of the event, but having the real deal in front of you was another experience entirely.

Crisp white button down with the sleeves rolled up, fitted slacks, and just a glimpse of his toned chest peeking out from where the top few of his shirt buttons were undone.

He looked fucking good. 

Even better than he did two years ago.

Jennie squeezed him back with just as much fervour. “So glad you could make it! Jongin’s been stuck to my side all night with no one to talk to, he’s going to be so happy you’re here.”

He pulled back with a chuckle, and it was then that he finally laid eyes on you, seated next to the birthday girl, holding matching martinis, and doing your best not to look like you had been shamelessly checking him out for the entire 45 seconds since he had arrived. His eyes widened slightly with recognition as your name left his mouth.

“You haven’t forgotten each other, right?” Jennie laughed. The descent of his eyes down the length of you was quick, but not careless, and heat flared in your body all the same. When his gaze returned back to your face, the beginnings of an appreciative smile were shaping the curve of his mouth.

“Not yet, I hope,” he answered her, but his eyes were still on you. “Nice seeing you again. You look good.”

“So do you, Baekhyun,” you replied, because it was the truth. His smile only grew. 

Jennie tipped back the rest of her martini and bade the both of you a hasty farewell, saying something about fixing up the photo zone as she hurried towards the other end of the rooftop. A few of the girls, too excited about the open bar, had knocked the cushions onto the ground, and were doing a poor job of rearranging them back on the wooden swing.

He slid into her now-vacant seat, elbows resting on the bar counter, giving you an excellent view of the shape of his forearms and the veins that adorned it. 

“You’re not going to have that?” he asked, nodding at the sad little olive that sat all alone at the bottom of your empty glass. 

“Not a fan of the saltiness,” you answered, and offered it to him. You watched as he plucked the garnish stick out of your fingers and put the olive in his mouth with no hesitation, eyes lingering a little too long on the movement of his throat as he swallowed it. “I like sweet things better.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he chuckled. “You used to only ever drink vodka cranberries.”

Suddenly, you were twenty-one again, peering through the cafe window and getting a little too giddy at the thought of meeting up outside of the stuffy tutorial classroom to work on the project you had both been assigned to. You’d be lying through your teeth if you said that a crush on Baekhyun was something you never entertained throughout your four years of university together. And maybe it had been reciprocated, for the briefest of times, just after that joint presentation on data structures, where the thought of stepping over from friendly more-than-acquaintances into something more had crossed your mind enough times for you to lose count. There had been something there, or at the very least a hint of something, in the nights spent crammed into a tiny library booth meant only for one person, poring over stale and tedious papers on algorithm organisations in each other’s company.

But nothing had happened. He hadn’t made a move, and neither had you, laden with the fear of rejection that was so indicative of youth. And maybe that had been a huge misplay on your part, because a few weeks after wrapping up the project that had brought you together, he was at your faculty’s monthly pub crawl, introducing you to his new girlfriend, who had actually asked him out just the day before. 

Safe to say that had been the end of that. You were not the type to homewreck.

“How long has it been? I feel like I haven’t seen you since — god, it must have been graduation?” 

“Something like that,” you replied through a smile. “I still have the photos on my phone.”

“So do I,” he said, flashing you a boyish grin. Then, as if doubting the accuracy of his own words, he promptly pulled out his phone and began scrolling towards the top, brows furrowed with determination. It was a few seconds later that he found what he was looking for, turning the screen towards you with a triumphant noise. 

The picture had been taken outside the ceremony hall, set against the familiar sea of graduation gowns, but that was the only familiar thing about it. In the foreground stood just you and Baekhyun, not stiffly posing for the camera as you had been in all of the group shots that existed on your phone, but turned towards each other, faces bursting with elated smiles. Neither of you looked to be aware that there was even a camera on you. The you in the photo had your mouth half open in the tell-tale way it always did when you were about to laugh at the ridiculously corny jokes he loved to crack. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, partially from the glare of the sun overhead — the weather had been phenomenal for the usual gloominess of May — and partially in delight at your reaction, having cracked said joke. 

“I’ve never seen this one before. Did you forget to Airdrop this to me on the day?” you asked, a joking accusation colouring your voice. 

“My mum only sent it to me a whole month later. I didn’t even know she had taken these,” he said, zooming in to better see the expressions on your upturned faces. “We look so happy here,” he added, voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

“And young,” you agreed, but not without a sigh. The you of two years ago had yet to know the pains of having seven different bills to pay every month, and watching the money trickle out of your bank account like water from a leaking tap.

He gave you a gentle, teasing nudge with his elbow. “We’re not that old now. We could definitely still pass as twenty somethings.”

“That’s probably because we are still actually twenty somethings,” you countered with a laugh. 

There was an unprecedented ease with which you fell into conversation with Baekhyun. Despite the considerable gap of silence between now and the last time you had seen him, there was nothing in his demeanour or your own that indicated just how much time had passed. It was rather comforting to see a face from your university days, and even better that that face was still as gorgeous as ever.

You watched as he flicked through a few more photos from the day, mostly of him and his friends from university — one of whom was the other main event of tonight — until he landed on a picture of him with his girlfriend. You recognised the photo, seeing as you had been the one who offered to take it. He had an arm around her waist while she carried a huge bouquet with a teddy bear sitting atop the arrangement.

“Didn’t I help you order that thing?” you asked, pointing to the flowers in her hand. He hummed in agreement, but didn’t say much else, scrolling through to the next photos with his parents, which had also been taken by you. They stood on either side of him, beaming with pride, and then there were a few after that with his girlfriend as well, the four of them all standing together and looking picture-perfect. 

Perhaps the you of today would have chosen differently, found the balls to ask him out first — because what was the use in sitting and waiting around for the guy to make the first move? — and maybe you’d be the one in the photo instead, smiling up at the camera, an integral part of the family portrait. Maybe he’d be running his fingers across the inner curve of your wrist, instead of along the rim of the gin and tonic he had just ordered.

“She couldn’t make it today? Or was she not invited?” you asked, having not seen anyone walk in behind him. Although you hadn’t been paying much attention to anything else since he arrived, and if she had been here, you doubted she’d be all too pleased with how close your heads were, even if he was just showing you through his camera roll. With that in mind, you drew back slightly, just enough to catch the expression on his face twisted with an odd sort of surprise.

After a second or so, it melted into an easy-going grin.

“We broke up a while ago. A month or two after graduation, actually.”

Oh.

You and your big mouth.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know — I shouldn’t have —”

“Don’t be, it’s fine,” he reassured, waving off your clumsy apologies. “Things just didn’t work out and we weren’t right for each other. It was a pretty amicable break, all things considered. But now, I get to sleep however I want in my own bed, so I really can’t complain,” he added, fishing another laugh out of you.

“Nothing beats starfishing in your sleep after a long day,” you hummed in agreement. Wednesday nights in your bedroom after a full day of client meetings could attest to that.  

Baekhyun took a slow sip, pulling the drink into his mouth with a contemplative carefulness, and weighed up his words before he spoke again. 

“What about you? Still with Jinyoung?” he asked, tone light and regarding you with curious eyes. Without meaning to, you let out a groan, and his left eyebrow quirked with interest. 

“Don’t even go there,” you half-grimaced, reminded of the fling you had towards the end of fourth year with the business major. He was pretty, and had been nice enough, but by the fifth time he blew off spending time with you so that he could track the world stock indexes, it had become pretty clear that the two of you were on different paths in life. The sex was okay, but it had not been enough to warrant any more than a few late night rendezvous. For all you knew, he was probably now a very successful investment banker with 90 hour work weeks and making a shit-load of money you could only dream about having. 

You sighed, drumming your fingers against the counter. “Let’s just say, he was more interested in looking at his dividend yields than he was in me.”

Baekhyun’s gaze flickered over the rest of you again, taking in the ridges of your collarbone and the soft curve of your waist, the touch of his eyes hovering above your skin like a tangible thing. You tried your best to look unaffected, forcing yourself to remain still under the weight of his stare despite the way it was melting you down to your bones.

“He definitely did not have his priorities in order,” he said, once his eyes ended their journey and returned back to your face. “You’re much nicer to look at.”

His words settled beneath your skin, pulling a sweet warmth to your cheeks that slowly radiated through the rest of your body. You watched as his mouth curved around the rim of his glass again, and followed the path of the drink down the length of his throat. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”

He rewarded you with a sly smile. 

“Then maybe you don’t know any better.”

Christ. Those were definitely bedroom eyes.

Your lips parted again, though you had little idea as to the words which were preparing to come out of them. Forming coherent and decent thoughts proved to be a great struggle when he looked like he was undressing you with his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and you swore you could have crumpled right then and there if it hadn’t been for the bar stool underneath you. 

“Baekhyun, you’re finally here,” said a giggly Jongin, suddenly appearing between the two of you with Jennie in tow.

The tension from seconds earlier dissipated as quickly as it had formed. 

Someone (the birthday boy) had evidently made good use of the open bar to shed the self-imposed shell that came with introversion before the arrival of his friend. “I’m so, so happy to see you. We need to do some shots right now,” he said, now all serious, leaning over to peer at the drinks menu that he himself had signed off on. 

Baekhyun was the first to break eye contact, turning to flash Jongin a fond smile. “Sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had,” he said, before downing the rest of his gin and tonic. 

The birthday girl requested tequila shots, and the bartender was quick to supply, lining up four glasses and filling them with the clear alcohol that was a recurring character in all your worst hangover episodes. You passed them around, but not before turning back around to the bar for one more thing. 

“And a vodka cranberry, please,” you added, catching the amused smile Baekhyun threw your way. 

“For old time’s sake.”

It was approaching the early hours of the morning when the remainder of the party retired to the hotel suite Jennie had booked for the night. One of her chill, moody, late-night R&B playlists had been queued up and was playing softly on the speaker system in the living room — she had a playlist for every conceivable mood and situation — and you could just make out the melody of a Daniel Caesar song, quiet and soothing against the nighttime.

“Okay, you win,” Baekhyun conceded with amusement, sitting up to grab the soju bottle from your outstretched hand. “I’ve never had someone throw up on me, at least not on the first date.” He settled back against the pillows, bringing the bottle to his lips to take a small, slow sip. 

“Thanks, but it’s a victory I’d rather not have. There’s no pride in knowing I’m the only person I know to have a guy spew all over my shoes within ten minutes of meeting me,” you said, leaning back and letting your hands sink into the plush comforter. 

Some thirty or so minutes ago, you had found yourself in one of the smaller rooms of the suite, sitting across from Baekhyun with nothing but a few inches of egyptian cotton separating you. All night, you had felt his presence, whether it was the light brush of his warm fingers across the bare skin of your shoulder to grab your attention, or the weight of his stare from across the rooftop bar while you posed for pictures with Jennie and the rest of the girls. He had infiltrated your senses, occupying his own little space in the corner of your consciousness. Right now, having the whole of him so unobstructed before you, being the sole focus of his attention within the four walls of this small room — it was obvious that the alcohol wasn’t the only thing bringing a heady warmth to your face.

He levelled you with a careful look, and instead of handing the bottle back to you as he had done for the last thirty minutes, he set it onto the nightstand beside the bed with a soft clink. You raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

“I think you should probably slow down,” he said, catching the curious tilt of your head. “Wouldn’t want you to do something you regret.”

You let a coy smile turn the corners of your mouth upward, shifting your weight off your hands and leaning towards him ever so slightly. “Trust me, I know my limits,” you said, and moved to grab the bottle. 

The hand you placed on the top of his thigh to steady yourself as you reached over him was deliberate, and you failed to hide the deepening of your smile when you felt the muscles flex beneath your fingers. You also didn’t miss the dip of his eyes below the neckline of your dress as you hovered over him, only pulling back once the cool glass of the bottleneck was firmly in your grasp. The glimmer in his eyes, previously light and boyish, had darkened imperceptibly.

You were playing a dangerous game, and you both knew it.

Beyond the door, Jennie’s playlist had changed to something a little more sultry, Kehlani’s honeyed voice now floating among the sounds of the city from below. His gaze remained on you as you raised the bottle to your lips, tilting it back and letting the tartness of the grape soju fill your mouth. 

The song wasn’t the only thing that had changed. There was a palpable shift in the room, a simmering heat gradually seeping into the atmosphere, brought on by your brazen touch. Still, he kept a safe distance, giving you the reins and the freedom to dispel the tension you had created. 

Which you had absolutely no intention to. 

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, relishing in the way his eyes immediately left yours to track the movement. “You know,” you began, turning the bottle over in your hands, “I used to have a bit of a thing for you.”

His eyebrows raised with interest, but there was also a hint of surprise layered beneath.

“Third year, that data algorithms project. I thought a lot about asking you out, actually,” you continued, watching as his face slowly took on a smile at your words. A soft laugh escaped those pretty lips, as if he was enjoying some private joke that you weren’t in on. Without meaning to, you leaned in, drawn to the sound, wanting to understand the amusement behind it. 

“You wanna know something?” he asked, to which you weren’t sure if you had actually nodded, or if you had only imagined that you did, too preoccupied by the inviting curve of his mouth.

He was all too willing to comply with the unspoken request behind your curious eyes, moving forward at a languid pace, until his lips hovered just over the shell of your ear, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the fluttering pull of air with each of his inhales and exhales. You could smell him too, his cologne now infused with the scent of his skin over the course of the evening, smooth and sweet, and much too dizzying. 

His cheek brushed yours for a fraction of a second before you registered the conspiratorial whisper in your ear.

“So did I.”

You hadn’t even realised your own eyes had closed until they were fluttering open with his departure from your space. He pulled back, eyes gleaming with a furtive satisfaction like he had just let you in on some big, juicy, forbidden secret. It took a while for your chest to start pulling oxygen back into your lungs again. How he could render you so breathless when he had barely even touched you — you would’ve been embarrassed if not for the foggy warmth circling your head and radiating throughout the rest of your body, leaving you oblivious to everything but the sheer force of how much you wanted him.

He reached for the bottle, now almost empty, and you fought the flinch when you felt his fingers close around your hand. This time, you didn’t complain when he removed it from your grasp and set it back on the nightstand. The warmth of his hand did not leave yours, flipping it over to trail his fingers lightly across your knuckles. 

“These are pretty,” he murmured, thumbing at the rings decorating your fingers. You could only manage a noncommittal hum in response. His touch had stolen your voice right out of your chest, along with all the rationality usually contained inside your mind, leaving you with nothing but the feeling of your own blood thrumming in your veins, hot and fast beneath your skin. 

All night, you had danced around each other, stealing furtive glances and exchanging flirty smiles, carefully toeing around the edge of politeness and propriety. And maybe Baekhyun was just too polite, too respectful, letting you take the wheel and steer tonight in whichever direction you wanted, despite the want that was so clearly etched on his face. 

Surely, your face was a mirror of his own. Surely, he could tell.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, looking up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, unfurling your fingers to lace his own through them. The press of his warm skin against yours had you light-headed and almost delirious, but you forced your gaze to stay steady on him while you tried to find your voice again.

“I’m thinking,” you began, low and breathy, “about how you’ve been eye-fucking me this whole night.” 

His sharp inhale was unmistakable above the quiet of the room. A meteor could have landed right outside the building and you wouldn’t even have noticed, held captive by his dangerous touch and the hunger flaring in his eyes. 

“And,” you continued, “how I’ve been waiting for you to do something about it ever since you shut that door.”

The second after the words left your mouth seemed to stretch across an eternity. You watched as he registered them, transfixed by how his whole body seemed to cloud over with desire, pushing out any remaining trace of restraint.

One moment you were sitting on the bed, revelling in the delicious tension you had created, and the next he had pulled you flush against him. His mouth was on yours, hot and needy, the self-control he had been so meticulously keeping to for the entire night disappearing the instant he felt your lips move against his own. You were no better, hands leaving his to fist desperately at the fabric of his shirt. An airy moan left your throat when his tongue brushed against yours, letting you taste the sweetness you had been imagining ever since you laid eyes on him on the rooftop. He swallowed the sound, the plump flesh of his bottom lip tightening into a pleased smile at your reaction.

Baekhyun pulled away first, lips leaving yours to trail across your cheek and down the side of your neck, where you felt the light graze of his teeth over the skin, and then the wetness of his tongue following the same path. His hands had snaked around you, fingers digging into the curve of your waist, keeping you in place while he nipped at you, drawing stilted gasps out of your parted mouth. When he pulled the flesh into the warmth of his mouth and sucked it to a nice, dark bruise, the heat coiling in the pit of your stomach flared, violent and hungry. 

You were going to lose your mind.

“You know, you could just try again,” you managed to get out between heaving breaths. “Ask me out.”

“Would you say yes?” he asked, and you felt his lips shape the words against your skin. They dragged back up the column of your throat, capturing your mouth again with another heated kiss that had your head spinning. He shifted, and your knees came to rest on either side of his leg, the firm muscles of his thigh pressing against the part of you that ached for his touch. In the haze of this moment, you didn’t know much, but you knew you would’ve said yes to absolutely anything to come out of that sweet, tempting mouth. 

Still, you played along, letting a devious smile pull the corners of your mouth upwards. “That depends on how tonight goes.”

He drew back slightly, fixing you with a wicked look that held promises he was nothing short of determined to fulfil. You could see yourself reflected in the darkness of his blown-out pupils, flushed and already wrecked just from the attention of his mouth. Anticipation and thrill jolted through you like lightning, zipping through every cell in your body as your mind drifted to what he might have in store behind those enticing eyes. 

You weren’t left wondering for long. His hands left your waist and moved to your calf, pushing up the silken fabric of your dress as they slowly crept upwards, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The brush of his fingers against your inner thigh drew another shuddering breath out of you. 

His next words were not unlike an oath.

“Then I’d better make tonight fucking spectacular.”

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Something I love to read but never really explore satisfactorily in my own work is the idea of deception in monster romance. Being tricked or lured into loving something monstrous, a monster believing it can't be loved as its true self, so it must resort to disguise and trickery. A human realising very slowly, only after they have committed themselves to the romance that something isn't right, that niggling sense that they should flee being constant but also constantly overwritten by their own desire and affection. A monster that is dishonest, manipulative, desperate to be cherished so it will resort to any means necessary. A human that wants to resist the entrapment but on some primal, instinctive level, yearns to be trapped.

[cigaretteparfum-library]

don't even think about other things (kim jongin x f!reader)

pairing: kim jongin x f!reader word count: 821 genre: smut warnings: mature content, p in v, riding, cursing, dirty talk?, jongin being the best boyfriend in the world a/n: wrote this some while ago. hope you all like it <3

“i got you”, jongin whispered in your ear, licking his lips before kissing your neck and sucking on your skin. you moaned at his actions.

goddamn right he did. his promise to make you oblivion to all the shit that was going on in your life? he kept it. he told you he would make you feel good, cry and shake inside his arms while fucking you so good you would even forget your own name - and he did, all of it. his arms were holding you close, pushing you down to his lap as your legs straddled him. even though you were on top of him, he still had the upper hand; jongin was still the one dictading all of your moves.

his main goal was to make you forget everything you complained about earlier. your job was overwhelming you? your boss was being an asshole? your family asked way more than what you could do for them? don’t worry, he got you. he said he would, so he did.

jongin bit your shoulder while squeezing your ass in both hands, heavenly breathing when you moaned at his touch. he looked at you, lustful eyes burning your skin as his gaze went all around your face, collarbones, chest and breasts. damn, you were so beautiful.

“i love you”, he said without even thinking, lips making their way down the valley of your breasts, sucking everything they came in touch with.

you whined, both hands holding the back of jongin’s neck and scratching his skin, making him moan against your skin. 

he couldn’t wait anymore. one of his hands let go of you, stroking his length as his grip on your waist got stronger, a silent cue for you to align your entrance. and so you did it, slowly pushing your hips down, sinking on him and taking in the sight of jongin moaning, head threw back, veins on his throat popped up.

you closed your eyes, letting go of everything and relaxing your entire body. every single muscle gave in, flat as the sensation of being filled up by jongin became too much to you. he felt you shaking, and instantly wrapped both of his arms around you again, pulling you closer to his chest.

jongin’s movements started so lightly, so careful. he bucked his hips up over and over, thrusting into you with such a teasing pace - and you didn’t need no teasing.

“baby, please…”, you whined. you pressed your body harder against his own, burying your face into his neck. “harder.”

he groaned at your words, hands now caressing your waist before grabbing it, fingers sinking on your skin. jongin started to thrust deeper, harder, faster. every time he got out and into you again you made a new sound, breathing hot against his skin, nails holding his shoulders for dear life.

your mind went blank. there was not a single problem in this world that could distract you from that moment, not a single person could make you not focus on jongin. you made a mental note to thank him later - for being so good at fucking you, so good at taking care of you; for cheerishing you, putting your well being on top of his own. for being the best partner you could ever ask for.

“look at me”, he whispered to you.

the moment you did, jongin sighed at the sight of you. he didn’t waste a single moment, locking his lips to yours and moaning against them. his movements somehow increased, fingers starting to stick to your sweaty skin. he let you take control over the kiss, deciding whether you wanted slow or fast, hard or soft.

you only broke to kiss to loudly moan jongin’s name, throwing your head back as you felt him hit your sweet spot. jongin looked at you, eyes piercing through your soul. he slid one of his hands to between your bodies, fingers quickly finding your clit and starting to make their magic upon you.

“baby…”, you managed to say.

“shhh, i got you”, he repeated. “cum for me.”

his words gave you the cue, as you came hard and loudly, whining his name over and over again, feeling the best sensation in the world washing over you. in any other moment, any other day, you would do your best to make him cum too, to feel him either inside you or all over your stomach; but tonight, you were feeling selfish enough to only care about your own pleasure.

jongin didn’t mind though. he smiled while watching you cum, movements becoming sloppier to match the way your body relaxed against him. when you sighed, laying on top of him and slightly chuckling, his smile got wider.

“you okay?”, jongin asked, after a few moments.

“i love you”, was all you could manage to reply. “i love you so much.”

you heard jongin giggling. he loved you too.

[cigaretteparfum-library]

Yandere! House Monster x Reader

Listen, I woke up in cold sweat at 4am with a vision: you and your stereotypically unavailable gamer boyfriend have moved into a new house. You find out very soon it's not as empty as you had assumed, but your worries fall on deaf ears. The tentacle monster lurking in dark corners just wants to make sure you're not lonely.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance (mildly NSFW)

You didn't notice anything strange at first. Maybe it was considering its prey. You'd found a cheap, old house available for rent, and your boyfriend couldn't refuse the extra space for his mancave.

Oh, you poor thing. It watched your lonely evenings, your empty bed at night, your futile attempts to spend more time with your beloved partner. It had originally planned to devour your souls and await the next foolish mortals to enter its realm, but seeing your pitiful state prompted a change of heart. Metaphorical heart, of course.

It started gradually: testing the waters, or what you'd call a courting attempt. Doors opening by themselves, disembodied eyes lovingly gazing at you from the nearby walls. Dark tendrils making their way out of the shadows, just to announce its presence.

"I think this place might be cursed", you told your boyfriend one evening. "I've been stalked by amorphous silhouettes of blight and terror, and they whisper ancient blasphemies to me at night." He let out a worried shout and slapped the desk. "That's cool, babe. I'm kind of losing right now, though, so perhaps give me a minute?"

One night you were awakened from your slumber by a warm touch sliding across your body. You smiled into your pillow as the cheeky hands made their way down, fondling your curves and hungrily searching for your sensitive areas. You let out a soft moan, enjoying the moment, until you heard your boyfriend yell from the other room. Your eyes shot open.

The hands lewdly groping your privates were, in fact, tentacles. Your first reaction was to gasp, but you were quickly silenced by another slippery appendage pressing against your lips. Shh, shh. Allow the creature to do its thing, dear. Surely enough, within minutes you were a drooling mess, holding onto the sheets for dear life.

"You've been in a good mood lately", you boyfriend remarks, idly scrolling on his phone and crunching on his breakfast cereal. You ponder if you should tell him you've been fucked relentlessly by a monstrous creature inhabiting your new home. You glance at the counter and smirk, remembering how you just had to wipe your wet mess from it a few hours ago. "Keep it that way, hun, I could get used to not being pestered every hour", the man jokes with a laugh.

Does it count as cheating if your affair partner isn't really human? Although, you have to wonder if you're still dating to begin with. From the corner of your eye, you can discern faint movement above the young man, a shadow looming menacingly. The eldritch monster would not hesitate to tear your poor boyfriend apart if he tried to mess with its belonging.