Zen once said that he isn't interested in singers (during the Echo girl part of his route). Let's say MC is one and that upset her. Head canon of how Zen would react?
You said headcanon but… this somehow turned into a drabble OTL Let me know if this isn’t what you wanted and I can write some headcanons instead!
Zen was good at saying the right thing.
It was part of his charm, always having something beautiful and flowery to say. Especially to you. It came naturally to him.
Unfortunately, Zen was also very good at saying the wrong thing.
He didn’t realize his mistake at first. He noticed you seeming more cold and clipped around him, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint where it had started. Was it because of the situation when Echo Girl? But he had already done everything he could to reassure you.
Now that he thought about it, it was around that conversation that your mood had shifted… Could that be the problem?
ZEN: Hey. You aren’t upset about the Echo Girl thing, are you? MC: Nope. It’s fine, I know how teen idols can get. ZEN: Okay, good. Because I really am not interested in her. I already told you, I’m not into singers.
Several minutes passed by without response.
ZEN: MC? MC: What’s wrong with singers? ZEN: They’re just not my type. They’re too… pretentious. They all think they’re so great. ZEN: They’ve all got that same snobby attitude as the trust fund kid. ZEN: And most of the ones I’ve met are complete airheads, you know? MC: Oh. Good to know. MC has left the chatroom. ZEN: …MC?
Zen stared at the screen in confusion, rereading his words again looking for what he did wrong. He left the chatroom, instead opening up the private messaging section of the messenger.
MC, is something wrong?
For a while it looked like you weren’t going to respond, until…
Zen was confused, but he clicked on the message.
His phone directed him to a video on YouTube. It was a dark stage, surrounded by hundreds of screaming fans. Their cheers grew into thunderous applause as the lights came up, a spotlight weaving through the crowd to land on…
You were on stage, microphone in hand, smiling and waving out at the audience. The music started up and Zen realized what he’d done wrong before you even opened your mouth.
You were a singer.
He had your number dialed and ringing before the song’s chorus.
“I messed up,” he said before you got a chance to even say hello.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Oh god, I thought that you were jealous. I thought saying those things would help,” Zen shook his head and let out a nervous laugh. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, kind of,” you repeated, but he could hear the slightest hints of a smile in your voice.
“Well, me not liking singers just means that you’re by far my favourite one,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Ah, I’m sorry, babe. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
And he did. The next time you saw him he was wearing a t-shirt and hat with your name and logo on it, and he was carrying one of your official posters.
“Can you sign this for me?” he asked, holding out the poster along with a marker. “I’m a huge fan.”
He let you sign it and write whatever you want. He even let you draw on his face. (It’s washable marker, don’t worry.)
From then on, he keeps the autographed poster right in the middle of his living room. No matter how many times you tell him to take it down, it’s embarrassing, stahp. He says he has to have it there as tribute to the most beautiful, talented singer he knows.
The sound of the horses hooves clipping the cold ground outside the carriage were almost therapeutic, but your anger at the audacity of that servant caused you to not be able to settle for the journey; instead you simply watched as the Alfheim countryside go by, it was difficult to see in the darkness, but the occasional light here and there told you of the dwellings you were passing. It shocked you slightly that you were moving at a constant trot in the carriage for almost two hours. You were not great at directions, but you knew that your home had been east of the royal city, and if you were headed east, you were sure you would not be overly far from its location, but in truth, with three hundred and sixty degrees, what were the odds you would end up there.
The sound of the coachman bringing the horses to a halt caught your attention and you looked out the window of the carriage. You were near the small entrance that was no doubt for staff at a large manor. Relieved that the journey had finally ceased, you pulled your shawl up to your shoulders once more and went to open the door.
“Mark Tuan. Leave a message.” Is what I get every single time I call him. Cold, clipped, business-like. I give up for now. The ceremony starts soon, and I hope he’s not replying because he’s already there. I turn on my heels to join my family before the ceremony starts, and bump into a familiar chest. Stumbling back, I look up at the man.
“Professor Lecter.” I breathe. My psychology professor, and mentor, Doctor Lecter raises his eyebrows at me.
“Abigail, what a chance to run into you, I thought I’d never see you before you left. Congratulations.” He smiles warmly, all white teeth and black suit.
“Thank you very much.” I beam at him.
“Can I talk to you in private? Do you have time?” He asks, pointing at his office at the end of the hallway. I glance at my watch.
“The ceremony starts in ten minutes.” I make a grimace.
“I won’t be long.” He promises.
“Okay.” I give in. He smiles and leads me to his office, making me sit on the chair in front of his desk. He doesn’t sit at his desk, but leans against it, facing me.
“I am very, very proud of you, Abigail.” He says softly, placing a hand on his chest in emphasis. I smile at him. I’m kind of proud of myself too.
“I appreciate you a lot, Abigail. As a student of course. We’ve known each other for a long time.” He says. It’s true. He’s been my professor for three years and he’s always liked the fact that I’d bother him by asking him questions when he was in a rush after his class.
“I’ve never had a student so passionate and genuinely interested in psychology, and teaching you was a pleasure, really.” He murmurs, feeding my ego.
“Learning from you was a pleasure too.” I reply politely, and he smiles, running a hand in his brown hair.
“And I have to be honest, I’m going to miss our conversations.” He says more sadly.
“I’ll miss them too, Mr Lecter.”
“How do you feel about being done with so many years of hard work?” He asks, putting his hands in his pockets.
“I feel like a big weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel free again.” I breathe. Today I can officially put my six years of studies behind me.
“The best feeling is having your efforts recompensed. What are your plans for the future?” He enquires.
“I’m going to look for internships in cabinets.”
“You still want to do counselling?”
“I’d love to.”
“I think you’d be good.” He says appreciatively.
“I could recommend you some colleagues, make some calls for you.” He proposes, and more a minute I feel like I’m talking to Mark.
“I’d love to see your recommendations, but I’d like to get the job myself.” I explain, and from the crinkle of his nose he fives me, I guess that’s the answer he was expecting.
“Of course. I’ll send you an e-mail with some names.” He replies.
“Thank you, professor.”
“Gideon.” He corrects. It’s the first time he asks me to use his name. Jeez, I’m really graduating.
“Thank you, Gideon.” I smile, and he smiles back at me.
“You’re welcome.” He says
“I hope this isn’t the last time I see you. I’ve grown really fond of you, Abigail.”
“We can always go for lunch every now and then, you have my e-mail.” I propose. I can’t possibly imagine not seeing him anymore. I’ll want his advices, I’ll want to tell him about my professional life. He’s almost a friend.
“Right. I won’t hold you back any longer.” He says, pushing himself off his desk.
“Goodbye, Gideon.” I say, rising from my chair. As I speak, something changes in his eyes. He stares at me for a short moment, then he kisses me. He takes my face in his hands and crashes his lips onto mine. My eyes widen in surprise. What the ever loving fuck?!
I push against his chest with all my strength, and he stumbles back, freeing me.
“Professor Lecter!” I utter, wiping my lips off the trace of this inappropriate gesture. He stares at me with wide eyes, at complete loss.
“I am deeply sorry, Abigail. I don’t know what got into me.” He breathes, running a hand through his hair.
“What was that about?!” I shout. He looks up at me wearily. I am fuming with anger. How dared he?
“I am really fond of you, Abigail. I think I might be in love with you. Ever since you walked into my class.” He murmurs. Oh, my god. I stare at him. This can’t be true. This is wrong. So wrong.
“I am sorry, but I don’t share your feelings.” I mumble. I need to get away from him. I never want to see this man again.
“Abigail, I’m sorry.” He calls as I turn on my heels. I show myself out of his office and stomp away.
I’m worried now. I’ve gone from frustrated to angry to furious to worried. Mark doesn’t answer his fault, and he has missed the ceremony and my speech. I hope he’s okay. He left four days ago for a business trip, and he was supposed to be back for my graduation ceremony. It’s the party now, and all the graduates and their parents are under the big marquee, sipping champagne and chatting.
Bea and I have left my parents with other parents to find our friends, Vanessa and Scott.
“Guys, this is my boyfriend Nathan.” Vanessa says, presenting the young man on her right, blue eyes and blond hair.
“Are you sure you’re straight?” Scot approaches him like a cheetah, and we all laugh. Nathan’s eyes widen, and his face goes red.
“And this is his friend Jason.” Vanessa waves towards the guy on her left, dark eyes and dark hair, pierced.
“Guys, this is Abigail, Scott and Bea.” She says to her people, waving at us.
“Nice to meet you.” We all say in union. Scott sashays his way to Jason, sliding his hands up and down his arms.
“Do you work out?” He asks him. Poor Jason.
Bea, Nathan and I talk about our futures when Jason joins us, visibly free from Scott’s paws. He stands next to me, pulling me away from our conversation.
“Hey.” He says to me.
“Hi.” I reply.
“Scott is very handsy.” He says, making a grimace.
“I think he likes you.”
“I think I like you.” He smirks, winking at me. My jaw falls open. What’s wrong with me and males tonight? What is going on?
“I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Are you single, Abigail?”
When I glance behind Jason to find help, I see Bea and Nathan left. Crap.
“No, she isn’t.” Mark’s even tone resonates from behind me. I feel him before I see him, as he places a hand on my back, pulling me to his side. Jason and I’s gaze travels to the man in question. He’s wearing a dark blue suit, one of the ones he wears to work. Obviously he didn’t have time to change. He just took his tie off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white linen shirt. His black hair is ruffled, which indicates he’s been running his hands trough it. He looks like he just came out of a stressful day at work, and he looks sickeningly beautiful.
“Oh.” Jason says, pulling my eyes back to his. I give him an apologetic look. He seems to shrink a little in front of Mark’s posture. He’s become even more muscular in the past years since we started working out together. He’s now even more god-like. A pleasure to look at.
“Yes, oh.” Mark concurs threateningly. I mouth a ‘sorry’ to Jason who gives me a tight smile before ambling off.
“What a douche.” Mark mutters, moving so he’s standing in front of me like Jason was. He’s here now. I’m lost between relief, anger and joy. I missed him, so much. I don’t deal with his business trips very well, and I’m always so emotional when he comes back. But I’m also mad at him.
“He didn’t know.” I grumble.
“He’s still a prick for wanting what’s mine.”
“At least he’s on time.” I spit back. No, I haven’t forgotten despite his good looks. He missed my graduation ceremony, all of it. It was an important thing for me and he missed it. He had promised, for fuck’s sake.
Mark sighs and his features relaxes, anger replaced by desolation in his eyes.
“A quick picture, Mr Tuan?” A photographer asks, butting in nonchalantly. I purse my lips but remain silent. Paparazzis are definitely not what I need right now. I’m used to them now, but that doesn’t mean I want them everywhere.
“One minute.” Mark raises his index finger at him and takes my elbow, leading me a few steps away from him.
“Baby, I’m sorry.” He croons, his gaze sad and apologetic. “You know I didn’t want to miss your graduation ceremony.” He murmurs. Yes, I know he wanted to be here. And his attire shows he rushed here, but still.
“Where were you? Why is your phone off?” I ask him.
“Some last minute emergency at work. I had to fly back to Seattle this morning. Took me forever to come back. My phone is dead.” He explains. I let out a long breath. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his faut at all, but I’m still sad he didn’t see me giving my speech.
“I missed your speech.” He says softly, caressing my hair. He looks sorry. I decide not to give him a hard time for missing it, he looks sorry enough.
“My parents filmed it, don’t worry.” I reply, and his face falls.
“You don’t want to yell at me?”
“Would it make you feel better?” I retort. I said I didn’t want to give him a hard time, not that I wanted to make him feel better. He’s miserable enough on his own and I want him to stay like this. His eyes actively search into mine.
“I want to know what you’re thinking.” He murmurs.
“I’m glad you’re here now.” I say. He gives me a small smile and kisses my forehead.
“I’m proud of you.” He murmurs, and the delicateness of his words soothe me. I remember I’ve missed him, and now he’s back. I don’t want to be mad at him. He pulls away from me, and his eyes slide down my pale yellow dress. It has thick straps, a sweetheart neckline and stops mid-thigh.
“You look lovely.” He says appreciatively, his eyes flicking back to my face, his gaze smoldering.
“Thank you.” I mumble, feeling my face heat. After almost more than seven years of relationship, he still manages to make me blush. He smirks and places his hand on the small of my back, dragging me back to the waiting photographer. He pulls me close and I manage a small smile before the guy snaps a picture, the flash blinding me. I blink repeatedly.
“Miss Kraige, looking good tonight.” He compliments, lowering his camera. I laugh at his flattery.
“Congratulations for your graduation.” He adds.
“Thank you.” I smile politely at him.
“Are you two quite done? We have to find your parents.” Mark snaps, wiping the photographer’s smile off his face. He clears his throat.
“Of course. Thank you Mr Tuan, thank you miss Kraige.” He says, and I smile him goodbye before he ambles off. When he’s far enough, I turn to Mark.
“You don’t get to be grumpy.” I mutter, glaring up at him.
“You don’t get to flirt with photographers. Or anyone else for that matter.” He retorts.
“I wasn’t flirting!”
“Seemed like it to me.” He grumbles. Of course it seemed like it to him.
“Seemed like it to meeeh.” I imitate him childishly, grimacing. He laughs, loud and boyish, throwing his head back, and it’s a lovely sound. A sound I missed.
“Doctor Kraige, I think you’re slightly drunk.” He says, and he’s right.
“Doctor Kraige?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Well, you have a doctorate. You’re a doctor.” He says. “Tell me, how much did you drink?”
“I’ve only had three glasses.”
He nods but doesn’t make any remarks. Instead, he takes my hand and says. “Let’s go find your parents.”
After a laborious adventure across the marquee, where we had to stop various times because of businesmen recognizing Mark and girls wanting to take a picture with him, we finally find my parents and Bea, who are chatting animatedly.
“Mark! Where have you been?” My mom cries as she enfolds him in her arms.
“It took me forever to come back from Seattle, I’m sorry to be late.” He hugs her back and kissses her cheek affectionately. She pulls away and holds his shoulders at arms length.
“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” She says sweetly. My mom grew really fond of Mark with time, and it’s a pleasure to see.
Mark and my dad shake hands and my dad gives him a friendly tap on the shoulder. These two are really close now. I realized that even after my dad said he’d try liking Mark, he still hated him. All of this was fake, and he pretended so I wouldn’t hate him for not liking my boyfriend. I walked on him being nasty towards my man and for a moment I didn’t talk to him. I was desperate and didn’t know what to do to make him like the man I love, so I didn’t do anything. Time did everything for me. When my father realized Mark was sticking around year after year, he started liking him.
After the greetings we all chat about various things, and I watch as several men approach Mark, saying hello, giving their cards. The perks of dating one of the biggest CEO of California. I feel like on a society function more than on a graduation party. I feel like all the meaning of the occasion has faded, and I still feel bitter about Mark missing three quarters of it.
“Please, snap out of this mood.” Mark murmurs into my ear, pulling me out of my reverie. I blink up at him.
“Champagne?” A waiter proposes us a tray with flutes of champagne. I look up at my man through long lashes.
“Maybe a glass will help.” I murmur. I’ve grown used to asking for permission to drink, because when he says no, it’s always because he has a good reason.
“Only because I’ve been a complete douche bag.” He says, taking a glass from the tray and handing it to me.
“You usually are.” I remark.
“Only at work.” He retorts, and I giggle, because it’s true. His eyes soften visibly and he relaxes a little.
“Ah, there’s the sound I love.” He murmurs before kissing my temple. He gazes down at me with tender eyes.
“I’m sorry I came so late.” He says softly.
“It’s alright, Mark.” I croon. He leans in and pressed his lips against mine. It’s the first time our lips touch after a week. Mmmmh.
“Smile for me.” He orders softly. I smile against his lips, suddenly feeling lighter.
“I love your smile.” He says before kissing me again. God, I’ve missed him.
“I missed you.” I murmur against his lips.
“I missed you too.” He replies, kissing me repeatedly, again and again.
“It sucks that we had to meet up outside the day I come back, all I could think of today was how I was going to fuck you.” He says into my ear so only I can hear. His words set me on fire, unleashing all the longings I had to lock up for two weeks. It’s been two weeks since he last touched me, because I was focusing on my exams and because he went away. It was my decision, but it was hard. And now, because of his words, I’m hornier than ever.
“And that dress doesn’t help. I can’t wait to get you alone.” He adds, stepping in front of me, blocking me from the rest of my family. He takes my hand and brings it to his crotch, where the growing bludge tells me he’s as horny as I am.
“Take me home.” I look up at him, suddenly feeling lightheaded and feverish. He pushes my hand away and kisses the corner of my mouth.
“I invited everyone over for the after party.” He says. What? No!
“You’re teasing me.” I state. He’s going to tease me all night, I know it. That’s his evil plan. That what he thought about all day.
“No, I’m not. This occasion is just too special to ruin it with how hungry me and my cock are.” He says. My nipples tighten at the word 'cock’. Images flash across my mind. Mmmmh…I want it everywhere on me…in me. In my mouth, in my-
“Mr Tuan! What a pleasure to see you!” Another business man butts in, stopping my train of thought, literally cockblocking me.
Bea’s parent and Dorice join us to our apartment, congratulating me and wishing me the best. I’m surrounded by my small family, the closest people to me, and it’s the best feeling ever. We drink more champagne, and Mark limits me to two glasses, he obviously doesn’t want me drunk. I’m tempted to sulk. It’s my graduation party after all.
Me and Bea are in our own bubble on the huge sofa, talking about my future. I’ve got rid of my heels and folded my legs beneath me.
“I can’t wrap my head around the idea that I’ve spend six entire years of my life studying, and its over now. I’m twenty six, and I feel like my life just begun.” I say to her, and she nudges my shoulder.
“Because it’s the case, and I’m looking forward to spend more time with you.” She replies. I give her a warm smile. We had a hard time dealing with not studying the same subjects and being busy, but we pushed through. This is what makes me the happiest about graduating, having more time for my family, my friends, and my man.
“I’d like to say something.” Mark’s voice shuts up the soft babble in the living room, and all eyes turn to him. He’s taken his suit vest off and rolled his sleeves up, exposing his tattoos on one arm. With years passing by, Mark started liking engraving memorable things on his skin. He has a whole sleeve full of dates, mathematic equations and other numbers. Mark Tuan, thrity two years old, cut like a god and tattooed. When did I get so lucky?
“Baby, come here.” He says, looking at me with tender eyes and stretching his hand out. I obey and walk to him, taking his hand and standing at his side while we face six pairs of curious eyes. Mark drapes his arm around me and gazes down at me.
“I wanted to tell you how proud you make me.” He murmurs. My sappy side melts instantly.
“You are the smartest, strongest, most hard-working woman I know, and I admire you a lot. "I’m very proud of what you achieved and who you’ve become, and I wanted to congratulate you again for graduating.” He says. I grin up at him and mouth a 'thank you.’
“You inspire me, Abigail. You’ve brightened every aspect of my life. Even my relationship with my dad.” When he says that, my heart swells with emotion. His words move me.
“I spent most of my life hating him, and yet tonight I wish he was with us.” He murmurs, and I feel a lump in my throat. Ray and Mark have tried to make up countless times, but they both had too many hard feelings against each other. At some point they stopped trying. But when Ray died three years ago in a mission, Mark was devastated. My dad and Ray had fraternized. They went to Afghanistan together. I still remember that day, when Mark answered the door of Dorice’s house, and saw my father in tears accompanied by who I can the death messengers.
“I wish he was able to see the woman you’ve become.” He runs his knuckles down my cheek, and hot tears make my eyes sting. He cups my cheek, and I nuzzle his hand, the tender gesture making me want to cry. He gazes down at me for a moment, with a look of love and affection, and I stare up my him, my eyes shiny with fresh tears. He smiles softly, and his hand moves down to his pocket.
“And now that you can finally but your busy studies behind you and start your life. I wanted to ask you,” He trails off before sinking down on one knee, pulling a black velvet box out of his pocket. Several loud gasps and squeals can be heard, but I think mine are the loudest. All the air drains from my lungs, and I stop breathing, bringing my hands to my open mouth.
“If you wanted to start it with me as your husband.” He says, opening the box where inside shines a divine diamond ring. He’s proposing. He’s asking me to be his wife! I don’t even try to hold the tears back, they fall on their open, uncontrollable.
“I love more with each passing second, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Abigail Heather Kraige, my love, will you please marry me?” He asks sincere brown eyes swimming in tears, and I’m nodding before he even finishes his sentence. I want to marry him, I want an eternity with him. This is the best gift he could ever give me.
“Yes?” He ensures, unblocking my throat.
“Yes, please.” I say loudly, nodding vigorously. He smiles in relief, pulls the ring out of the box before putting it back into his pocket. People clap and cheer, but I don’t pay intention. I’m focused on him and the beauty of this moment. I give him my left hand, and he slides the ring down my ring finger. It’s exquisite, two lines of diamond tangled in each other, forming a loop in which shines a big diamond. He rises from the ground, and when he’s at my level, I cup his beautiful, tear-stained face and kiss tenderly.
“I love you so much.” I sob against his lips as he wraps his arms around me, holding me against him.
“I love you too.” He murmurs, kissing me back. We kiss under applause and whistles, and I feel giddy with joy.
“Did you settle a date?!” Bea calls, jumping up from the couch and walling to us, clapping in excitement. My maid of honor!
“Beatrice, she just said yes.” Mark scolds playfully while I laugh, wiping my tears away. Taking the clue, the whole family gets up and closes in.
“Oh, make it a winter wedding!” She squeals, making me laugh even harder. Tons of warm hugs and kisses follow. My mom cries, Dorice cries, my father cries, I cry, I hug, I kiss, I laugh. I spend the next hour swimming in warmth, love and happiness. It’s late at night when I finally get my future husband alone, after he walks our guest out of our home.
He turns and leans against the door, sighing deeply. I run my hands up his firm chest, brushing my lips against his jaw.
“You make me so damn happy.” I murmur. He hums appreciatively as I rub my lips against his neck, and pulls me against him.
“Do I?” He asks, gazing down at me.
“You know you do.” I tease before kissing him. He traps my lower lip between his and sucks gently, running his tongue on the inside, dragging a moan from my throat. I lose myself in him, leaning on him and letting him take my mouth as he please. I want him to take all of me.
“Soon to be husband, will you please take me to bed and make love to me?” I ask, and the need in my voice is almost palpable.
“I’ll examine your request in the briefest period.” He kisses my nose before pushing me away from him.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” He asks, walking towards the kitchen, I stare at his back, dumbfounded. What the hell?
“And may I, pray, know why you have to examine my request?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and following him in the kitchen. He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine.
“I’m still deciding between delayed gratification and immediate alleviation.” He explains, pulling a wine glass out of the cupboard. “Wine?”
“You’ve been away for four days, Mark. And you haven’t touched me in two weeks.” I can’t believe how needy I sound, but what’s more surprising, is how horny I am. I didn’t realize it before, but now that we’re alone, I want to jump him. I want him to fuck me for hours non stop. He turns to me, eyes dark en sensual
“Trust me, I know.” He murmurs, his gaze smoldering. I swallow.
“Why wait then?” I ask as he pours himself a glass.
“I didn’t say I was going to wait. I’m still deciding.” He retorts, putting the bottle back into the fridge.
“Why envisaging delayed gratification?” I ask. He picks up his glass and looks at me with even darker eyes.
“Because I love how dirty it gets when I’ve been denying you.” He says, and my jaw drops. Sexual Mark Tuan, my future husband, in all his glory. Sensing my shock, he smirks at me. Slowly, he saunters over to me, standing too close, making me unable to focus on anything but the aura emanating from him. This man is pure sex.
“See, I’m torn inside. Part of me wants to make slow, sensual love to you, because you’ve just agreed to be my wife.” He murmurs, bringing tons of images to my eyes. The idea makes my lady parts leak.
“And another part of me wants to fuck you senseless because you’re always so sexy and I haven’t been inside you for weeks.” He says. Oh, I like that idea too. My body practically convulses. TOUCH ME!
“Now both ideas sound appealing, don’t they? See why I’m taking time to think?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.
“But I’m quite indecisive, maybe you could give me your perspective. How do you want it?” He asks. How I want it? I don’t know, all I know is that my body is going crazy.
“I want you now.” I whisper, and he smirks.
“I thought you might say that.” He chuckles before taking a sip of his wine. He takes my left hand, where my engagement ring shines divinely, and brings it to his lips.
“Can we marry tomorrow?” He asks.
“I don’t think my parents would like that.”
“Would you like that?”
“I want a real wedding.”
“You have a month.”
“I’m not organizing a wedding in one month.”
“The hell you’re not. I’ve waited six goddamned years to propose, because you didn’t have time to organize a wedding while studying. I’ve been wanting you to be my wife for for-fucking-ever.” He mutters, leading me to the couch. We sit down next to each other and I listen to him ramble.
“Thank fuck you graduated. And be glad I’m not dragging you to Vegas. I have that much respect for your parents, but I’m done pussy footing now. It was about fucking time-” I cut him off with a laugh.
“I get it, okay.” I giggle. He looks at me with dancing eyes.
“One month, Abby.” He says sternly, dropping his almost empty glass on the coffee table.
“Then Vegas tomorrow.”
“One. Now kiss me.” He grabs the back of my head and pulls my lips to his. It’s not only a kiss, it’s THE kiss. I immediately tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him close. Our tongues meet, and we battle for dominance. He tastes of white wine and Mark Tuan. His hands slide down my body, my butt, and he grabs the back of my thighs, manoeuvring me onto his lap, hitching the skirt of my dress up. I tug at his hair, tilting his head back, pushing my tongue deeper inside his mouth. His hands roam over my body, and he slips them under my dress, fondling my behind.
“So fucking beautiful.” He growls, kneading me. I feel so sexy right now, even after gaining weight. I’ve lost my thigh gap, I have bigger thighs, bigger arms, bigger breasts, more flesh in my butt, and he loves it. I moan in his mouth, and he growls again, giving my butt a hard smack.
“Ah!” I yelp, the stinging sensation traveling to my core. I’m aching for his touch. My breasts, my vagina feel heavy, I can feel myself throbbing.
“Mark, please.” I plead, circling my hips, rubbing myself against his erection, needing some relief. He grasps my panties and rips them apart, pulling the fabric out of under me. As soon as they are out of the way, I grind harder, my bare skin against his pants.
“Oh, god.” I moan in his mouth. He reaches back and takes my hands, pulling them behind my back, my wrists gathered. He wraps the lace of my panties around them, binding them together. I can’t touch him now, but I can move. I grind against him, his hard shaft rubbing against my clitoris perfectly. The pleasure is deliciously intense.
He takes my face in his hands and pulls me away from him. I open my eyes and watch as he fishes in the pocket of his pants. He pulls out a blindfold I had no idea he had, and covers my eyes. I’m plunged in the dark before I know it.
Instantly, I hear and feel more. My breathing rings louder in my ears, and the sensations double in intensity. I love it.
“I’m wet. I’m wet.” I chant, throwing my head back, my hips moving desperately. He slips his hands in between our bodies and finds my dripping heat.
“Fuck me.” I beg, riding his hand.
“Please, fuck me.”
“I can feel you, baby. So hot and wet and ready for me.” He murmurs, his hot, ragged breathe against my neck. He grabs my hips and guides me up and down his shaft, rolling his hips again mine. I literally purr. I’m soaked, ruining his Armani suit pants, but I don’t care, and nor does he apparently.
“Please, please, please.” I’m not sure what I’m begging for.
“Up.” He commands, lifting me off him. My feet find the floor, and he rises as well. I’m painting, swaying on my feet, my mind hazy. He runs his hands down my thighs, and suddenly I’m flying.
“Ah!” I squeal, because I have no idea what’s happening to me.
“I got you. Stay still.” Mark says, patting my naked behind, and I realise I’m over his shoulder. He starts to stride to what I hope is our bedroom. Or my wall. Hr could take me against my wall. From the number of steps he takes I guess he opts for our bedroom. He opens and closes the door, takes a few steps in, and lets me slide down his firm body, letting me feel all of his muscles, until my feet touch the floor. He tugs on my dress so it’s covering me again.
“Don’t move.” He orders softly, and I obey. I hear him open the door of our dressing, flick the lights on, and then the jiggling of keys. He’s getting something in our play box. He wants to play?
He comes back moments later, turning the lights off and closing the door. He walks past me and flicks the bedside lamps on. Then I feel him in front of me as he grabs the hem of my dress.
“I hope you’re not too attached to this dress.” He muses. I am. But right now I want him to tear it apart. Everything is a matter of timing.
I feel something cold against my thighs, and then I hear the noise of scissors. He’s cutting it open! I feel the scissors go up my thighs, my stomach, between my breasts, and then my dress is not hugging me anymore. Mark then cuts the straps so it falls to the floor.
Then, he cuts the straps of my black lace bra and cuts it in the middle, so I’m totally naked. He drops the scissors onto the bed and wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him. My breasts are pressed against his firm chest, my nipples tight and hard, heavy, needing his touch. His lips gently bite the skin of my shoulder, then he trails the tip of his tongue up the curve of my neck, to my earlobe where he bites more harshy. I tilt my head to the side, granting him access, and he trails his lips back down, making me shiver. He grabs my hips and pushes, sitting me on the edge of the bed. Then he grabs my ankles and lifts my legs, making me fall back onto the bed. He grabs my hips again and lifts me effortlessly, laying me down further up on the bed, then he flips me over so I’m laying on my front.
“Kneel.” He orders, and I obey, raising my knees.
“Open your legs. I want to see you.” He says, his voice even lower than before. I spread my legs, arching my back, exposing myself, hoping to tempt him. Immediate gratification, please. I’m at his mercy, as always, and I love it. I love it because I know he’s a beast inside, and I love how wild he gets. He’s a beast, but he means no harm to me. He loves me. Wild love, the perfect, sexiest combination.
The bed dips under his weight, and I understand he’s joined me. He’s going to touch me, finally. He places his hands on my ankles, then runs them up my claves, the back of my thighs. His hands slide up my butt and part my cheeks before he licks a path from my slit to my anus.
“Mark.” I gasp. God I’ve missed this tongue, I missed how amazing it feels on me. He makes a low, appreciative sound.
“I missed your taste.” He growls, dropping an open-mouthed kiss my intimacy. My clitoris starts to ache, badly.
“Please.” I beg. He flattens his tongue against my clitoris and teases me with it, licking, swirling it around my clitoris, round and round. He sucks harshly, drawing a desperate cry from me. He moves his tongue from my vagina to my anus, and I convulse instantly.
“Fuck!” I moan. He circles my tight ring with his tongue, pressing hard, and the pleasure is intense, forbidden. He plunges two fingers inside me, and I’m lost.
“Oh, god!” I cry, squirming uncintrollably. I struggle with my bounds, wanting to grab his hair and push him even closer. I can’t move, I can’t see, but I feel. I feel a lot, hotshots of electricity stabbing my very core. He moves his fingers in and out, fast, harshly, so hard it almost hurts.
“Oh, please!” I scream. He propels me to the edge in seconds, and I feel my release building up. His tongue, his fingers, rough and aggressive. It’s so intense, crossing a blurry line, is it pain or pleasure?
He growls low and long in the back of his throat, the sound animalistic, wild. He pushes his tongue even harder against me, and I wail as his finger pick up even more speed. He’s fucking me with his fingers, with his tongue.
And then he’s gone, the warmth of his tongue and the roughness of his fingers disappearing.
“No!” I cry. Frustration sweeps through me, taking my need and my craving to another level.
“Mark, please.” I whisper as he caresses my butt in circles.
“Soon, baby. Soon.” He kisses my butt cheeks in turns. He undoes my bounds, and my hands are free. Now I can touch him, feel his skin, mark him. I want to run my hands all over his body, find the feeling of his skin under my fingers again.
I leave them there, not knowing what he wants me to do. I do as he says in bed, because I love pleasing him and he knows my body better than I do. I’ve come to a point where I completely embrace my submissive nature. Studying psychology helped me deal with why I loved to be commanded, used and subdued after I’ve been raped. It was hard, I still remember locking myself in the bathroom and crying everytime Mark and I tried something new. It’s all behind us now, and now where both exploring each other’s desires and fantasies. Well, I least we try, when we have time.
Mark shifts and flips me over, making me lay on my back.
“Give me your wrists.” He commands. He’s tying me again? I feel a pang of disappointment and frustartion, but say nothing. I gather my wrists together in front of me. Gingerly, he binds my wrists together, but not with my panties, it’s softer, it’s satin. Then he pulls my hands up and ties me up to the headboard of the bed. My breathing quickens in anticipation and trepidation.
“Shhh.” He cajoles, pressing his lips against mine. He kisses me, sensual and feverish, but somehow soothing. I sigh, my breathing slowing a little, and he pulls away from me.
“Spread your legs.” He orders, and I obey only too willingly.
I push them further apart.
“Good girl.” He compliments. I squirm, his words making my core burn.
“I missed your body.” He murmurs, running his hands over my body, down my arms, between my breasts, across my stomach, down my legs.
“Please.” I beg. The bed moves as he removes his weight from the mattress.
“I could look at you for hours.” He murmurs, making me groan. I’d rather he made love to me for hours. I hear the noise of his belt, and then his zipper, and my breathing heaves.
“I can’t wait for you to be mine.” The bed dips under his weight, and I feel him closer than before.
“I’ve always been yours. I’ll always be.” I murmur.
“But soon you’ll be mine in everyone’s eyes.” He says softly, running a finger down between my breasts, down my stomach. He shifts, and I feel his hot breath against the skin of my lower stomach.
“Mine to have and to hold.” He murmurs before slowly running his tongue over my tattoo. I have his name and his favorite number tatooed above my hip, covering the scar Henry gave me seven years ago. I got it soon after Mark, not because I felt obligated, but because Mark had made the idea cross my mind for the first time, and it seemed natural to me, less so to my parents.
“To love and to cherish.” He runs his hands up my sides, licking a path up my torso. I sigh.
“For better.” He says softly before kissing my left nipple, his two hands cupping my breasts.
“For worse.” He kisses my right nipple. He moves further up the bed, and I feel the head of his erection nudging my entrance. I moan softly.
“For richer, for poorer.” He dips his tongue in the hollow of my neck, then licks me up my throat, making me gasp and squirm.
“In sickness and in health.” He nibbles at my earlobe. He presses his naked chest against mine, against my breasts, brushing against my sensitive nipples. I arch up and rub against him.
“Please.” I whisper breathlessly.
“Until death do us apart, baby.” He murmurs, just as he pushes himself inside me. Filling me up with love.
I’ve already watched so many different acoustic videos of Norwegian dark princess of pop AURORA performing her haunting song Murder (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) on YouTube, and even caught her performing it live earlier this year, but nothing prepared me for this riveting new music video. Starkly simple yet thoroughly riveting, AURORA transfixes me fully with both the melancholic beauty of the song as well as her twitchy motions and emphatic expressions in the clip. Cold and twisted Murder (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) is oddly tender and heartrending despite its theatrical qualities. I can’t wait for what comes next from this brilliant artist, who’s sure to be a huge sensation soon.
Monosyllabic, cold and clipped.
Your hello should’ve prepared me for your goodbye.
You introduced yourself with a smug sureness,
A lukewarm welcome.
In between was just more of the same…
I kept thinking you’d change
But I was proven a fool.
Now my last memory of you seems fitting:
The crunch of tires on gravel as you sped out of my life,
Kicking up dust in my crestfallen face.
You couldn’t flee fast enough
To miss catching my tears in the rearview mirror…
And still, you kept a lead foot on the gas.
But honestly I’m thankful you didn’t brake for me,
Because although I have enough heart for the both of us,
I shouldn’t have to carry the whole love load.