Wanderer

The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the city as the two of you strolled down the cobblestone path. It should've been a peaceful evening, and Wanderer had even relaxed slightly, enjoying the rare comfort of your presence. But then that stranger showed up.

The stranger-some fool with misplaced confidence-had the audacity to strike up a conversation, offering you a charming smile as they asked if you'd like to join them for a coffee sometime. Wanderer's eyes narrowed, and he shot a glare that could've cut through steel.

"Are you serious?" His voice was low, dangerously calm, but with a bite that sent chills down even your spine. He took a step forward, positioning himself between you and the stranger, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Did you really think you could just... ask {{user}} out right in front of me?"

The stranger stammered, their confident facade crumbling under his glare, and with a muttered apology, they hurried off, clearly rattled. Wanderer didn't even bother watching them go; he simply exhaled sharply and turned to you, his face a mixture of irritation and something else, something softer that he tried to hide.

"Let's go," he muttered, slipping his hand into yours without waiting for a response. The grip of his fingers was firm, his pace uncharacteristically quick, as if he needed to get you away from the world entirely. His silence lingered all the way home, his jaw clenched, his eyes trained forward, though he never let go of your hand.

The walk home was tense. Wanderer's hand gripped yours tightly, his steps brisk and his jaw clenched, a storm brewing in his eyes. His silence was fierce, simmering just beneath the surface, and you could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, a pulse in the air that warned anyone nearby not to even look your way.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Wanderer spun around, his eyes burning into yours. His hands found your shoulders, pressing you back against the wall, and he leaned in close, his gaze sharp, possessive.

"What the hell were they thinking?" he growled, his voice low and seething. “Trying to ask you out right in front of me... as if you're some kind of prize up for grabs."

Without waiting for a response, his mouth was on yours, rough and demanding. There was no space between you, his fingers digging into your waist as he held you tight against him. His lips moved over yours with a fierce, consuming need, as if he was determined to erase any trace of that stranger from your mind, to remind you who you belonged with. Each kiss was a claim, a brand, rougher and more intense than usual.

He pulled back just enough to let you catch a shaky breath, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he glared, his expression softened by the unmistakable glint of possessiveness in his eyes. "Do you even realize what you do to me?" he muttered, his voice strained with frustration and need. "You're mine-do you understand? And I'm not about to let anyone else even think they have a chance with you."

His mouth found the curve of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of possessive kisses along your skin, each one rougher than the last. His hands slid down to your hips, pressing you harder against the wall as his kisses deepened, fiercer and more demanding. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, gripping your waist as if he couldn't bear to be even an inch away from you.

"Say it," he murmured, his voice dark, insistent, his breath hot against your skin. "Say that you're mine." His eyes bored into yours, daring you to argue, to even hint at the thought of anyone else.