Horny thoughts EXTRA: Caleb and Valko using a dual entry fleshlight as punishment.
Link for a visual (very NSFW) 🔞MDNI🔞
This is a gift and a thank you for the amazing ideas (including this one) to @stardustsirens 💜💜💚💚.
Check the rest of the Horny thoughts list here
For two men who had both agreed—out loud, with words, like adults—to share a relationship with you, Caleb and Valko were doing a spectacular job of acting like they'd never heard the word compromise in their lives.
It had started over breakfast.
Specifically, it had started over the fact that Caleb had taken the last of your coffee without asking and Valko had taken that personally.
"That's not what this is about and you know it," Caleb said, his voice gone quiet, that meant he was past the point of raising it. He stood in the living room with his arms crossed "You've been doing this for months. Every time I'm here you find something. The coffee, the blanket, the remote—"
"She was cold," Valko said. "I gave her the blanket because she was cold. You were sitting right next to her and you didn't notice."
"I noticed."
"You were watching the stupid game."
"I can watch the game and notice she's cold at the same time."
"Clearly not, since I'm the one who got up."
Caleb's eye twitched. Just slightly. "You got up from the other side of the room to bring her a blanket that was sitting six inches from my hand so you could—"
"So I could what, Caleb? Make sure my girlfriend wasn't cold? That's the crime we're prosecuting today?"
"She's my girlfriend too."
"Then act like it."
Caleb uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, and Valko, because Valko had never backed up from anything in his life and wasn't about to start now, also stepped forward to meet him. They ended up in the middle of the living room with their chests almost touching and matching expressions of immovable stubbornness.
"You want to talk about acting like it," Caleb said, very quietly. "Let's talk about last Tuesday."
"I'm gonna need you to be specific."
"You called her ten times, Valko."
"I was checking on her."
"Ten times. In an hour. I was with her. She didn't need to be checked on, she was fine, you just wanted to make sure I knew you were calling"
"This is actually insane," Valko threw one hand up. "You're telling me I'm not allowed to call my girlfriend?"
"Not when I'm with her"
"I'm trying," Valko said, clipped and precise, "to take care of her. Which I realize is a foreign concept to a man whose primary contribution to this relationship is showing up on weekends and looking pretty—"
"I look..." Caleb stopped. A vein in his temple was doing something concerning. "That is not the point—"
"Oh my god, that is enough."
They turned at exactly the same time, the argument dying mid breath, and found you standing in the bedroom doorway. You had your arms crossed, a silk blindfold hanging from each hand, and the expression on your face was one you reserved for occasions when you had reached the outer limit of what you were willing to tolerate.
You looked at Caleb. Then at Valko. Then at the ridiculous amount of physical space they had managed to eliminate between two fully grown men who had, three days ago, been in your bed at the same time without anyone losing a limb.
"I have watched you two argue all day" you said. "You have both been in this relationship for months. You have both—" you paused, choosing words, "demonstrated, repeatedly, that you are capable of being in the same room as each other."
Neither of them said anything. Caleb had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. Valko looked like he wanted to say something and was physically restraining himself.
You held up the blindfolds.
"I'm done mediating. You want to act like you don't know how to share?" Your eyes moved between them, steady and completely unmoved by the combined effect of the two of them standing there looking like scolded golden retrievers. "Then I'll make it simple for everyone."
-------------------------------------------------
The bedroom was very quiet by the time you got them both in there.
They ran out of things to argue about. It was hard to continue a territorial dispute when they couldn't see where they were in the room. They stood where you'd put them, stripped bare, blindfolded, shoulders still carrying the tension from the living room but with nowhere to direct it anymore. Both of them had their hands at their sides, not touching anything, assuming they were far away from each other.
They were not.
They were close enough that if either one of them exhaled too hard they'd feel it. You'd done that on purpose.
You sank to your knees between them and looked up at their faces —both of them tight jawed, heads slightly tilted, trying to orient themselves by sound alone— and took a moment to appreciate the fact that two of the most difficult men you'd ever met were currently standing blindfolded and completely at your mercy because of a disagreement about coffee.
You poured the lube and wrapped your hand around Caleb's cock first.
His head went back immediately, a rough groan pulling out of him, hands gripping his own hips to stop himself from reaching for you. "God, your hand—can do it a bit faster?"
"Don't rush her," Valko's voice came out tighter than he intended. He was trying to figure out from the sound of Caleb's voice exactly how far away he was standing.
You moved your hand to Valko and his whole body shuddered, a sharp exhale escaping through his nose. "Fuck, I've been waiting all day."
"You're both getting it," you said, keeping your voice smooth and even.
You picked up the sleeve from the floor beside you.
Dual entry, no center barrier, ribbed on both ends. They knew you loved toys and they loved using them on you. Neither of them had any reason to suspect what this one was about to do.
You lined it up, shifted your weight onto your heels, and pushed it down over both of them at the same time.
The sound they made was almost identical, two sharp, breathless gasps in perfect sync, the ribbed interior gripping them both tightly. For a second they both just stood there processing the sensation.
Then you pushed them closer, the rest of the way in.
The tips of their cocks met somewhere in the barrierless middle.
"What—" Caleb's whole body recoiled, knees buckling, one hand shooting out sideways for something to grab onto and finding nothing. "What the—what is that—"
Valko made a sound that was not a word in any language. He'd gone completely rigid, every muscle locked up, his chin dropped to his chest.
"Is that—" Caleb's voice came out strange and strained, working through the information his body was sending him with visible effort. "Is that another—is someone else—are you—" He stopped. "What the fuck?"
"That's 'ko," you said pleasantly.
"What the hell—" Valko's hips snapped back on reflex, a choked sound tearing out of him that he was going to pretend hadn't happened. "Sweetheart, what did you just—"
"Relax," you said, both hands clamping down over the center of the sleeve, fingers squeezing the material to keep them where they were. "You didn't want to share so now you're sharing this."
Caleb's breathing had gone completely to pieces. His chest was heaving, jaw working around words that weren't coming out in the right order. "You actually—" A sharp breath. "You seriously—"
You gave the sleeve one slow twisting squeeze and he lost the sentence entirely.
"Look at you both," you teased, from your knees again, looking up at two flushed faces with tremendous satisfaction. "So territorial. So impossible. And completely hard inside the same toy."
"I am hard for you," Valko snapped, the words coming out slightly less convincing than usual given the circumstances. A dark flush had crawled all the way up his neck and into his ears. He tried to step back, thighs shaking. "Take it off. Right now. I am not doing this, I don't—"
"You're not going anywhere."
You delivered the first stroke before he finished the sentence and the sound that came out of both of them at the same time was something you were going to think about for a very long time.
The friction was immediate and overwhelming—the ribbed interior stimulating the entire length of their cocks while they were pressed tip to tip. Neither of them pulled away.
What happened instead was considerably more predictable given who they were.
Valko's jaw set. You felt him shift his weight, recalibrate, and then drive his hips forward hard—a full thrust into the sleeve that was transparently designed to shove Caleb back through force of will. "Move," he said, through his teeth.
"No," Caleb answered and met him head on.😝
The impact of them hitting tip to tip inside the slick toy punched a moan out of both of them, loud enough that you were briefly grateful for the thickness of the bedroom walls.
You started pumping the sleeve to match their rhythm and leaned in. "There you go," you kept your voice low, right in the space between them. "All that energy you've been wasting arguing about coffee." Another stroke, firm and deliberate. "Look how much better this is."
"Don't act smug about this."
"I'm not acting smug," you said, completely smugly, picking up the pace. "I'm just saying. You've both been impossible for three months and it took me five minutes to solve it."
"This isn't solved—" Caleb's voice broke on the last word as you twisted your wrist on the next steoke. He swore, hips stuttering forward. "This is—this is not what I'd call solved—"
"Less talking," you said."More cooperating."
"I am not cooperating with him," Valko thrusted forward again.
Caleb met him again without hesitation.
"Come on, 'ko," you watched his face carefully. "He's pushing you back. Are you really going to let him?"
"Pips—"
"Absolutely not," Valko said through his teeth and reached out blindly until his hands found Caleb's shoulders and dug in. He used the grip to anchor himself, rolling his hips forward in slow circles that ground them together until his voice betrayed him, dropping from furious to undone in the space of a single breath. "I'll—" a shaking exhale, "I'll outlast him. Just like I've done it for months."
"You are shaking," Caleb pointed out, panting, sweat running down his temples and soaking into the edge of his blindfold. His hand had found its way into Valko's hair, gripping tight, the only thing keeping him upright as your hands worked faster. "You're already—you're twitching, I can feel it—you're so close you can't even—"
"Don't," Valko warned.
"You're falling apart and I've barely—haah—" Caleb's smugness dissolved as you squeezed the center of the sleeve. "God—"
"Shut up," Valko's command would have landed better if it hadn't come out an octave higher than his normal voice, cracked clean down the middle by another roll of his hips.
You slid your free hand up the flat of Caleb's stomach, felt every muscle pulled tight, holding back. "Tell me how it feels," you ordered.
"It's—" Caleb's was losing rhythm, the competitive edge bleeding into something desperate. "It's too much. The heat—I can feel him—Pips, please, I'm going to—"
You stopped the stroke immediately, keeping them locked against each other with nowhere to go.
Caleb made a sound that was mostly just suffering.
"Not yet," you said, turning your head slightly. " 'ko. Tell him."
"Tell him what?" Valko gritted out.
"How close you are."
A long silence broken only by both of them breathing like they'd been running.
"Damn it," Valko said finally, the grip on Caleb's shoulders turning white knuckled. "He's—" another shaking breath, "he's too much. Too hot. Everything he does just—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Stop moving, Caleb. I'm serious. Stop—"
"I can't," Caleb moaned, his whole body moved forward, one final thrust that buried him as far into the sleeve as he could go.
Valko's forehead dropped forward, finding Caleb's shoulder, Caleb's hand was still in his hair. Their chests were heaving in the same broken rhythm, breath mingling in the small space.
"There," you said quietly. "Was that so hard?
Slowly, like he was doing it without deciding to, his body moving before his brain caught up, Valko's forehead dragged up from Caleb's shoulder, sliding along the curve of his neck, up his jaw, until it came to rest against Caleb's forehead.
Caleb went completely still. You didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched.
Valko's hands, still gripping Caleb's shoulders, slowly loosened. Spread flat. Like he was steadying himself against something he hadn't been prepared for. His breath came out ragged and uneven against Caleb's lips.
Caleb's fingers in his hair tightened again and he tilted his head up slightly.
Valko tilted his down.
Their mouths met somewhere in the middle and neither of them made it a question.
It wasn't soft. It was two people who'd been circling each other for months finally landing, all that accumulated tension finding somewhere to go at once—Caleb's hand pulling Valko in by the hair, Valko's hands sliding from Caleb's shoulders to the back of his neck, both of them breathing hard through their noses because neither one was willing to break it long enough to properly inhale.
You started moving the sleeve again. Slow at first. Then faster.
Valko broke the kiss on a sharp desperate sound that Caleb swallowed immediately, pulling him back in, and then both of them stopped pretending there was anything controlled left about any of this. Their hips moved together instead of against each other for the first time, same rhythm, same direction, working into the sleeve in sync while the sounds they were making dissolved from words into something much more honest.
"Together," you said quietly, from below "Both of you."
They came at exactly the same moment, Valko first by a heartbeat, Caleb right behind him, both of them shaking, gripping each other and breathing into each other's mouths while it rolled through them in long waves. Valko made a sound low in his chest that you'd never heard from him before. Caleb's knees buckled and Valko caught him without thinking, arms wrapping around him on reflex, and they stood there holding each other up.
You looked up at both of them, blindfolds askew, foreheads together.
"So," you laughed "Same time next week?"
Caleb laughed first. Just one short exhausted sound, but it was real.
Valko pressed his lips to Caleb's temple, which surprised everyone in the room including him, and said nothing.
You stood up, brushed off your knees, and went to make yourself a cup of coffee. Nobody had taken the last of it this time.
summary ♡ losing your job takes a serious toll on you and when your roommate’s "co-worker" isn't able to make it for a stream, an unforeseen idea sparks
content ♡ camboy&roommate!valko/reader, livestreamed sex, oral(fem!receiving), p in v (obvi lolll), he calls you pup bc why not
wc ♡ 4.7K (WOWOWOWOW)
a/n ♡ SURPRISEEEE!!! this may not be good, not too much
Trying to find a job was hard.
Trying to find a job while also being unemployed was even harder.
But you swore not to be too hard on yourself when you knew well in your heart that you were trying your best. Doing such a thing served you no justice and only made what was already a stressful experience, even more difficult.
No one anticipates being grouped into their company’s massive layoff, not when they swore that they had been a good little sheep in the communism hamster wheel of meetings, late night projects, and stacks of paperwork. Though with luck almost as bad as a cursed cartoon character, of course life would play out in a way that delivers you such heavy-hearted misfortune.
So, as you step into your apartment, trying your hardest not to breakdown after another shitty interview and realizing that you’ve officially been jobless for nearly five months now, all you can think of is some good food and your bed that you plan to rot in indefinitely.
“You look exhausted,” Valko says to you from where he lounges on the couch. “Another bad day?”
You’ve been disassociating so much the last few weeks that you actually tended to forget that you cohabitated with another person. Rather than being able to sulk in your feelings and waste away from the never-ending disappointment, your roommate wasn’t exactly the kind of man to let you if he had any say.
When you decided to share a space with one of your closest friends, especially one with a personality as out there as his, you figured it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Although it took you a few days to consider his offer, eventually you knew that the benefits were far too great and as time progressed, it proved to be a dynamic going strong for the last three years.
Where you kept to yourself and avoided the unnecessary, he was quick to speak up and make his voice heard. Truly, it was perfect.
You just never anticipated being the one who would be forced to hear it the more your frustrations and grievances became harder to mask.
You kick off your shoes and remove your cardigan in silence, intentionally ignoring him and focusing on whatever commercial that had put a pause to the media he was streaming.
“Am I asking for trouble if I say anything else?” he adds as you plop yourself down on the couch next to him and take a piece of beef jerky from the bag he’s nearly finished with.
“You're so greedy.” He raises a brow and tilts his head with confusion like a lost puppy at your comment.
“You do know that you’re the one eating my snack, don’t you?”
“I thought you didn’t mind sharing with me.”
“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He pauses his wildlife documentary, clearly ready to keep the conversation going and for all of his attention to stay on you. “But you’re the one raiding my stash and calling me names. Then you don’t even say hi. Do I mean nothing to you?”
“You just got this bag this morning and it’s already pretty much gone, dude,” you chuckle. “Greedy, dramatic, and sensitive.”
“You’re pivoting, you know? Not very good at being subtle about it either.”
You didn’t want to talk about it. You really, really didn’t.
You didn’t want to explain what he clearly already knew and didn’t feel like hearing the same reassuring words that weren’t doing anything to ease your constantly racing mind.
Valko leans over and snags the practically empty bag from you and tosses it somewhere out of your reach.
“What the hell is your problem—”
“You’re trying to shut me out again and I’m not letting you do that.”
“Does it kill you to not overstep?”
“That was so damn cheap.”
“How about add nosy to the list while we’re at it.”
“Concerned is more like it,” he corrects. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard when I told you to ease up? You do know that besides being your roommate, I am your friend. And friends don’t let their friends do and experience shit alone. You’re not doing this by yourself and I wish you stopped acting like you are.”
Already, you want to cry. Again.
The tears burn behind your glassy eyes and the uncomfortable tingle in your jaw makes it tick with the urge to let the waterworks flow freely.
Ever since you’ve been trekking through these unexpected hardships, Valko has been covering everything. Rent, groceries, utilities—the whole nine yards. He made you promise to not dip into your savings or to overwork yourself to try compensating for anything he wasn’t expecting of you.
What should’ve been relief had been a nightmare for you ever since.
You’ve always been able to have his back in some way, always have been able to be a dependable counterpart in your two-party pack. But ever since you lost your job, you’ve had to lean on him 100% and never have you ever felt so helpless.
Sure, his job does pay well. Very well, in fact. So much so that necessities and wants for both you and him were expenses he had no qualms about paying.
When he suddenly told you that he planned on seeing what it was like to be a camboy a few years back simply because he had the face and body for it, to say you were stunned was an understatement. At the time, he quite literally said one of his biggest reasons for contemplating such an idea was because he was “bored”. You weren’t one to discourage him if he had the confidence for it either.
Valko’s always been one to try his hand at something if he figured he’d be good at it. Combine that with his carefree-like approach to almost anything he sets his mind to, it shouldn’t be shocking that not only was he right in his assumptions of anticipated success, but he practically became one of the best known in the business what felt like overnight.
Working independently, it wasn’t long before agencies were reaching out and established workers wanted to work with him. Playing his cards right, he chose to remain solo, but when he partnered with the right people and produced the content the fans were begging for, his popularity and finances boosted exceptionally in record time.
To some extent, it’s been a rollercoaster for the both of you. He had to adjust to the recognition and demand while you had to do the same with all the things that could possibly come with the territory of having one of your closest friends be both your living partner and someone who has sex with others on camera.
You felt guilty for your lack of contribution irregardless of the reassurance he gave you and with the sincere look on his face, you were almost certain he could see it.
“We’ve already talked about this, Val.”
“So why does it seem like you still don’t get it?” He sighs, placing his hand on your head and making you turn it to face him instead of the coffee table like you’ve been doing this whole time. “It’s pretty bogus, if you ask me.”
He raises an eyebrow when you sit there silently with such a defiant expression, chuckling at the pouty lips and blank stare.
“Because you don’t get it. You’re not in my position, how could you even?”
“I don’t have to be. I know which one I’m in and I told you what it’s gonna look like until something changes. Nobody’s rushing you around here but you. Funnily enough, you’re the one that doesn’t see that.”
“Oh, you’re sooo inspirational,” you comment sarcastically as you drag out your words. You go to remove his hand from you. Ignoring the truth in his words helps you cope. “Let’s get this one a talk show.”
But he doesn’t let you discard his touch so easily, hand slipping down to the back of your neck to evade your move. He sees the way you tense as much as he can feel it, smiling to himself when your eyes widen and your lips press together.
“Nervous, huh?” Valko’s thumb swipes across your nape gently. “It’s always so easy to mess with you.”
He’s a friend. He’s always been a flirt. Don’t read too much into it.
“You’re so annoying. Get off me.”
“You think just because you’re wallowing in your emotions that I’d let you off easy?”
“Off,” you repeat, trying to shrug him away, but to no avail. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work anyways? Isn’t that guy coming by? Caleb or whatever?”
Valko raises his arms in amused defeat as he follows your stern order. “He cancelled today. Had something come up. I was gonna tell you later.”
Then that meant… “What about the stream you have to do today?”
“I’m still doing it, just by myself. Probably won’t be as fun for everyone since he can’t make it, but I’m nothing if not resourceful.”
If they were truly present in your head, certainly the both of you would’ve been capable of hearing the gears turning.
You stay with the egregious thought for a minute—a long minute, actually.
Valko, a popular and overly loved camboy with copious amounts of supporters. A job where he makes and earns money in real time. Thousands of fans in one stream surely has to equal the same in revenue, at least somewhat.
You don’t have a job.
You need something to not feel so awful.
It’s quick and relatively harmless.
But this is your friend. This will change the dynamic drastically—forever. Maybe he could handle it, it’s just work to him after all. Another day in the “office”. But could you? Do you want to add more turmoil to your already raging flame?
“Can I...” You stop yourself.
Should you really be asking this? Are you ready for something so extreme and sudden? But the opportunity is sitting in your face and begging to be taken.
“Can you what? Don’t give up, I believe in you,” he jests, leaning into you slowly and close to nudging you with his shoulder.
You push him away immediately and ignore his exaggerated look of betrayal. “Could you be serious?”
“If you could finish your sentence, I can think about trying.”
Rolling your eyes and huffing out a shaky breath that he hears too clearly, you muster up the courage. Or whatever this kind of audacity is.
“What if… what if I take his… place?”
The room falls silent. Too silent. For a second, you think you might’ve actually stopped his heart.
“… What the fuck.”
Not what you were hoping to hear, but it’s a fair reaction nonetheless.
“We don’t have to show my face,” you urge. “I don’t want to show it at all, actually. Just hear me—”
“Are you insane? Absolutely not.”
He doesn’t get to shut you down like this. Maybe it’s the adrenaline coming from what you’re genuinely considering or the desire to make some kind of progress in something that’s been so dormant, but if he would just work with you.
“I’ve been feeling like shit for months, Valko!” He freezes at your voice raised so suddenly, gaze flickering between your clenched fists and avoidant eyes. “Maybe it’s just desperation. Maybe this is so irresponsible of me and… and m-maybe I’ll regret it in the future. But I can’t keep sitting here and failing, okay?”
“How many times do I have to tell you—”
Your head shakes immediately to swat away what’s supposed to be uplifting if you’d let him finish.
“I trust you. I trust you get where I’m coming from and why I’m trying to do this.” You move closer to him, trying not to let it sting when he watches you warily like you’re not in your right mind. “If you don’t want to do it with me, I rather you just say that. But… but I can do it. If you let me, Val, I can show you. Please.”
He tries to ignore the way his dick twitches from the softness that claims your tone. His sweatpants feel like they've suddenly shrunk three sizes and are suffocating him. But the way you cling to him, how you beg…
“I don’t want to take advantage of you being in such a vulnerable place, pup. That’s not my style.”
“You aren’t if I’m asking for it. I want… I want to feel like I’m doing something—that I’m helping and that I believe it in my own terms.”
His features soften. He’s always given you everything you wanted. How could he deny you when you come to him like this? Even with his concerns, he can’t ignore the temptation.
“… Nothing’s gonna change about us? You won’t run when it’s done?”
Your head moves side to side, decision firm and resolute. “I promise not to.”
It’s been hours since you had that conversation and only now were your nerves trying to get the best of you when the act itself was this close to happening.
Seeing Valko live and in his element was different from watching behind a screen in secret. Of course you watched him from time to time, it wasn’t abnormal to be curious. How could one not be?
Were you proud to say that you’ve seen your friend’s cock? Or that you’ve seen what he looks like when his strong thighs are covered in his cum? Or how he sounds when he edges himself for over an hour? No, not really. But you’d be lying if you said you regretted seeing or enjoying it.
The minute he started, having you sit beside him and out of view until it came time to do what the both of you were there for, his stream was flooded with donations, comments, and viewers, instantly.
It almost made you nauseous, seeing the number of watchers jump from 0 to 20, 500, then surpassing the thousands faster than you could blink. He gave them that flirtatious banter and cocky energy effortlessly, teasing a few supporters and playfully reprimanding others for their smutty dialogue.
This was easy for him, at least it had become so with time, and it forced you to observe with admiration.
He didn’t even have to do anything different outside of who he is naturally, simply sitting at his desk and staying dressed in the same comfortable attire you found him in after coming home.
There was something about Valko that you could never put your finger on, and that amplified as you paid close attention to the way he interacts with the people who love him and his body.
valsbabydoll: isn’t caleb supposed to be here today??
locawerewolf: can we get to itttt
valkosprincess: he’s so sexy, i’m dripping
“Don’t be mad at me,” he smirks, eyeing the way they urge him to reveal what he’s been holding onto. “But Caleb couldn’t make it tonight.”
You can already sense the kind of reaction he’ll get for telling them something so disappointing when their expectations were so high, but he continues with confidence. Whether it’s in you or him, you can’t tell.
“I’ve got something else you might like. Someone I know I will.”
Valko looks your way and throws you a reassuring wink, tilting his head for you to stand and come to him. Was it wise to read into his words or was all of this “on the clock”?
The camera’s been angled in a way that only shows your body from the chest down, keeping it safely away from revealing your face. Your body is completely covered in goosebumps, and the jitters are buzzing from your fingertips all the way to your toes.
Turning in his chair, he looks in your direction and caresses you from your ass to the back of your thighs. “Pretty, isn’t she?”
It takes everything to not let your knees give out as he feels on you so tenderly, switching from grabbing the flesh of your ass through your shorts to tracing his fingers dangerously close in between your legs.
“We’ll both do good for you tonight, so make sure you let her know how much you appreciate it.” His hand slips up your tank top from the side, making him grin when you twitch. “I think it’s about time we got started."
“When I’m touching you, you focus on me. They’re paying you to feel good, remember that.”
That’s what you try to keep in mind when Valko’s lips connect to the exposed part of your stomach. It’s what he told you after you reassured him for what felt like the hundredth time that you were not changing your mind. Besides safe words and mutual understandings set, he needed you to feel good. He needed you to have fun and he would put in all the effort necessary to ensure that outcome.
So instead of trying to see what his fans think of you, your body, and unexpected appearance, you fixate upon the warmth of his tongue as he leaves sloppy open-mouth kisses on your tummy and the strong arm he keeps wrapped around you so that you can’t slip away from him. You find your back arching the slightest into his affection the more he gives it and that alone was already surreal because of how natural it felt.
Your fingers cling to the soft strands on his head, running them through his scalp as stimulation for his own satisfaction and as a way to keep you grounded. All you have is the dimmed off-white light coming from his computer monitors and the lamp he has lit to see how he almost loses himself in catering to your torso alone. With you being so reactive to how he nips at your soft spots to make you whine and hiss with pleasure, he could see himself staying there for a very long time.
“Val… p-please” you whisper through a gentle moan when he hums against you in acknowledgment to the sounds you make in response the sensations.
“Don’t be impatient.” It’s ironic for him to taunt you this way when he says that with his sentence muffled since he won’t pull away. “Savoring my treats is what I do.”
He goes for your bottoms next, hooking his thumbs into them and slowly tugging them down whilst seemingly trying to leave an imprint of his lips on your skin.
deepspace4val ~ Donated 300 Chocos - take them off. panties too
The automated voice reading out the note attached to the gift makes Valko laugh and sends vibrations through you.
“Everyone’s just as eager as I am.” He looks into your lust-filled eyes, searching for approval and making a silent promise. Your quick and little nod is what he needs before pulling them down your legs completely and following them to the floor as he removes himself from the chair and falls to his knees.
He has your leg hooked over his shoulder fast, burying his entire face in your pussy as if he’ll die now if he doesn’t inhale you deeply from the source. You have to regain focus quickly and brace your palms to his broad shoulders as he pulls a hearty cry of pleasure from your unexplored depths.
The sounds of him licking and sucking you in such a place, feeling him groan and lap you up as if he’s been stranded in a desert—right here and right now, he owned you.
Donations were coming in waves as you looked out the corner of your eye through hazy vision. Watching your friend taste you like this for thousands to see… you wanted more. The way his jaw moved and how the muscle in it jumped the harder he worked to consume you was intoxicatingly addictive.
“I’m gonna… w-wait. Hold on…!” You try warning him, but your pitched cries and nails digging into his skin is his reason.
Valko sucks your clit into his mouth the more you squirm, focusing all his attention on the swollen bud that pulses against his tongue as his mouth is flooded with your sweetness. He then widens and flattens the muscle along the slit of your puffy cunt, forcing you to nearly hunch over from the dizziness of his overwhelming gluttony.
You can’t utter another word when the tip of his tongue slips into your quivering hole. That and his nose nudging against you is what has the expert holding you by the ass to keep you rooted on his greedy mouth that sucks you dry when your orgasm confiscates all your senses.
You’ve never wailed from such a thing this loud in your life—ever.
“Even better than I expected.” You can’t tell if the glow on his face is from your slick or the fact that he’s thriving off your essence. It’s like he’s almost in disbelief himself. “Fuck, I’m so hard.”
imcumming77 ~ Donated 500 Chocos - fuck her already, i can’t last long
0rgasmsRlife ~ Donated 450 Chocos - i wanna see her tits
“What a coincidence. So do I.” Even breathless and covered in you, he’s still so cheeky.
He presses another kiss to his new favorite place, leaving a trail as he begins to stand. Your shirt rises with him until it’s off completely and a nipple is claimed by him immediately.
“Ah—Hold… Mmph, Valko, that’s s-so…” You’re incoherent now and leaving you speechless has become his guilty pleasure.
His cock brushes up against you and you feel just how much he’s been holding back. Taking his time to tend to you, to relax your mind and body to be ready for both him and this experience, you realize now you could never repay him for something of this magnitude. But, you’d be a liar to say you’d never try.
With newfound boldness, you snake a hand past his elastic waistband and into his pants. As soon as your hand wraps around his cock, you give all the attention to his leaking tip that now creates the same mess in your palm as it’s done all over him.
“Trying to kill me?” he rasps, nose buried in your neck as if your scent will keep him from truly collapsing. “Goddamn, y-you… shit, that's good..”
You look at the screen again and this time he does the same to see what everyone else does. His cum just barely seeps through his pants and the motion of your hand taking care of him underneath sends shivers down his spine.
Your tits glisten with his saliva and having your naked body on display for so many to see yet it only being for him to touch and feel is a reality he can’t quite believe, but he yearns to stay there.
“Not like this.” Although they can’t see your face, it’s clear to everyone when he claims your lips. The taste of yourself flooding your senses and his eagerness to make you savor both it and him, were dizzying. His teeth tugging on them and licking away the dull ache until he pulled away only left you craving more.
Valko takes your hand, bringing you close as he sits in the same chair that he was before everything began. His cock stands tall, thick, and completely flushed in the prettiest pink. He strokes himself a few times while his other hand fondles one of your tits, then flicks a nipple with his thumb while teasing his slit with his other. Only when precum beads and slowly falls down the side of his length does he guide you to stand in between his legs.
“Ready when you are.” Sitting back and waiting for you to make the next move, Valko leaves the ball in your court.
His hands know what to do as you climb into his lap with no hesitation. He looks over your shoulder to see how erotic it truly is and if he were a viewer, he could see himself going bankrupt if it allowed him to witness you spread out with a dick primed and ready to slide into you.
“H-help me,” you plead shakily, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him with an unrelenting embrace. He kisses your shoulder and runs a hand down your back almost lovingly.
“Lift your hips,” he murmurs, placing a kiss below your ear.
The donations were still coming is droves as he grabs his cock and lines it up with your dripping entrance. Valko teases everyone including himself, pushing pass your pussy lips but not fully sinking into your warmth. Rather than continuing to wait impatiently, you work your body to meet him and guide yourself down with an unspoken eagerness.
“That’s it, pup,” he coos, teeth gritting the more your pussy swallows him inside and shapes around his dick to the hilt. “Let them see you take it in good since you can’t wait. Easy… there you go, you’ve got it.”
Your uneven breath fans against his ear and your cunt clenches around him over and over like an unforgiving vice. He takes the lead for you now, his large hands grabbing you by the hips then snaking down to the underside of your thighs.
The first stroke was capable of turning him into a pussy drunk fool. Thousands watch how your juices coat his cock and his cum being dragged down to form a creamy ring at his base.
“More,” you mewl. “Keep—nngh, g-going, Val…”
He couldn’t give a damn about who was watching at that point. In fact, he couldn’t say that he ever did after you graced him with a chance to have you like this.
You’ve always been on his radar yet something he considered untouchable. He respects you, values the things that you say, do, and think. Rejection wasn’t what deterred him from trying but the potential for you to demand any kind of separation, did.
Now that he’s had a taste, good luck trying to act like he’ll never want it again.
Valko grabbed you as securely as he could before he began drilling into you from beneath, his heavy balls slapping against you every time you sunk all the way down. Every viewer was bound to be staring at how you fucked yourself on him and attentively listened to the sounds of both of your ragged breaths and desperate yet filthy panting.
“So damn tight,” he praises, licking the outer shell of your ear and grabbing you harder with promises of marks that you’ll undoubtedly be embarrassed to look at once your high subsides. You were ridiculously soaked for him, and it just wouldn’t stop. Obscene squelches and constantly meeting skin slickened with sweat echoing in his bedroom was enough to prove the heights of your arousal if the visual alone wasn’t enough.
daydreaminlongevity ~ Donated 1000 Chocos - cum in her. don’t waste it
“It’s okay.” Your pussy tightens around him again with anticipation. “I want it… I can take it.”
He brings you in closer as he feels his orgasm coming quicker than he expected it to. His muscles bulge when he envelops you in his embrace, keeping the same breath-stealing momentum as your voice and body shakes uncontrollably from his lack of control.
All it takes is four more deep thrusts before you’re collapsing onto him from exhaustion and feeling the rush of his cum spill into you. You’re held down so that as much as possible stays inside your sensitive cunt, and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck until the rush washes over.
More people than you could imagine are watching how your thighs shake and your pussy quivers around him. They can see how he raises you just enough to display how his cum overflows and spills out. You both were a mess and all they wanted was more.
*************** ~ Donated 2000 Chocos - again again again
********* ~ Donated 1200 Chocos - eat it out of her
****** ~ Donated 3000 Chocos - can we get a different angle?? i wanna see her better
All the automated messages flowing in has your body on fire more than it already was.
“Seems like I’ve got competition.” Valko’s hand outlines the curves of your body as he lets you rest. “You hear how much they love you, pup?”
You nod. “Again. I wanna go again, too.”
How could he not fulfill such a request? This time though, he planned to show you firsthand for why he was so highly favored.
Could you keep up?
a/n: i was sitting on this for daaays 😭 and i dunno if it’s actually any good.. but i didn’t wanna say anything in case i didn’t finish it lmfaooo BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED, MY CUTIES!!!
creds to @/angeliicide for the bratz dividers & @/astroyosei for the lily divider!!
• send a few “BRING VALKO BACK” emails to [email protected] ‼️ if the cn girlies can get their attention, then so can we— but let’s do it in a peaceful, nonviolent way. “BRING VALKO BACK” shows our enthusiasm and love for this character and all the effort his team put into him without disparaging other LIs, real people and employees, and using bullying tactics.
• uninstall the game / don’t log in
• leave a 1⭐️ rating on the appstore; my personal reason was “BRING BACK VALKO” just to concisely get the point across. review bombing DOES hit them.
• unfollow all LADS platforms
• leave comments on their posts to express your distress for valko’s cancellation; keep it respectful
No because what the actual fuck was that decision?
You mean to tell me months—if not YEARS—of development.
…and your solution was to throw the ENTIRE SIXTH LOVE INTEREST into the trash?
ARE YOU SERIOUS?
I'm not saying people shouldn't have been angry about the 731 reference. They absolutely had every right to be. Unit 731 is one of the darkest chapters in history and if that reference was made carelessly, then yes, people deserved an apology and an explanation.
But explain to me how Valko became the sacrificial lamb here.
Who exactly does this help?
The people who were hurt by the reference? They still deserve accountability.
The people who were excited for Valko? Congratulations, you just told them to go fuck themselves.
The developers who spent who knows how long creating an entirely new LI? Their work gets deleted overnight.
So what was the goal here?
Because this doesn't feel like taking responsibility. It feels like corporate damage control.
Fix the story.
Rewrite the chapter.
Delete the offending reference.
Delay the release.
Fire whoever thought using 731 and 611 was acceptable if you have to.
But deleting an ENTIRE CHARACTER because of a mistake in ONE PART OF THE GAME is such an absurd overreaction that I genuinely can't wrap my head around it.
I'm just so unbelievably disappointed. because Infold's response was somehow even worse than the original mistake.
We lost a character.
The developers lost their work.
The fandom lost something people had been excited about.
What an absolute fucking waste.
And that's the part that's making me lose my fucking mind.
We lost an entire section of the MAIN STORY.
The livestream literally told us Valko's release was going to reveal more about the Aethercore—one of the biggest mysteries in Love and Deepspace and something that's been central to the plot from the very beginning.
So now what?
You think they can just delete him and nothing changes?
Do people genuinely think you can rip out an entire story arc without consequences?
Everything that was supposed to be revealed through Valko now has to be rewritten, redistributed, or outright cut. The main story is going to have to be retconned. Future updates are going to have to be reworked. Characters may have to be rewritten just to fill the gap he leaves.
If you're celebrating this because you "won," I sincerely hope you understand what you've actually cheered for.
I literally just had to step out of work real quick to read everything and catch up… I am fucking baffled and genuinely disgusted by this. Infold this was quite literally the worst decision you could have made???
I genuinely have to get back to work but I am fucking appalled I genuinely have no words for this.
synopsis: valko is in deep heat with the supermoon occurring, and he wants a solution that requires restraints, a collar, and you.
warnings: valko is in heat, sub!valko, good boy!valko, collar use, bondage, riding, overstimulation, biting, licking, scent marking, edging, knots, rutting, monsterfucking.
wc: 2,3k
a/n: i love him already, he's such a cutie. he deserves endless cuddles, BE NICE TO HIM! i want to devour him. I NEED HIM TO EAT ME OU– enjoy a pre-release celebration of our handsome wolf, valko!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
He must be in heat. that’s the only way Valko can describe this feeling. The moon has been full for less than an hour, and he’s already twitching. Usually he can handle himself. But that’s not gonna work out well for him if all he can think about is you.
Your scent is delicious, beyond the scented lotions and perfume, he’s talking about your natural aroma, amplified by sweat and other smells your body emits. It draws him in. He can’t help but sniff the air every time you walk past him. His cock won’t stop twitching in his pants, tenting at the sight of you catching his gaze.
Valko wants to bite you. Valko wants to slather you with his saliva until you smell like him. He wants to rut his cock so deep inside you, cuddle you so close and keep you so warm with his hot body that you just have to call him a good boy.
“…ko,” He must be imagining you saying his name so nice and breathless.
“…alko.” There it is again, louder, your nails could drag down his back until he bleeds and he’d thank you.
“Valko!” He blinks, the mirage of a heated embrace disappearing from his perception to be replaced by your fingers snapping very close to his face. Such pretty fingers, he wants to lick—
“Yeah?” His voice is gruff and hoarse, almost like he’s keeping a whimper tight in his throat. His leg bounces as fast as his heart pounds his chest. You’re so pretty, with your pretty parted lips, and how your saliva keeps it just wet enough to shine in the warm lamp light. So plump for him to kiss and bite—
“As I was saying,” You pull your hand away, not hearing the small whine that leaves him from the lack of contact. “We need to make sure you’re comfortable for the next few hours. You said you can get agitated when there’s full moons, right?”
“Mmh.” Better a grunt than a moan. You brush it off assuming the effects of the celestial event are starting to mess with him internally.
Of course, you’re well aware that he’s got an extra pair of fluffy scratchable ears on the top of his head, an even fluffier tail protruding from the base of his spine, and sharper canines. You’re not ignorant.
What you don’t know is that he’s much more prone to getting heated in these hours. Especially in the presence of someone who his body, mind, and soul are attuned to completely. It’s you. You're that someone.
But he has to behave for your sake. He can’t be bad, he can’t be too rash and aggressive or he might scare you off. You might not like it. But he wants you so damn bad, he can’t even hide it anymore.
You’re rattling about restraints, something to tie him to incase he goes berserk.
Restraints. Belts. Muzzle. Chair. Tie him to a chair. He wants you to tie him to a chair.
He wants you to restrain him. He wants you to sit on his lap and feel how hard his cock is for you, feel it throb just below your cunt, grind his hips up to you still so retrained and held back that he has to beg you to ride him. He might as well ask for it.
“…unless that’s too extreme.” You mutter, expecting a response. Nothing. Did he zone out again? What’s going on with Valko to be so distracted? He wasn’t like this last month. “Look, I know the full moon can be a messy time for you, and now that it’s a supermoon it could be worse, but I’d prefer you to actually respond— oh.”
Valko is drooling. Valko’s eyes are glazed over. Valko is blushing beyond relief. And Valko is sporting a rock hard boner.
The silence that stretches between you would have been uncomfortable, it should have been. But you seem to enjoy the rough pants that escape his lips, how his hands are balled into fists to keep himself at bay. How the veins on his neck are far more prominent now.
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, hoping you won’t say anything foolish.
“Don’t laugh.” Valko grits, his fluffy ears drooping a little.
“I wasn’t going to.” You say, trying to ignore the fact that your lips are twitching into a smile.
You glance down from his agitated golden eyes to his neck, to his large muscular chest covered by the black tank you always find so attractive on him, to the taper of his waist, to the pulsing print of his cock bulging against his pants.
Now that you think of it, you two haven’t shared the bed recently. You’ve both been so busy with work that neither of you have had time for each other. And you’ve been very wound up these last few days.
“I think we should figure out what restraints will be good for you.” A purr follows your words as you rest your hands on his chest. Muscular, warm, huge chest that you love to sleep on. You’re making this much, much worse and you know it. You can hear it in the groan that rumbles in his chest.
“Oh, is it getting worse?” You play an aloof demeanour, reaching to caress the soft ears on his head, making sure to rub on that sensitive spot where his hair is its softest. A soft moan escapes Valko’s lips as his golden eyes flutter closed.
“Please…”
“What do you need me to do, my love?” Your lips ghost the shell of his fleshy ear, tongue peeking out to trace the shell. He shudders, head lowering to give you more access, hips rocking towards you so you can feel just what you need to do.
You don’t want that, though. He has to say it.
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”
A pained moan rushes right into your ear as he drops a part of his weight on you. Valko doesn’t want to say it but he also wants to say it. It doesn’t make sense. This heated state is driving him insane, and you’re giving him such a clear path to relief. But what he wants is different from what you usually do… will you agree?
With a shaky breath, Valko nuzzles the side of your neck, mustering the will to confess his desire. “You have to tell me no if you can’t do it.”
“I will.” You reassure him, stroking his soft hair. His arms wrap tight around you, grounding himself in your presence as the words unknot themselves to flow out.
“If you’re grossed out—“
“I won’t be grossed out, Val.” You softly say, rubbing circles into his lower back. “Nothing about you grosses me out. I trust you, so you need to trust that I’ll handle whatever you need and that I’ll tell you if I can’t. Outside of cannibalism, I'm not doing that.”
That makes him chuckle. “You’ll tell me the second you’re uncomfortable?”
“The millisecond.”
His next request comes out more sheepishly. “You’ll tell me I’m doing good?”
“I’ll put a poet to shame.”
“Pull my hair?”
“Put a collar on you too if you’re feeling feisty.”
A sigh of relief escapes Valko’s lips. Oh, he loves you. Finally, he pulls his face away from your neck to level your gaze with fresh determination on his face. “I want you to tie me to the chair, and ride the shit outta me.”
Ask and ye shall receive, as you hear them say.
It was easy to put Valko on a chair especially when he's drunk on your kisses, hungrily biting marks into your bare chest and stomach, gripping your hips so tight you’d think he’s terrified that you’ll run. It was easier to get soaked just from watching him strip for you— that, and having his fingers curl so good inside your cunt as he slurped and lapped at your clit.
The only ‘difficult’ part was restraining him to the chair, legs, arms, and torso roped tight, and that’s just because he’s antsy whenever the full moon happens.
But something about this supermoon has got him more riled up than usual. Why, you ask?
You’ve been bouncing on the man’s cock for two hours.
You’re not complaining, you love every second of this. Your walls are fluttering around him as he slides in and out of you so easily, caught by you keeping his fat tip inside leaking all that sticky, hot precum before you drop into his lap again and again and again.
“Val— ooh, fuck!” Your praise has otherwise become mush, slurred moans of his name and whatever adulation could come to mind. Valko doesn’t mind since he isn't doing any better. If anything, he’s lost the need to think.
“S-So good,” His throat is torn from how loud he’s been, his hips jutting into you even with his thick, corded thighs roped down to the chair. His tail is slapping the floor, his fluffy ears are twitching. He can barely move, limbs strapped down and a collar wrapped around his neck at his own request. And he loves it.
He wants to cum so bad. But then he’d end up swelling so much that he’d be stuck for hours, just grinding and grinding and plugging his seed inside instead of feeling you slap down on him with each rise and fall of your full hips. He wouldn’t have your soft breasts bouncing in his face, or feel your hands scratch his undercut and pull his hair, or hear the hiccups in your voice or the ragged moans in his own.
Why make this pleasure so short-lived when he can prolong it?
His cock is leaking like a faucet, keeping him smooth and wet for you to use him as you please, pulsing with the desire to just release. His sacks are drawn up tight, literally clenching with enough cum to repopulate a country, and yet he still won’t give in.
Valko drags his tongue up your jaw all the way to your cheekbone. “ ‘m I fuckin’ you good?”
“Hah— mhm. Such a good boy.” You ramble into his lips as you kiss him, slipping your tongue inside to taste him as if he isn’t all that you can sense. “So big and thick and hot… so— Valko— so full ‘f you, want you deeper, you’re so good!”
You’re on orgasm number five by now, gripping onto Valko’s strong shoulders for dear life, back arched, tugging his hair like you want to rip his red locks off. It’s the supermoon, you tell yourself, it must be shooting his stamina through the roof.
It fucking has to be if he’s been rutting into you like a bullet train without cumming even once. His girth twitches with every rock of your plush hips, it leaks and weeps inside you every time you squeeze him hard enough to cut off his blood flow. It has to hurt, prolonging his climax for this long.
Valko likes it that way. He likes the hurt. He likes the way his body just responds to you so well, like you’re made for each other. You have to be.
Your knees are starting to ache. Your thighs are burning from the constant bouncing up and down his thick length but the feeling of him dragging through your walls with each vein pressing against your walls is too good. The overwhelming bump of his cockhead kissing your cervix may just tip you over the edge again. The fucking curve of his cock and the angle just lets him reach the sensitive nerves of your g-spot so good every damn time!
You love these fucking supermoons.
“Valko,” You hum, licking his lips then his chin and jaw, your breath heavy as you maintain your pace. Just a few more and you’ll be in pure bliss. But you need him there with you. “I’m close. I’m so close. Hnn, need you— cum with me.”
“You— oh, you sure?” He whimpers, nuzzling you as you lick the tears off his cheeks. “I’ll—“
“Knot me, mhm.” You nod, rubbing your nose into his cheek, inhaling his scent. This man’s frenzied behaviour has been rubbing off on you too much, not that there’s reason to complain. “You’re gonna swell up so fuckin’ thick, yeah?”
He nods. “Gonna plug all that cum in me, keep it warm inside while you grind ’n rut into me?”
“Yeah,” He affirms, his arms pulling against the restraints. Is this what you want? You want him to bond with you to that much of an intimate extent? You must truly love him. “ ’m gonna stay in you the whole night, snug inside. But I like when you ride me.” You can feel him pouting as he pecks your skin. So cute.
“Then you’ll be a good boy, right?” You coo, your hands cupping his face as you press your thumbs on his lower lip. “Cum with me, and stay inside all night.” You fight every urge to give in to the pleasure when he bites your fingers.
You suck his upper lip, letting your moans vibrate into his. “Can you do that for me?”
Valko’s a simple man. You ask for something and he’ll give it to you with a smile. Like he is now, canines bared, tongue lapping at your fingers before he attacks your lips with a bruising, hot kiss. He pulls away just for a second to mutter against your mouth, “I love you.”
“I know, baby.” You huff, smiling into the kiss as you scratch his fluffy ears. Valko’s hips rut up faster and you can feel his cock swell at the base, almost ready to be plugged into you. Oh, he is so going to eat his cum out of you once he’s soft. “Now be good and cum with me.”
—⊹ this work was originally commissioned and given consent to be shared (personal details about the commissioner had been edited out)
MDNI 🔞
Synopsis: A near-death encounter with a Djinn pulls you into a coma, poison rushing through your veins, and all you can do is fall victim to the potent dream its pulling you under. Showing you your deepest desire, it gives you the one thing you've never let yourself ask for. A life where Xavier loves you back.
Content warnings: Supernatural AU, Winchester Xavier (if you squint), Hunting partners, Near-death experience, Hurt/comfort, Slow burn, Mutual pining, the Djinn made them Do It (sort of), Wet dreams, Monster poisoning, Fighting & Sexual tension, We-don't-talk-about-it kiss, Xavier is kinda mean & cold, Sharing a motel room bed, One-bed trope, Mentions of blood & injuries, Love confessions, Cunnilingus & Face-fucking, Possessive Xavier, Rough sex, Doggy style, Multiple orgasms, Orgasm edging & Overstimulation, Begging, Dirty talk, Lots of dirty talk, Praise kink, Creampie, Pet names, Aftercare.
Word count: 13.2k
Author's note: all credits go to my wifey mari who i love so much & who put this idea in my head & made me part of the winchester xavier fanclub cuz i had so much fun with this (besides all the headaches he pulled from me lmaooo) pfft anyway i hope you guys enjoy it~ pls mind the tags, ty
The worst part about hunting a Djinn isn’t the whole ‘getting trapped in a hallucinogenic death-coma’ thing—it’s the territory. Djinns love abandoned places. Warehouses, asylums, factories. Anywhere with enough shadows to hide in and enough rust to make your tetanus shot work overtime.
This one picked an old cannery outside of Tacoma, which means you’ve spent the last twenty minutes breathing in decades of rotted fish and industrial decay while trying not to slip on floors slick with things you don’t want to identify. The smell is so thick you can taste it, salt and metal and something sweet-rotten that coats the back of your throat.
Xavier, of course, looks completely unbothered. He’s been moving through the space like he’s on a casual evening stroll, his flashlight beam steady as it sweeps across rusted vats and collapsed catwalks. You’ve been hunting with him for three years now, and you still can’t figure out if the man actually doesn’t feel discomfort or if he’s just that committed to looking unflappable.
You’re betting on the latter. You’ve seen him get worked up exactly twice—once when you went off-script during a rugaru hunt in Montana and nearly got your throat torn out, and once when you drank the last of his honey milk tea. The man has priorities.
“We should split up,” you say, shining your light down a corridor that branches off to the left. “Cover more ground.”
“No.”
You glance back at him. He’s stopped walking, his expression as neutral as ever, but there’s something in the set of his shoulders that you’ve learned to read over the years. It’s the same tension he gets right before he tells you you’re being reckless, which is rich coming from someone who once walked into a nest of vampires with nothing but a machete and what you can only describe as way too much confidence.
“It’s a Djinn, not a pack of werewolves,” you point out. “I can handle one Djinn.”
“You can handle one Djinn when you’re not walking into blind corners in a building with structural damage and fifteen different ways for something to drop on your head,” Xavier says. His voice is calm, measured. Reasonable. It makes you want to do something unreasonable just to spite him.
“I’ve been hunting for six years,” you remind him. “I know how to clear a room.”
“I’m aware.” He steps closer. He’s been up for almost thirty-six hours, same as you, but he still looks like he could walk into this abandoned building and clear it without breaking a sweat. It’s infuriating. “I’m also aware that you have a habit of prioritizing speed over caution.”
“I prioritize efficiency.”
“You prioritize proving you don’t need backup.”
The words land harder than you expect. You’ve had this argument before—different words, same problem. It started about eight months into your partnership, right after a hunt went sideways and you’d insisted on going back in alone to finish the job. He’d followed you anyway, and you’d both made it out alive, but the lecture afterward had lasted the entire drive back to the motel.
You’d told him then that you didn’t need a babysitter. He’d looked at you with those narrowed blue eyes and said, “I’m not babysitting. I’m making sure my partner doesn’t get killed doing something I could have helped with.”
It had sounded logical. Practical. It also sounded like he gave a damn whether you lived or died, and you hadn’t known what to do with that at the time.
You still don’t.
“Fine,” you sigh, turning back toward the main corridor. “We’ll stick together. But if this takes twice as long because you want to check every corner like we’re defusing a bomb—”
“Then it takes twice as long,” Xavier says. He’s right behind you now, close enough that you can hear the quiet exhale he makes. “I’d rather be thorough than fast.”
You bite down on the urge to argue, mostly because you know he’s right and you hate that you know he’s right. The Djinn could be anywhere in this place. Splitting up would be faster, but it would also be a great way to end up poisoned and hallucinating while your brain slowly liquefies.
Still, there’s a part of you that wants to push back just to see what happens. To see if you can crack that perfect composure, make him admit that this isn’t just about tactics and efficiency. That maybe, possibly, he’s worried about you specifically and not just the general concept of his hunting partner getting hurt.
But you don’t. Instead, you start walking, your boots echoing on the concrete, and try to ignore the fact that you’re hyperaware of exactly how close he is behind you. That you can feel the space between you like a physical thing, six inches of air that somehow feels more conscious than any touch.
“There’s a basement access down here,” you say, nodding toward a rusted metal door half-hidden behind a stack of broken pallets. “If I were a Djinn, that’s where I’d set up. Dark space, enclosed, easy to defend.”
“Agreed,” Xavier says. He moves past you to examine the door, testing the handle carefully before pulling it open. The hinges scream, and the smell that wafts up from below is somehow worse than the rest of the cannery—stale air and old blood and something chemical that burns your sinuses.
“Ladies first,” you say, gesturing toward the stairs.
Xavier gives you a look that might be amusement or might be exasperation. With him, it’s hard to tell. “I’ll go first. You cover”
“Because I’m so delicate and in need of protecting?”
“Because if something comes up those stairs, I’d rather be the one in its way.”
He says it like it’s obvious. Like of course he’d put himself between you and danger, like it’s not something that makes your chest feel too tight and your pulse kick up in a way that has nothing to do with the usual nerves of hunting.
You want to argue. You want to tell him that you don’t need him playing hero, that you can take care of yourself, that this whole protective thing he does is unnecessary and borderline patronizing.
Instead, you say, “Your funeral,” and follow him down into the dark.
The basement is a maze of industrial vats and rusted catwalks, the kind of space that was probably dangerous even when the cannery was operational. Now it’s a death trap—metal groaning overhead, pools of stagnant water reflecting your flashlight beam, pipes dripping condensation that could be water or could be something worse you don’t want to think about.
Xavier moves through it like he’s reading a map only he can see, his light sweeping methodically across each junction before he commits to a direction. You follow, trying not to think about how many places something could be hiding. How many shadows deep enough to conceal a body.
“We should split up here,” you say when you reach a fork in the path. The left corridor is narrow, barely wide enough for one person. The right opens into what looks like a larger processing area, vats rising like monuments in the dark. “You take the big room, I’ll clear the corridor.”
“No,” Xavier says.
“It’s faster—”
“It’s reckless.” He turns to look at you, and there’s an sharpness in his voice you don’t hear often. “We stay together.”
“Xavier—”
“That’s not a suggestion.”
You should listen to him. You know you should. Xavier’s been hunting longer than you have, and his instincts are good—better than good, if you’re being honest with yourself. But there’s a part of you that bristles at being told what to do, that wants to prove you don’t need constant supervision.
“Fine,” you say. “You take the big room. I’ll be right behind you.”
You wait until he’s three steps ahead, his attention on the vats, and then you turn left into the corridor.
It’s a stupid move. You know it’s a stupid move even as you’re making it. But you’ve cleared a hundred spaces like this, and you’re not about to start second-guessing yourself just because Xavier has a bad feeling.
The corridor is tight, your shoulders nearly brushing the walls on either side. Your flashlight catches on old machinery, pipes that snake along the ceiling, a door at the far end that’s hanging half off its hinges. You move carefully, knife in your free hand, every sense straining for movement.
You’re halfway down when you hear a wet, sliding sound above you, like something heavy is dragging itself across metal.
Your training kicks in before conscious thought does. You drop into a crouch, flashlight swinging up, and that’s when the Djinn drops from the ceiling.
It’s fast—faster than anything that size should be. You get a glimpse of blue-gray skin, glowing tattoos that pulse with sickly light, and then it’s on you. You roll left, the knife coming up in a defensive arc, and feel the blade catch flesh. The Djinn hisses, a sound like steam escaping under pressure, and lunges again.
You’re good with a knife. You’ve had to be. But the Djinn is better, and it has the advantage of reach and speed and the fact that you’re fighting in a space barely wide enough to move. You manage to land another cut, this one across its ribs, but it costs you—the creature’s clawed hand rakes across your shoulder, tearing through your jacket and the shirt beneath.
The pain is sharp and immediate, but you’ve had worse. You pivot, trying to get your back against the wall so it can’t circle you, and that’s when the Djinn changes tactics.
It stops trying to kill you and starts trying to touch you.
You realize what it’s doing half a second too late. The Djinn’s hand shoots out, impossibly fast, and its fingers brush the side of your neck just below your jaw.
The effect is instant. The poison burns through your skin like acid, a white-hot line of agony that spreads from the point of contact down into your chest. You gasp, stumbling back, and the Djinn lunges forward to press its advantage.
You slash wildly, more instinct than strategy, and feel the blade sink deep into its shoulder. The Djinn reels back with another hiss, and you use the opening to put distance between you—three steps, four, until your back hits the wall and you can’t go any further.
The poison is spreading. You can feel it moving through your bloodstream, a cold fire that makes your vision blur at the corners. Your legs feel weak, your grip on the knife uncertain.
The Djinn is watching you now, its head tilted in a way that’s almost curious. Waiting for the poison to do its work.
You try to call for Xavier, but your throat feels tight, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper. You try again, forcing air through your lungs, and this time you manage something louder.
“Xavier—”
The Djinn moves again before you got a chance to finish the word. You see it coming, see the way it coils to spring, and you know you’re not fast enough to stop it. The knife feels heavy in your hand, your arm sluggish when you try to raise it.
The creature’s hand reaches for your face, claws extended, and you do the only thing you can think of.
You scream.
It’s not a word, not a call for help—just raw sound, terror and fury and the desperate need to not die alone in the dark. It tears out of your throat with enough force to hurt, echoing off the metal walls, and somewhere in the back of your fading consciousness you think, He’ll hear that. He has to hear that.
The Djinn’s hand closes around your throat.
The poison floods your system like ice water in your veins, and everything goes white. Not the beautiful white of snow or paper. This white is painful and jarring, every nerve firing at once until there’s no distinction between pain and light and sound. You can’t feel the ground beneath you anymore, can’t feel your own body. There’s just the whiteness, and the cold, and the distant awareness that you’re falling to the ground.
You think you hear Xavier’s voice, rough and urgent, shouting your name.
You think you hear the sound of a blade meeting flesh, the Djinn’s death-rattle hiss.
But you can’t be sure, because the whiteness is swallowing everything, pulling you down into a place where sound doesn’t reach and your body is just a distant memory.
Your last coherent thought, before the darkness takes you, is that you should have stayed with him.
Then there’s nothing at all.
—
You wake to sunlight.
That’s the first wrong thing. Sunlight doesn’t exist in the cannery basement. Sunlight doesn’t filter through windows in soft golden bars, doesn’t warm the sheets tangled around your legs, doesn’t make dust motes drift lazy and slow through air that smells like coffee and something floral you can’t place.
You blink. The ceiling above you is cream-colored, unmarked by water damage or mold. There’s a ceiling fan turning in slow rotations, blades clean and white. The bed beneath you is soft—actually comfortable, the kind of mattress that costs more than your car.
Your body moves before your brain catches up. You sit up, and your shoulder—
Your shoulder doesn’t hurt.
You look down. You’re wearing a t-shirt you don’t recognize, soft cotton that smells clean. There’s no blood whatsoever. No torn fabric. No bandages. Your skin is unmarked where the Djinn’s claws should have torn through.
The bedroom door opens.
Xavier walks in carrying two mugs, and the wrongness of it hits you like a physical blow. He’s shirtless, wearing only loose gray sweatpants that sit low on his hips, and his hair is slightly messed like he’s been running his hands through it. He looks at you, and he smiles.
That’s the second wrong thing.
Xavier doesn’t smile like that. He does the small half-curve that means he’s amused, the barely-there quirk that shows up when you say something that surprises him. But this—this is an open smile. Unguarded. The kind of smile that reaches his eyes and makes the blue there look warmer, softer, like something you could fall into and never find your way out of.
“You’re awake,” he says. His voice is rough in a way that makes you think he hasn’t been sleeping. “I was starting to worry.”
You stare at him. Your mouth is dry, your thoughts moving too slow, like they’re wading through something thick. “Where—”
“Safe,” Xavier says. He crosses the room and sets both mugs on the nightstand, then sits on the edge of the bed. Close. Close enough that you can see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders that he’s trying to hide. “You’ve been out for almost twelve hours. How do you feel?”
“Like I got poisoned by a Djinn,” you wince. Your voice comes out hoarse. “What happened?”
“You went off alone,” Xavier says. There’s no anger in his voice, no I-told-you-so, but you can hear the edge underneath—the thing he’s not saying. “The Djinn got you. I heard you scream in pain.”
You remember that part. The white and hot burning sensation of the poison, the way your legs gave out, the certainty that you were going to die in that corridor, all by yourself at the hands of a very annoying, and very ugly creature.
“You killed it,” you say.
“Yes.”
“And brought me here.”
“Yes.”
You look around the room again, trying to make sense of it. The sunlight. The clean sheets. The smell of coffee and flowers. It’s too nice. Too comfortable. Too much like the kind of place you’d want to wake up in, which means—
“This isn’t real,” you say.
Xavier’s expression changes ever so slightly. The softness doesn’t disappear, not quite, but something else moves underneath it—something that reads almost like pain, if you didn’t knew better. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you’re—” You gesture at him, at the room, at everything. “This doesn’t happen. We never get to have this nice of a room and… We don’t—you don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Xavier asks.
“Like you’re glad I’m alive,” you say. The words come out sharper than you mean them to. “Like you give a damn whether I wake up or not.”
The silence that follows is heavy.
Things between you are complicated. Or rather, they are complicated on your part. You try as much as possible not to feed your own delusions, not to dwell on how Xavier looks at you at times, over the long drives in the Impala, over shared greasy hamburgers in diners. You mask your own consuming attraction toward him with playful jabs, and stubborn defiance because if you actually admitted your feelings, and he rejected you, it would ruin the only good thing in your life.
Xavier sets his mug down. He doesn’t look away from you, and there’s something in his eyes now that you can’t name—something that makes you want to run, except you’re already in bed and there’s nowhere to go.
“I thought I lost you,” he says. His voice has gone quiet. “When I heard you scream, I thought—” He stops. Swallows. Starts again. “I’ve done this for a long time. I’ve lost people. But the idea of losing you—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re staring at him, your heart doing that complicated thing again, and you don’t know what to do with this. With him sitting on the edge of the bed looking at you like you’re something breakable, something worth protecting. It’s so far off the way he usually looks at you, and you don’t what you could even say to that.
“Xavier—”
“I care about you,” he continues. “More than I should. More than is smart, or safe, or—” He exhales, and it sounds shaky. “I’ve been trying not to. For three years, I’ve been trying to keep it professional, to keep my distance, because I know how this ends. I know what happens when you care about someone in this life. But then you let out that painful scream, and I thought I was too late, and I realized I’d wasted three years pretending I didn’t feel this about you.”
Your breath catches, voice shaky. “Feel what?”
Xavier’s eyes search yours. “Do I really need to say it?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
He leans in gently, giving you every chance to pull away. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek.
“I’m in love with you,” Xavier says.
And then he kisses you.
It’s soft. Tender. Everything you’ve never let yourself imagine because imagining it would make the reality of not having it unbearable. His mouth moves against yours like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips, your taste, like he has all the time in the world and he’s going to use every second of it on learning you.
You know, objectively, that this is the Djinn feeding on your life force, siphoning the marrow from your bones while pacifying your brain with a perfect little hallucination. You know that if you give in, you are going to die on a filthy concrete floor covered in rat shit.
But god, his mouth is so soft.
You kiss him back. Your hands come up to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms. He tastes like coffee and something addictive, and you can’t get enough of it. It’s a complete and utter surrender. The second you kiss him back, Xavier’s hands slide from your knees up the bare skin of your thighs, gripping your hips that sends a violent jolt straight down between your legs.
He pulls you forward, and you go willingly, shifting your weight until you are the one now fully straddling his lap. The oversized shirt rides up, but you couldn’t care less. In fact, you tangle your fingers into his messy silver hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until the taste of him completely rewrites every little thought in your brain.
He groans into your mouth, a rumbling sound of approval that vibrates against your chest as he kisses you eagerly.
Just five minutes. Let me have this for five minutes, and then I’ll wake up and stab that blue freak.
But five minutes is a dangerous bargain when the illusion is this potent. Xavier’s hands are mapping the curve of your waist, his thumbs pressing firmly into your hip bones. The hard ridge of his bulge presses up against the juncture of your thighs through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, and you want to grind on it, already turned on. The realization hits you like a shot of pure adrenaline.
You tilt your hips, grinding down against him with a slow roll of your hips. Xavier breaks the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, his head falling back slightly to expose the long line of his throat. His grip on your hips tightens to the point of bruising, his thumbs dragging down to ghost over your upper thighs.
“Feels so good with you on top of me...” he murmurs, voice thick, chest heaving under your palms.
You chase his lips again, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline, completely lost in the friction, the heat of him under you where you imagined so many times and then chastised yourself for it.
You rock your hips down again, harder this time, chasing the ache between your legs. You want to drag those sweatpants off him. You want to feel him press you back into this ridiculously soft mattress and ruin you for any other man on earth. Your lips melt together, shared soft moans the only sound you’re aware of in this dizzy state.
When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, and his eyes are closed.
“This is real,” he says. “You’re awake. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
You want to believe him. You want it so badly it hurts.
But the sunlight is too perfect. The room is too clean. And Xavier has never, in three years, looked at you like this.
“I don’t think it is,” you say quietly.
Xavier opens his eyes. “What?”
“Real,” you say. “I don’t think this is real. I think I’m still—”
The room flickers. It’s subtle. Just a momentary distortion, like static on a television screen. The sunlight wavers. The walls blur at the edges.
Xavier’s hand tightens on your jaw. “No,” he says. “No, don’t—”
The room flickers again, harder this time, and you feel the pull. Something dragging you back, away from the sunlight and the soft bed and Xavier’s hands on your skin.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
“Don’t apologize,” Xavier says. His voice is rough, desperate. “Just stay. Please stay.”
But you can’t. The pull is too strong, and the room is dissolving around you, the sunlight fading to gray, and Xavier’s face is the last thing you see before—
You wake to darkness and the smell of rust.
Your body comes back to you in pieces. First the cold concrete beneath you, seeping through your clothes. Then the pain in your shoulder screaming, your throat raw, every muscle aching like you’ve been hit by a truck. Then the sound of dripping water from the pipes, and breathing that isn’t yours.
You open your eyes.
You’re still in the cannery basement. Still in the corridor where the Djinn attacked you. The creature’s body is a few feet away, its blue-gray skin already starting to decompose, the glow of its tattoos fading to nothing.
And Xavier is kneeling beside you, his hand on your wrist, checking your pulse.
He looks up when you move. His face is streaked with blood—some of it his, most of it the Djinn’s—and his expression is—
He’s furious.
“You’re awake,” he says. His voice is flat, controlled in a way that makes your stomach drop. “Good. Can you stand?”
You try. Your legs shake, and Xavier’s hand shoots out to steady you, gripping your uninjured arm hard enough that you’ll feel it tomorrow.
“Careful,” he reminds you. Careful seems to not be in your vocabulary tonight.
You get your feet under you. The world tilts, and you have to lean against the wall to keep from falling. Xavier doesn’t let go of your arm.
“I’m fine,” you try to reassure him.
“You’re not fine,” Xavier scoffs. “You were poisoned. You’ve been unconscious for twenty minutes. And you—” He stops. His jaw tightens. “You went off alone.”
“I know.”
“After I told you not to.”
“I know.”
“You could have died,” Xavier states. His voice is still flat, but the words are clipped and devoid of any warmth. “If I hadn’t heard you scream, if I’d been thirty seconds slower, you would be dead right now.”
You don’t have an answer for that. He’s right. You know he’s right.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Xavier’s hand tightens on your arm. “Sorry doesn’t fix this.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Xavier asks. He steps closer, and you’re suddenly very aware of how much bigger he is than you, how the space between you has shrunk to nothing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you have a death wish.”
“I don’t—”
“You do,” Xavier insists. “You throw yourself into danger like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter. And I’m tired of watching you do it.”
His voice cracks on the last word, and that’s when you realize he’s not just angry. He’s terrified.
“Xavier—”
“I thought you were dead,” His hand moves from your arm to the wall beside your head, caging you in. “I heard you scream, and I thought I was too late. And the entire time I was killing that thing, all I could think was that I should have followed you. That I should have stopped you. That if you died because I let you go off alone, I would never forgive myself.”
You’re staring at him. His face is inches from yours, and you can see the way his chest is heaving, the way his pupils are blown wide, the faint tremor in his hand where it’s pressed against the wall.
“I’m sorry,” you say again. It’s inadequate, but it’s all you have.
Xavier’s eyes drop to your mouth. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.”
“Do you?” Xavier asks. His voice has gone quiet, and he’s so close now that you can feel the heat of him, smell the blood on his skin and clothes and the faint scent of his soap underneath. “Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”
“I mean it,” you whisper it, as convincing as you can muster.
Xavier’s hand moves from the wall to your jaw, tilting your face up. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and the touch sends a jolt of heat straight through you.
“Prove it,” he says.
You don’t think. You just move, closing the distance between you and kissing him.
It’s nothing like the dream, and so much better all the same. There’s no softness here, no tenderness. This is desperate and rough and three years of wanting compressed into the press of his mouth against yours. Xavier makes a low sound in his throat, and his hand slides from your jaw into your hair, gripping hard enough to sting.
You kiss him back just as hard, if not even harder. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer like you want to merge yourself to him. He responds by pressing you back against the wall roughly. The concrete is cold against your spine, but Xavier is warm—burning, actually, like he’s running a fever—and you can’t get enough of it.
When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, and his eyes are closed.
“We need to go," he whispers.
“Okay,” you say.
“I’m still angry at you,” Xavier still sounds mad, and you can’t blame him for it.
“I know.”
“And we’re going to talk about this,” His breath fawns over your wet lips. You want to kiss him again. “About you going off alone. About you not listening. About—” He stops. Opens his eyes to meet yours. “About all of it.”
“Okay,” you say again, nodding.
Xavier’s hand is still in your hair. He looks at you for a long moment, and then he steps back, letting you go.
“Can you walk?” he asks, looking you over.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” Xavier says.
The walk back to the car is silent. Xavier moves ahead of you, his flashlight cutting through the dark, and you follow. Your legs are shaky, and your shoulder is screaming in pain, but you don’t complain. You don’t have the right to complain, not after what you just put him through.
The Impala is parked where you left it, and Xavier unlocks it without a word. You climb into the passenger seat, and he gets behind the wheel.
He doesn’t start the car. You sit in the silence, waiting for him to say something. To yell at you, to lecture you, to do anything other than just sit there with his hands on the steering wheel and his jaw tight.
“Xavier—”
“Not now,” he says.
You close your mouth. Xavier starts the car. The engine rumbles to life, and he pulls out of the parking lot without looking at you.
The drive to the motel is silent. You watch the streetlights blur past, your thoughts a tangled mess of the dream and the kiss and the way Xavier looked at you in the basement. Like he wanted to strangle you and kiss you at the same time.
You’re still thinking about it when you realize you’re wet.
It’s not even subtle. You can feel the slickness between your thighs, the way your underwear is damp and uncomfortable. Your body is responding to the adrenaline, to the fear, to the memory of Xavier’s hand in your hair and his mouth on yours.
You shift in your seat, trying to ignore it, but the movement just makes it worse. You’re acutely aware of every bump in the road, every shift of your hips, the way your jeans are pressing against you in a way that’s both uncomfortable and maddeningly not enough.
You glance at Xavier. He’s staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable, and you wonder if he knows. If he can tell.
You hope he can’t.
The motel comes into view, and Xavier pulls into the parking lot. He cuts the engine and sits there for a moment, his hands still on the wheel.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” he says finally. “And I need to check your shoulder.”
“Okay,” you sigh, not wanting to argue any longer. You know he won’t calm down until he makes sure your wounds aren’t going to get infected at least.
Xavier gets out of the car. You follow, your legs still shaky, and he unlocks the motel room door without looking at you. The room is small and dingy, the kind of place that rents by the hour and doesn’t ask questions. There’s one bed, a bathroom that’s seen better days, and a TV that probably hasn’t worked since the nineties.
Xavier drops his bag on the bed and turns to look at you. “Sit,” he says, nodding toward the edge of the mattress.
You sit. Xavier disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of running water. He comes back a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp washcloth.
“Let me see your shoulder,” he gestures toward the wounded area. You peel off your jacket, wincing as the fabric pulls at the wound. Your shirt is torn and blood-soaked, and Xavier’s jaw tightens when he sees it.
“This needs stitches,” he says. You can’t distinguish if he is angry or pained, or both. But his voice is cold, and you know he doesn’t like how it looks.
“I know,” you sigh, defeated.
“And you need a shower,” Xavier points out. “You’re covered in blood.”
“So are you,” you point out back, narrowing your eyes.
Xavier ignores that. He sets the first aid kit on the bed and reaches for the hem of your shirt. “This is going to hurt.”
“I can do it myself—”
“Let me,” His voice is quiet, but there’s an air to it that makes you stop arguing.
You let him pull your shirt over your head. The fabric sticks to the wound, and you hiss when it tears free. Xavier’s hands are gentle as he examines the damage, his fingers tracing the claw marks.
“It’s deep,” His eyes furrow. “But clean. The Djinn didn’t get any poison in the wound itself.”
“Lucky me,” you try to joke, but it doesn’t land. You swallow, throat dry.
Xavier doesn’t smile. He picks up the washcloth and starts cleaning the blood away, his touch careful and methodical. You watch his face as he works, the way his brow furrows in concentration, the way his mouth is pressed into a thin line.
“I’m sorry,” you say again. Your chest hurts, and you don’t know if it’s from what you went through tonight or just because you made Xavier mad. You don’t like either options.
Xavier’s hand stills. “Stop apologizing.”
“I can’t,” you say. “Not when you’re—”
“When I’m what?” Xavier looks up at you, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your thoughts scatter off.
“Angry at me,” you continue at last, voice too small.
“I’m not angry at you,” Xavier says, tearing his eyes off your face and checking the wound.
“You said you were.”
“I lied,” Xavier goes back to cleaning your shoulder, his touch still gentle. “I’m not angry. I’m—” He takes a small breath in. “I don’t know what I am.”
You don’t know what to say to that. You bite your lip and sit in silence while he finishes cleaning the wound, and then he picks up the needle and thread.
“This is going to hurt,” he warns again, locking eyes with you.
“I know.”
Xavier’s hand settles on your uninjured shoulder, steadying you. “Try not to move.”
The first stitch burns, and you bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Xavier works quickly, his hands steady, and you focus on his face instead of the pain. On the way his jaw is still tight, the way his eyes are focused on the task at hand.
When he’s done, he ties off the thread and cuts it. “There,” he says. “That should hold.”
“Thank you.”
Xavier doesn’t respond. He picks up the first aid kit and carries it back to the bathroom, and you hear the sound of running water again.
You sit on the edge of the bed, your shoulder throbbing, and try to figure out what the hell just happened. The kiss in the basement. The silence in the car. The way Xavier is acting now—distant and controlled, like he’s trying to put as much space between you as possible.
You don’t know what it means. You don’t know if you want to know.
Xavier comes back out of the bathroom after a few minuts. “You should shower. I’ll go after you.”
You nod and stand up. Your legs are still shaky, and you have to grip the edge of the bed to keep from falling.
Xavier’s hand shoots out to steady you. “Be careful.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Xavier scoffs. “You were poisoned. You need to rest.”
“I will,” you say. “After I shower.”
Xavier lets go of your arm. “Don’t take too long. And don’t get the stitches wet.”
“I won’t,” you reassure him.
You grab your bag and head into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. The room is small and cramped, the mirror cracked and the tiles stained. You turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up, then strip off the rest of your clothes.
Your reflection in the mirror is a mess. Blood-streaked skin, dark circles under your eyes, and the fresh stitches on your shoulder standing out stark and red. You look like you’ve been through a war.
You step into the shower and let the hot water wash over you. It stings where it hits the wound, but you don’t care. You just stand there, letting the water run over you, and try to make sense of everything that happened tonight.
Your hand drifts down between your legs almost without thinking. You’re still wet, still aching, and the memory of Xavier’s mouth on yours is enough to make you gasp.
You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. But you can’t help it. Your fingers find your clit, and you start to move, chasing the release you need.
It doesn’t work.
You try for a few minutes, your breath coming faster, but the angle is wrong and your shoulder hurts and you can’t stop thinking about Xavier on the other side of the door. About the way he kissed you. About the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour you.
You give up with a frustrated sound and finish washing quickly. When you step out of the shower, you feel worse than when you went in—still aching, still wanting, and now frustrated on top of it.
You dry off and pull on clean clothes, then open the bathroom door.
Xavier is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He looks up when you come out, and his eyes track over you—your damp hair, your clean clothes, the bandage on your shoulder.
“Your turn,” you say.
Xavier stands up. He grabs his bag and heads into the bathroom without a word, and you hear the shower start a moment later.
You sit on the edge of the bed and try not to think about him in there. About the water running over his skin, about the way he looked at you in that basement after your near-death experience. How he kissed you…
You fail spectacularly.
The shower runs for a long time. When Xavier finally comes out, he’s wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else. His hair is damp, and there are droplets of water still clinging to his chest. You have to force yourself to look away.
He grabs his bag, pulling out a t-shirt and sweatpants. You watch as he drops the towel and pulls on the clothes. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge the way your eyes track over his body, and when he’s dressed he sits back down on the bed.
On the opposite side from you. The distance feels intentional, and you can’t read into it. You don’t know what to approach him, how to open the difficult conversation you need to have. So you just apologize for the tenth time tonight.
“I really am sorry, Xavier.”
Xavier’s jaw tightens. “You need to stop apologizing.”
“I don’t know what else to say,” you admit.
“Then don’t say anything,” Xavier says. He lies down on his side of the bed, his back to you, and pulls the blanket over himself.
You sit there for a moment, staring at his back, and then you lie down too. On your side of the bed. With a careful foot of space between you.
The silence is heavy. You can hear Xavier breathing, slow and controlled, and you wonder if he’s actually going to sleep or if he’s just pretending.
You close your eyes and try to do the same.
You can't sleep.
The heating unit rattles in the corner like it has for the last three nights in this same chain motel, and every passing car on the highway sends thin blades of light across the ceiling. Your body feels wrung out from the poison and the fight, but your mind keeps circling back to the basement. The way Xavier had pressed you against that damp wall, fingers twisted in your hair, mouth rough and certain like three years of swallowed words had finally broken loose.
What had he meant by any of it? The anger, the raw fear underneath, the kiss that still burns on your lips hours later?
Three years of this. Three years of learning exactly how he takes his honey milk tea, of watching him methodically clean blood from his blade while you ramble through newspaper clippings in the middle of the night. Of pretending that you don’t care about him more than you should. You've buried it under sharp jokes and stubbornness because admitting it could shatter the only steady thing you have left in this life.
Partners. Nothing more.
Until tonight.
You sigh before you can stop yourself.
“You're still awake,” he says, startling you from your thoughts.
The words come quiet from the other side of the bed. You flinch anyway. Xavier usually drops off the second his head hits the pillow. You've always envied that about him, the way he can shut everything down while you lie here turning mistakes over like stones in your hands.
“So are you,” you answer, keeping your back to him. Your eyes stay fixed on the neon blinking through the cheap curtains.
The mattress shifts. “You sighed. You only sigh like that when you're turning something over too many times.”
He knows you too well. Three years of shared rooms and shared scars will do that.
“I'm not turning anything over,” you lie. “I'm trying to sleep. Which would be easier if you'd stop talking.”
There’s a heavy silence stretching between you, only the passing cars outside can be heard. His voice comes softer, closer than before. “I'm sorry.”
You go still. An apology from Xavier is rare enough that it lands like a thrown knife.
“For what?” you ask.
“For how I spoke to you tonight. In the basement, after you woke up.” His tone stays even, but you hear the crack in it. “I was harsher than I needed to be.”
You swallow. “You were scared. I scared you. I get it.”
The bed dips again as he moves nearer. “I was.”
The admission sits between you, simple and heavy. You should let it end there. Accept it, roll over, and pretend tomorrow will take things back to how they were before. But you've never been good at leaving things alone.
“The kiss,” you say, throat tight. “Are you sorry for that too?”
The quiet that follows feels endless. You keep your eyes on the wall, too afraid to turn.
“No,” he murmurs after what feels like forever.
His hand settles on your shoulder, warm through the thin cotton of your shirt, and he eases you onto your back. You let him. When you finally face him, he's propped on one elbow. The neon from the sign outside paints faint red across his silver hair and his cheekbone. His eyes hold yours without flinching.
“No,” he says again, softer. “I'm not sorry for that.”
“Then why have you been acting like it didn’t happened?” you whisper.
His expression flickers with something you can’t make out in the dark. “Because I don't know how to have this conversation with you. Three years of keeping things professional between us. Of telling myself it was enough to be your partner, to stitch you up after hunts like tonight, to know your tells better than my own. And then I crossed that line. I don't know what it means for us now.”
The words sting, but the way his thumb brushes your collarbone takes some of the edge off.
“I didn't say I regret it,” he adds. “I don't.”
“Xavier...”
“Tell me what the Djinn showed you.”
You knew this was coming. He'd heard you in that corridor, the sounds you'd made while the poison pulled you under. Still, the question makes your stomach drop.
“Nothing important,” you say, defensive. “Some beach house. Winning the lottery. Nothing worth remembering.”
“You're lying to me.” He says it gently, because he knows you, and you’ve never succeeded in getting a lie past Xavier before. Why would this time be any different?
His thumb keeps moving in slow circles against your skin. “The Djinn gives its victims exactly what they want most. It makes them stop fighting. You stopped fighting for nearly three minutes after I injected you. You made sounds like you were somewhere else completely. Somewhere good.”
Heat floods your face. You close your eyes, deciding there’s no point in running away from this. “It showed me you.”
The silence feels alive now. His fingers stay steady on your jaw when you try to turn away.
“What was I doing?” he asks, voice rough in a way you've never heard from him before.
“We were in a house. Our house, I guess. You brought me coffee and said we had the week off. You smiled at me, a beautiful and easy smile you almost never show.”
You swallow, averting your eyes. You consider if you should tell him everything. You might as well throw it all out there. “You told me you loved me. Then you kissed me. I knew it wasn't real. I knew it was killing me. But I told myself just five more minutes. Let me have this for five more minutes before I wake up and fight.”
His breath draws in sharp. “Five minutes. You were ready to let it drain you dry for five more minutes of a dream with me.”
You close your eyes, wincing slightly. “Don't say it like that, Xavier. It sounds pathetic when you put it that way.”
“It sounds like you've been carrying this as long as I have.”
Your eyes open. He's a lot closer now, silver hair falling across his forehead, expression stripped of its usual calm expression. Maybe he is just as affected as you.
“Three years,” you whisper. “I've felt this for three years. But you're Xavier, my partner. You're always so steady, so certain. I thought I was the only one who felt it. That we were just partners who keep each other alive, who share bad coffee and worse motels and never talk about the rest.”
He lets out a low sound, almost pained. “Just partners. You think I learned how you tap your fingers on the wheel when you're worried, or how you always check the salt lines twice, or how you looked at me after that wendigo hunt in Colorado because we're just partners? You think I sat up with you after hunts like tonight because it was my job?”
The memory hits you hard. Two years ago, him pressing gauze to your side in the back of the Impala, voice quiet while you shook from adrenaline and blood loss. The way he'd stayed until you fell asleep even though he was bleeding too.
“I didn't know you felt that way,” you whisper.
“I've been in love with you since our first year hunting together,” he says. The words come out raw, like they've been waiting too long to come out. “Every time you ignored my orders and still came back breathing. Every time you made me laugh without even trying. I kept telling myself the line had to stay clear. Partners don't do this. But when I heard you scream in that basement, none of those reasons mattered. I couldn't lose you without you knowing how I felt.”
“Xavier,” you breathe, his name the only thing left to say.
He shifts over you in one smooth motion, braced on his forearms so his face fills your world. His hair brushes your forehead. His warmth sinks into your skin.
“This,” he murmurs against your mouth. “This is what I want all along.”
The kiss starts gentle, a careful question after years of careful distance. His lips move against yours a bit uncertain still, but it’s slow, and you’re sigh into his lips. You surge up to meet him, fingers sliding into his hair that’s still damp from the shower, pulling him closer. A soft moan slips from you the moment his mouth opens to greet you.
He chuckles into your mouth, makes a low sound of approval that vibrates through your chest, pleased and warm. The kiss deepens. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, then harder, until you gasp and arch beneath him.
His mouth trails down from your lips, pressing hot, slick kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck until he finds that sensitive spot just below your ear. He scrapes his teeth against it, knowing damn well what he does because you shake against him. You moan louder, fingers tightening in his silver hair, yanking hard enough that a low groan vibrates through his chest.
He hums against your throat, tongue tracing the flutter of your pulse. “Pull harder. I like it.”
You obey instantly, twisting your grip until his head tips back. The sound he makes is deeper this time, raw approval that settles hot between your legs. He rewards you by sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. You already know it will bloom dark by morning, a mark you’ll feel every time your jacket shifts during the next hunt.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin, voice soft and taunting in that same measured tone he uses when he’s telling you to stop being reckless. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist, thumbs pressing into the softness of your hips like he’s memorizing the shape of you after three years of only allowing himself stolen glances at your body. “Now tell me. Do you want the soft Xavier from your dream?”
His mouth moves lower, kissing along your collarbone, tongue dipping into the hollow of your throat. You shudder under him, words failing.
“The one who would have made sweet love to you?” he continues, calm even as his hands knead and massage your waist. “Took hours mapping every curve I’ve thought about during those long drives back from hunts, when you’d fall asleep against the window and I’d steal glances instead of watching the road? The one who brought coffee in your dream and said he loved you in that soft voice?” he continues, calm and measured even now. “The one who would have taken all night mapping every inch of you because he finally had the chance?”
He kisses the swell of your breast through your thin sleep shirt. “That version exists. He would worship you for hours. Make you feel like the only thing that matters after hunts like the one in Montana where you nearly got your throat torn out and I realized I couldn't keep pretending we were only partners.”
He looks up at you through silver lashes, blue eyes dark with three years of carefully banked hunger, and your cunt clenches hard around nothing.
“He would spend all night between your thighs if you let him. He would make you feel precious.” he says softly.
You swallow, breath coming out fast. His hands keep shifting between gentle strokes and bruising grips, keeping you off balance exactly the way he does when he overrides your reckless calls in the field.
Then he smirks, the expression so rare and sharp it sends heat flooding straight to your core. His hand slips under the hem of your sleep shirt, palm flat against your bare stomach, sliding up with agonizing slowness until his fingers find your hardened nipple.
“But that Xavier is for tomorrow. When the sun is up and I have time to do it right.”
He pinches the sensitive peak between thumb and forefinger, rolling it with deliberate pressure. Your back arches clean off the mattress, pressing harder into his hand as a broken sound tears from your throat.
“This version of me,” he rasps, watching every twitch of your face, “is not going to be soft tonight. Not after I heard you scream in that basement. Not after I thought I was too late again.”
He pinches harder, twisting just enough to send sparks racing down your spine. You cry out, hips bucking uselessly into empty air.
“This Xavier is going to mark you all over.” He leans down and claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your whimper. “With kisses.” Another sharp pinch to your nipple. “With teeth.” His tongue slides against yours, demanding. “With bites left as reminders that you don't get to run off alone anymore.”
He pulls back, smirk deepening at the wrecked expression he finds.
“I’m going to eat you out until you’re shaking,” he tells you, fingers still working your nipple in tight, ruthless circles. “Lick every drop of how wet you are for me and make those pretty lips sing my name. Then I’m going to fill you up, bunny. Make you mine in every way that dream never could.”
You grab his wrist and drag his hand down, pressing his palm between your legs where your underwear is soaked through. “You—” you gasp as he makes contact with your needy pussy. “This version of you. The real one. Help me, Xavier. Please.”
He presses against the damp cotton, exploring the heat there. “Ah,” he says, maddeningly calm. “That little session in the shower didn’t do much for you after all.”
Heat floods your face. Of course he heard every frustrated gasp through the paper-thin walls. The same man who once tracked you across three counties after you went off alone now knows exactly how desperate you sounded trying to come to the memory of his mouth.
“I...” you start, but his fingers drag roughly down your slit, pressing the soaked cotton against your clit, and the words melt into a moan.
“You tried to handle it yourself,” he says, voice warm with something that sounds almost like affection. “After I kissed you against that wall. Kissing me got you this needy, bunny? You’re almost too sweet.”
His fingers keep dragging along your slit through the fabric, enjoying how you jerk under his merciless touch. Then his other hand pushes your shirt up, exposing your breasts. His mouth follows, closing around your nipple while his fingers rub circles over your clit through the underwear.
“Don’t be embarrassed, bunny.” His smirk widens as he rubs tight circles over your clit, enjoying how your eyes cross then roll in pleasure. “I enjoyed every second. Stood in there stroking my cock to the sound of you failing to come because you needed me instead.”
You moan brokenly, hands flying back to his hair, hips grinding against his palm. His tongue swirls around the stiff peak, teeth grazing then biting down hard enough to make your cunt throb. You’re mush under his pleasurable assaults, you can barely form thoughts.
“So responsive,” he hums against your skin, the vibration shooting straight to your clit. “You like when I’m mean, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp, tugging his hair harder. “Fuck, Xavier, yes—don’t stop...”
He groans at the sharp pull, biting your nipple hard enough that the sting blooms into sharp pleasure, almost close to pain. His hand between your legs slaps down against your soaked panties, the wet smack and sudden sting making you jolt and cry out.
“Fu—ck,” you sob, hips jerking uncontrolably. “Xavier, oh fuck, so mean... need you b-badly...”
“Mean?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes glittering with dark amusement. “I haven’t even started being mean yet, bunny.”
You moan and grind up against his hand. “I'm so wet,” you slurr. “It's embarrassing. Won't you help your partner out, Xavier? You always have my back, right? A-ahh... hah...” you plead with your eyes, half-lidded and hazy.
He groans at the nickname, biting down on your nipple until you cry out. His hand between your legs keeps slapping lightly over your puffy cunt, the sting making your hips jerk because you need so much more.
His fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging through your dripping folds. The first touch of skin on your soaked cunt makes you cry out, back arching clean off the bed. He spreads your wetness from your entrance up to your swollen clit and back down, coating his fingers until they glide slick and easy.
He repeats the motion a few times before dipping down to tease your entrance again. “Always,” he rasps, voice gone rough. “I’ve always got you, partner.”
Then he slides down your body, broad shoulders pushing your shaky thighs apart, and you almost push his head down, impatient. He doesn’t pull your underwear aside. Instead he presses his mouth directly over the drenched cotton, tongue dragging a long, slow stripe up your slit through the fabric.
You almost cum then and there.
The wet heat of his mouth combined with the feeling of cotton against your swollen clit makes your eyes roll back, pushing his head unbashfully until his face is all up in your cunt. He moans at the taste of you soaking through, licking again and again, sucking the fabric between his lips like he can’t get enough of how desperate you are for him.
You have three years of swallowed want and one ruined hallucination to make up for, and Xavier is finally showing you exactly how hungry he’s been the whole time.
You moan brokenly and buck up against his face, chasing the maddening friction of his hot tongue bullying your sensitive nub. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider and wider until your hips ache, and when he looks up at you his blue eyes are dark with three years of held-back hunger.
“Such a desperate partner I have,” he murmurs against you before his tongue presses harder into your hole, pushing the sticky cotton inside. You whine and thrash unde him as he laughs. “Can't even wait for me to take these off.”
Your hips roll shamelessly against his mouth. He chuckles, clearly amused you’re this desperate. This sound you’ve only heard a handful of times across motel rooms and long drives in the Impala, and you never thought you’d hear it from between your thighs. Your hips jerk toward the sound.
“Already fucking my tongue through your panties,” he taunts, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes when you dare a glance down at him. His chin glistens with your arousal, lips swollen. His eyes are like two black holes, nothing but lust and desire lingering in them. “Is that what you are, starlight? A desperate girl who wants to fuck my mouth and come on it?”
“Yes,” you sob, fingers clawing at the sheets. The confession spills out raw after years of biting your tongue every time he handed you coffee or stitched your shoulder after hunts like the rugaru incident in Montana. You wanted to confess so many times. You’re done holding back. “Yes, please, Xavier, I need—”
“Need what?” His thumb keeps bullying your clit with rapid flicks of his thumb. He laughs delightedly when you shake and thrash under his touch. “Use your words. Tell me exactly what you need.”
The words tangle in your throat. All that escapes is a broken moan as your head thrashes against the pillow. He keeps the slow, taunting circles going, thumb dragging the drenched cotton over your swollen clit again and again until it’s almost painful. You’ve been so close to your orgasm all this time, but Xavier seems to want to play cat and mouse first.
“Cat got your tongue?” he chuckles, voice soft and playful in that measured way that always makes you want to both kiss him and argue with him. “You’re already this fucked out from just my mouth on you? After everything we’ve been through together—three years of you defying me on hunts and me still following you anyway—you can’t even tell me you want my tongue inside your cunt?”
“P-Please,” you manage, voice cracking. “Need your m-mouth, your tongue inside me... No more teasing, Xavier. Please? I can’t—h-hah, can’t cum like this…”
“I heard you.”
He yanks your underwear roughly to the side. Before you can draw breath his tongue plunges into you, hot and thick and relentless in its assualt. The sound that rips from your throat is raw, nothing but static flooding your mind. Your hands fly to his silver hair, yanking hard as you start fucking his face. His tongue curls inside your cunt every time your hips roll, stroking that spot that makes your thighs shake while his thumb works your clit in tight, fast circles.
“M-More,” you gasp, pulling his hair harder. “Faster, Xavier—h-harder—ohfuck…”
He groans against your dripping pussy, a sound of pure approval at how you use his face without mercy. The same quiet satisfaction he shows when you finally listen to him out on a hunt, except now it’s filthy and possessive. His tongue fucks into you deeper while his thumb flicks fast over your clit.
The slurping sounds of his mouth devouring you fill the dingy motel room.
“That’s it,” he rasps against your cunt, breath hot on your oversensitive flesh. “Fuck my face. Use me, bunny. Take what you need after all those nights I lay awake listening to you breathe and wondering how you’d sound with my tongue inside you.”
You obey without shame, grinding down on his mouth, riding his tongue as the coil in your belly winds tighter, making you shake without control. His hand slides up your body, finds your nipple, and pinches hard. The sharp spark of pain shoves you over the edge.
You come with his name tearing from your throat, thighs clamping around his head, fingers twisted tight in his hair. Your cunt pulses around his tongue, flooding his mouth and face as he keeps working you through every wave, licking and sucking like he’s been starving for you since that first year you started hunting together. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling and gasping, hips twitching away from his face with aftershocks.
When he finally pulls back, his chin is slick with your release, lips red and shiny. He licks them slowly, holding your gaze while he savors every drop. Your gasps fill the room as you try to come back from the mind shattering orgasm your partner pulled from you. You never came so hard in your life.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a biting kiss to the inside of your thigh. He sucks hard, leaving a dark mark you’ll feel for days beneath your hunting jeans. “You taste much better than I imagined all those nights sharing beds and pretending I wasn’t hard as steel just from the sound of you breathing.”
He sits back on his heels. Your eyes drop immediately to the thick outline of his cock straining against his sleep pants, the material hiding almost nothing. A wet spot darkened the fabric where he’s leaking. He palms himself slowly, hips rolling into his own hand, and the sight makes your cunt clench again.
You need to feel that cock inside you.
Mewling, you reach for him. He catches your wrist before you make contact, dark smile curling his lips.
“Eager little bunny,” he says, amused. “Can’t help yourself, can you?”
He guides your hand to his clothed cock, wrapping your fingers around his thick length through the fabric and covering your hand with his own. He’s burning hot, impressively thick, and you feel him throb against your palm as you squeeze.
“Feel that?” he whispers, almost conversational even as his hips push into your grip, needy for your touch. “We’ve shared so many motel beds before this. Would it be bad for me to admit you got me like this so many nights? Hard and leaking on the other side of the same mattress after watching you nearly die in that cannery, or after stitching up your shoulder like I did tonight, knowing exactly how reckless you are and still wanting you anyway.”
“Xavier,” you breathe, tightening your grip and stroking him slowly. The wet spot grows under your palm. “I want to taste you. Let me—”
He chuckles and gently removes your hand from his cock. “Patience, bunny. I have other plans for you first.”
Before you can protest he flips you onto your stomach, one large hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep your chest pinned to the mattress. His other hand grips your hip, lifting until your ass is high in the air, knees spread, face down in the cheap pillow.
“Play with yourself,” he instructs, calm and commanding in that same tone he uses when he tells you to stay behind him on the field. He can be so commanding at times, but you can’t say you dislike it right now. You’re hot all over. “Show me how you touch that pretty cunt when you think about me.”
You whimper into the pillow. Your hand slides between your legs almost on its own, fingers finding your swollen, dripping hole. The first circle makes you moan.
“Good girl.” Warm approval fills his voice. “Now spread yourself open for me. Let me see exactly what’s mine.”
You obey, trembling fingers parting your folds, exposing your dirpping, puffy cunt to his gaze. You can feel your own wetness coating your fingers, can feel it dripping down your thighs as he stares, the cool air of the motel room brushing over your most sensitive places while Xavier drinks in the sight of you displayed for him.
His voice drifts over you, low and amused. Taunting. So fucking sexy. “You’re spreading yourself for me, bunny?” He sounds almost conversational, the same calm tone he uses when he’s mapping out a hunt. “Such a good girl. Look at you leaking all over your fingers. Do you feel how wet you are for me?”
“Mmm, y-yeah,” you gasp. Your fingers slip through the mess dripping from your cunt, the slick sounds loud in the quiet motel room as you finger yourself slowly.
“Was it the same in the dream?” He shifts closer. You feel the heat of his body behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Did that soft version of me make you spread yourself open like this? Or was he too busy bringing you coffee and whispering sweet things to ever bend you over and take what he wanted?”
You glance back over your shoulder. The sight steals whatever words you had left. He has shoved his sleep pants down, only just, cock standing thick and flushed in his fist. He strokes himself slowly while he watches you, thumb spreading the steady bead of precum over the mushroomy head. He is bigger than the dream let you feel, heavy in his fish. Veined, with the purple tip already glistening.
Your cunt clenches hard around your fingers. It’s so embarrassing, your face must be in flames, but you need him. You want him inside you, make you forget everything else.
He catches you staring and smirks, hand still moving in that lazy rhythm. “Like what you see, starlight?”
“Xavier…” The name comes out shaky. Your eyes stay locked on the way his cock twitches in his grip, another drop of precum rolling down the shaft.
His hand covers yours between your legs. You gasp as he pushes two of his fingers inside alongside your own. Four fingers stretch you open at once, the burn sharp and perfect as he scissors them and stretches you open. He curls them slowly, stroking that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake and your vision spark white, making sure you’re as wet as you can be to receive him.
“You bargained with the Djinn for five more minutes of that dream,” he murmurs, chest pressed to your back, lips brushing your ear. His fingers pump deeper, stretching you wider with every thrust. “Was this what you really wanted? My fingers in your cunt while I tell you how many nights I lay awake in the Impala after patching you up from hunts, hard and fucking my own fist because I couldn’t fuck you just yet?”
“Yes—ohgod, y-yes, Xavie,” you sob, pushing back onto your joined hands. The stretch burns so good it makes your eyes water. “Wanted t-this… You should’ve taken me, I-I would’ve let you—haahh, oh fuck…”
“My good, sweet partner.” His voice stays soft against your ear even as his fingers curl harder and pump even faster into your squelching hole. “How about you bargain with me instead? Tell me how long you’ll last before I even get inside this tight cunt. Five minutes? Less?”
“Xavier, p-please,” you gasp, free hand clawing at the sheets. “J-Just push inside me. Can’t wait anymore, I-I’ll cum before you g-get a chance to fuck me...mmmhm, please—”
He chuckles against your ear, the sound warm and dark. He pulls your fingers free along with his own, leaving you empty and clenching. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance, hot and slick with precum, rubbing through your folds in teasing strokes.
“So impatient, like always.” he murmurs. “My desperate little partner.”
You pant, reaching back blindly until your fingers dig into his hip, nails biting skin. He smacks your ass, sharp and stinging to get you to take your hand back. The sudden heat blooming across your skin makes you cry out, hips jerking onto his cock. He uses the moment to push forward.
He sinks in with one long thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch is blinding. Your scream muffles into the pillow as your walls flutter and clamp around his thick cock, too big for you even wet as you are, so it stings. He groans behind you, voice tight.
“You really are so damn tight,” he rasps. “Relax for me, bunny. I can feel you squeezing every inch. If you keep that up, I won’t fit all the way.”
He is leaking inside you already, hot pulses of precum mixing with your own wetness as he rocks forward, working another inch deeper. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, the same steady grip he uses when he hauls you out of danger.
You remember the wendigo hunt in Colorado, how those hands had pressed gauze to your side while his voice stayed calm even though his eyes had been wild. You wanted those firm hands to do so many inappropriate things to you, haul you in whatever position he wanted. Now those same hands hold you open while his cock stretches you wider than you thought possible.
“B-Big,” you slurr into the pillow, drool wetting the fabric. “So big, Xavier, f-fuck, can’t relax, you feel t-too good—”
He smacks your ass again, harder. The sting makes you gasp and unclench just enough for him to slide the last inch home. The head of his cock kisses something deep that makes your toes curl and your cunt flutter wildly around him.
“There you go,” he praises, voice rough but warm as he soothes the skin of your ass when the slap landed. “That’s it. Who would’ve thought you’re turning so pliant and obedient bent over for your partner’s cock, hm?”
“Want you to fuck me,” you sob, pushing your hips back until his balls press against your clit. “Fuck me, baby…”
You barely realize the pet name slipping out your mouth and slurring against the pillow. But Xavier catches it either way. He fists a hand in your hair and pulls your head back, arching you beautifully. His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt again, rocking his thick cock in and out of your squeezing warmth. The new angle makes him drag over that spongy spot with every thrust.
“Good girl,” he rasps. “Now arch your back. Ass up higher. Let me get even deeper.”
You obey instantly, spine curving, hips tilted so he can drive in at the perfect angle. He moans at the sight, slow deep thrusts turning into something faster, wet skin slapping against wet skin.
“So beautiful,” he breathes. “I can see my cock sliding in and out of your pretty puffy cunt. You’re dripping down my balls, bunny. Does it feel that good?”
“S-sooo good…” you sob, voice breaking on every thrust. “Yes, so good, fuck—”
“Then let me hear you.” His pace picks up, hips slamming into your ass with every stroke, cock dragging mercilessly over that spot inside you. Your toes curl. “Sing for me, starlight. Let the whole motel know how good your partner makes you feel.”
You let go. Every moan, every broken cry, every desperate plea pours out of you as he rails you exactly the way you needed after three years of swallowed want and fingering yourself in showers or under the duvet, searching something you never found. His hand stays tight in your hair, the other gripping your hip, hauling you back onto his cock like he never plans to let you go again.
“That’s it,” he groans, his rhythm growing more punishing. “Fuck, you feel incredible. So wet and tight around me. You were made for my cock, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp, barely coherent. “Yes, yours, only yours...”
“Good girl. My good girl.”
He adjusts his grip, one hand kept fisting your hair while the other slides around to find your clit. His fingers press down hard, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. The pressure building again, tighter and tighter, fast and vicious.
“Xavier,” you gasp, your vision starting to blur. “Ohfuck, ohfuck—fuck, ’m gonna cum, ’m gonna...”
“Already?” His voice is rough, his rhythm faltering slightly before picking back up even harder. “Fuck, me too. Shit, I’m so close, I’ll cum inside you...”
“K-kiss me?” you beg, craning your neck back toward him. "Want to feel you while I..."
He complies instantly, twisting your head to capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss. His tongue slides against yours, teeth catching your lower lip as his hips keep their brutal pace. The angle lets him grind deeper, cock throbbing heavy inside your clenching cunt.
“Beautiful girl,” he rasps against your lips, fingers flicking faster on your clit. “I’m so deep, aren’t I? Feel me all the way inside you.”
“Yes,” you sob, squeezing around his cock. “So deep, Xavier, so full...”
“Going to cum around my cock for me, are you?” He bites your neck, sucking more marks on the sweaty skin. “Do it, starlight.”
His hips snap forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his fingers pinch your clit.
“If you cum for me,” he groans against your throat, “I’ll pump you full right after. Deal? Come on, my stubborn partner, let go.” His cock throbs inside you, and you can tell he’s right on the edge. “I’ll fill you to the brim. You’ll be so full of me for days. Begging for more than just five minutes.”
You shatter.
The orgasm crashes through you harder than anything you’ve ever felt, your entire body seizing up as you scream his name. Your walls clamp down around his cock in rhythmic pulses, milking him, soaking his length and balls while your thighs shake uncontrollably. He follows as he said he would.
With a broken groan, his hips continue grinding as thick ropes of cum flood your spasming cunt, filling you up until it starts to leak out around him, dripping down your thighs in messy white trails. He holds you through it, his hips grinding against your ass, pumping every last drop into your hole.
For several long breaths neither of you moves. You stay collapsed face-down into the mattress, trembling, his weight warm and heavy along your back. His cock stays buried inside you, softening slowly while his release leaks steadily around him, warm and sticky on your skin.
Then, impossibly, he laughs.
It slips out soft and breathless, more exhale than sound, but it blooms something warm and bright in your chest. He presses a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck, then your shoulder, then the curve of your spine where sweat has gathered.
“Okay?” he murmurs against your skin, and his voice is soft again, tender. It’s almost like the Xavier in the dream.
“More than okay,” you manage, voice hoarse. “I think you broke my brain.”
He laughs again, real this time, warm and a little embarrassed. But he doesn’t pull out. Instead his hips roll forward in a slow, possessive thrust, stirring his cum inside you with a wet sound that makes you whine.
“Xavier,” you gasp, oversensitive and full.
“Mmm.” He kisses your shoulder again, hips rolling once more, keeping himself nestled deep inside. “I like this. Feeling you around me. Feeling how full you are with me.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you groan, but the words come out fond, cracked with leftover pleasure.
He hums in agreement, face buried in your hair, hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, his thumb brushing lazily over your nipple. His hips thrust forward again, and you can’t help but whimper at the sensation of his cock stirring inside you, hardening again.
“I may have been overly optimistic about my own self-control after I kissed you tonight Three years of watching you walk into danger and pulling you back out, I thought I will handle kissing you a lot better.”
“And how did that work out for you?”
“Poorly,” he admits, smile clear in his voice. “But I regret nothing.”
He eases out slowly. You both hiss at the loss, at the rush of his cum that follows, leaking down your thighs in thick, warm trails. Before you can complain about the mess he rolls you onto your back, pulls you into his arms, and tucks you against his chest.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there, “I will make you coffee the way you like it. I will check your stitches. I will be soft and sweet like the version you saw in that hallucination.”
He tilts your chin up, kissing you slow and tender, the same careful way he first kissed you in the dream.
“But tonight,” he murmurs against your lips, hands already sliding down your body again, “I’m not done with you yet.”
His fingers slip between your legs, gathering the mess of his cum and pushing it back inside your sensitive cunt. You shiver, already aching for more, and realize you don’t mind this version of Xavier at all.
After all, it’s the one you fell in love with.
The one you’ll always love, no matter the other many sides of himself he’ll show you in the future.
.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!
Synopsis: Out of everyone on campus, Zayne Li was the one you least expected to run into in an underground pub on a Friday night, beer in hand and dressed nothing like how soon-to-be doctor Zayne Li dresses on a daily attending classes. Were your eyes deceiving you, or was there a side of Zayne no one was aware of, especially you?
Content warnings: College AU, Med-Student Zayne with a side flavor of Metalhead, he has tattoos & piercings in this one (+his sexy mullet), Lots of flirting, Heavy sexual tension, Smoking, Shotgunning, Alcohol consumption, Zayne can handle some alcohol in this AU, Ass grabbing & leaving marks, Neck kissing & hickeys, Dirty talk, Caleb is a side-character in this. (cw will be updated with each ch; next one is explicit)
Word count: 9.5k
Author’s note: ladies and gentlemen, i present you, my newest obsession. Metalhead!Zayne will grace our lives bcs i saw this art from our wonderful talented raoni & i couldn't think about anything else since... it has consumed my mind and soul
sooo, this was supposed to be a one-shot buuut... haha like you don't know me already, who's lex if she doesn't make it slowburn & build the sexual tension for at least a few thousand words.......right
enjoyyy guys<3 comments & reposts are VERY welcomed & appreciated (pls yap with me about this im losing my damn mind)
Making your way through the stifling crowd was a true challenge tonight, despite your best efforts to keep up with Simone and Tara who were farther away in front of you, clinging with one another and giggling, barely audible over the loud music of the pub.
You weren’t faring better yourself, clinging to Simone’s palm and trying to avoid sweaty bodies bumping you left and right. You had one-too-many drinks tonight already, because this wasn’t really in plan, to go out. You were supposed to have a girls’ night at the dorm, so you invited Simone and another two girls from her class to your shared dorm with Tara, since midterms were over and you took your last exam Wednesday, you all wanted to just get loose, have some fun.
They came with two bottles of alcohol, which you mixed with what you already had in your worn fridge in the dorm, because you didn’t trust Tara to make the cocktails. You remember last time you put your faith in her, naive as you were, and ended up half-naked in the middle of the night, swimming in the campus’ indoor pool, giggling like two idiots.
You were not about to have a repeat of that tonight, so you made them. Still, that didn’t mean you were safe from her shenanigans, because about eight rounds into truth or dare, you already had a cocktail and three shots into your system, enough alcohol to make your vision blurry at the edges and put a filter over the rational part of your brain.
Three shots turned into five, and another cocktail was half-emptied when you dragged your skirt up your legs, wobbling a little in front of the mirror where your reflection was staring back at you, hair messy and cheeks pink from all the laughing. As you struggled to change into some clothes worthy of being into a club full of drunk college students, Simone was already calling for a cab while the other girls were still rolling on the floor, giggling and drinking from their plastic cups.
You didn’t have half a mind to refuse going out, even if you knew there was a possibility for things to take a turn for the worst tonight, knowing Tara and Simone and the version of themselves clouded by so much alcohol. You took your purse from the couch in a hurry and followed them to the cab, stumbling a little on your poor choice of shoes. Just because you were tipsy, that didn’t mean you weren’t gonna dress for the occasion.
You stop in front of the bar now, Simone already leaning over the counter with a smile on her face, boobs peeking out from the cut of her blouse, chest pressing into the wood with the movement. She says something to the bartender, which you guess must be something flirty because he gives her a small laugh and turns to pour some transparent liquid into five small glasses.
The music is super loud, especially near the bar, but you still hear them clearly as they chant “Shots! Shots! Shots!”, so you all take your glass and clink them together before your head dips back and the strong liquid swirls down your neck, burning. You wince, coughing a little as you set the glass down on the counter, giggling at Simone and Tara’s faces, which aren’t that different from yours.
“Woo! That was much better than whatever we had at the dorm!” Tara grins, sliding her arm around your neck.
“Yeah, and a lot more expensive, too!” you huff, smiling at her because it is indeed better.
You spend the next half an hour or so by the bar, sharing a few more drinks, and you settle for a cocktail this time, something easier that takes longer to finish. Your mind is already fuzzy, everything funnier than it should be, so you know you’re not just tipsy anymore. You got to do some damage control, so you avoid any more shots, even when Tara pouts at you to try to convince you to have one more round with her.
The other two girls found their way to the other side of the pub where it is a lot more crowded, bodies clinging to one another while dancing, and Simone is deep in conversation with the bartender, which you suspect is nothing casual because his eyes keep drifting down to Simone’s chest every now and again, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
You laugh to yourself and turn your attention to Tara, then scan the rest of the pub. Since this is close to campus, you wonder if you’ll find any familiar faces here tonight. You frequent the pubs around campus often, especially when you’ve gotten all your focus on your studies and feel burned out. Being in a place with loud music and full of students such as yourself, who chase the same feeling of letting go of anxieties and stress, even if just for a few hours, makes you feel like there’s more out there than just your studies.
Tara is leaning against the counter beside you, her chin propped lazily in her palm as she scrolls through something on her phone, the screen casting a faint blue glow across her cheekbones. You take the opening to slip a hand into your purse and fish out the soft pack of cigarettes you’d shoved in there earlier, the cardboard a little crumpled from being pressed up against your lipstick and your keys. You nudge her shoulder with yours, leaning in close so you don’t have to shout over the music that’s still thrumming through the floor and up into the soles of your feet, the bass making your chest vibrate in a way that almost feels pleasant by now, almost familiar after this long.
“Smoke break?” you angle the pack so she can see it, drawing her gaze up from her phone. “I’m dying.”
She gives a small hum of agreement, slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans before sliding off the stool with a slight wobble that mirrors your own. You loop your arm through hers because you can already feel the buzz pooling warm and heavy in the bowl of your stomach, that liquid sort of heaviness that makes your steps feel a fraction too long, a fraction too generous with how much space they take. Tara is just steady enough to anchor you while you weave back through the crush of bodies, and you keep your free hand splayed out a little for balance as you slip between people, your shoulder catching now and again on someone’s arm, someone’s drink.
This place is one of those underground spots that doesn’t quite have rules, or doesn’t quite bother enforcing the ones it has, and there’s a stretch of corridor just off the main floor where people pour out from the different bars that share the space, leaning along the bricked wall with cigarettes pinched lazily between their fingers, the air heavy with smoke and the scent of perfume that bleeds into sweat and spilled liquor and turns into something almost intoxicating in its own right.
The music drops to a muffled pulse the second you step out from the doorway, and the relief of it hits you somewhere behind the ribs, your shoulders coming down a fraction as you tap the pack against your palm and slide a cigarette between your lips, the filter catching slightly on the tackiness of your gloss.
Tara is already drifting a few steps off, shouting at a girl she barely knows from her psych elective, so you let her go and lean your shoulder blades against the cool stretch of brick while you cup your hand around the flame of your lighter. It flickers twice before catching, and the first drag is warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed tonight, your eyes slipping half-closed as you tilt your head back and let the smoke curl slow up past your lashes.
You picked up smoking as a bad habit, second year in Uni. The pressure was too much, combined with the emotional wreckage your ex put you through, so you turned to something unhealthy instead of crying yourself to sleep every night. You tried to quit, but bad habits die hard, so you give yourself some grace on nights like this, blaming it on letting lose, telling yourself it’s just for tonight, just as a social thing and not something you still need to ease off the heaviness in your chest you still occasionally get.
You drag your eyes to the left, and it takes you a full minute to realize who is standing at the far end of the corridor. Caleb. Of course he would be here tonight, it doesn’t even come as a surprise to you that he’s out partying with his friends. You met Caleb your second year, too, in this exact same spot. You were a mess back then, makeup smudged and eyes puffy from crying, because you were really going through it at the time, and the loud music, the alcohol and seeing everyone around you have fun while you were still not over your ex—everything made you fall down the rabbit hole even faster. You were down to your last two cigarettes which you were desperate to inhale and just try to shut off your brain, but luck wasn’t on your side.
You lost your lighter somewhere in the crowd that night, and this stranger saw you were about to have a full mental breakdown as you desperately rummaged through your purse, huffing and puffing, annoyed. Caleb offered you his lighter with a casual smile, easy and charming enough to erase some of the frown between your eyebrows, and you took it from his fingers, giving a small smile.
You spent the rest of that miserable night talking and smoking in a corner, and the miserable night turned out not to be that miserable after all. He shared his own pack of cigarettes, shared some funny stories of himself, all in an attempt to make you laugh, which you did. The satisfaction swam from his face in waves, grinning at you like he won a prize, which only made you roll your eyes at him. But you were grateful, more than you wanted to voice, because his presence made it easier, stopped your from spiraling like you did many night before, in that same spot, doing the exact same thing, only being much more dejected and alone.
Caleb is the kind of person who occupies the air around him whether he means to or not, all loose shoulders and that easy slouch he does against any available surface, head thrown back laughing at something with the line of his throat catching under the cheap yellow string lights running along the corridor. He’s in that worn navy crew-neck he wears half the week, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair looking like someone (probably him) has been pulling at it for hours.
And right beside him, half a step back with a beer bottle dangling loose between his fingers and his other hand shoved deep into the pocket of his black jeans, is Zayne.
That makes your fingers go still around the cigarette, the smoke curling thin and untouched past your face as you take a beat to actually process what you’re looking at, because Zayne is not the kind of person you expect to find in an underground pub on a Friday night, leaning against a brick wall and listening with that faint half-smile he gets when he’s tolerating something more than enjoying it.
You’ve never quite been able to figure him out, in the loosely overlapping way that you know him, mostly through Caleb, mostly across the table in that one shared seminar where he sits two rows up and answers questions in that low, even way that always sounds like he’s already considered three counterarguments before opening his mouth. You’ve been on group projects with him a couple of times too, polite and easy to work with every single time. He’s a mistery to you, and you would lie to yourself if you didn’t admit he is quite an interesting person.
He’s brilliant, of course. Everyone on campus knows just how smart Zayne Li is, never one to be underestimated, never one to pass his study sessions in favor of hanging out or going out to have fun or just do things that don’t require a textbook and a laptop. He’s soon-to-be doctor, of course he is the type of person prioritizing his studies. Paired with the way he looks, you have to admit to yourself, he would make quite a handsome doctor.
Knowing all this about Zayne, it does take you by surprise actually seeing him here tonight. With a bottle of beer in his hand, no less. It makes your eyes squint despite yourself, a small smirk of curiosity more than anything pulling at the corner of your lips. Him and Caleb are as much opposites as people with different life ideals and future plans are, yet you couldn’t help but notice of how well they fit together as friends in the time you got to meet them and interact with them. Even so, from getting along well to this… well, it’s safe to say it’s got you all curious how Caleb even managed to drag Zayne out here, and even more so, how he convinced the guy to drink beer with him.
He looks different out here. Or maybe he just looks like himself in a setting where you weren’t expecting to see him. The contrast is what’s catching you off guard, because the dim corridor light cuts shadows down the line of his jaw in a way that makes you swallow before you’ve decided to. He’s even dressed so differently than he usually is on campus, with fitted black jeans and a black tee under his leather jacket. You would blame it on the amount of alcohol you had tonight and the thick layer of smoke haunting the corridor, but fuck it if he doesn’t look sexy as hell dressed in that. You bite your lip, eyes dragging up and down his body, quietly glad he doesn’t seem to notice he’s being checked out.
Caleb spots you first, his face splitting into the grin that’s probably gotten him out of more parking tickets than he’ll ever admit to.
“No fucking way!” He’s already pushing off the wall, crossing the corridor in a few easy strides. “Tell me you guys didn’t actually come here on purpose.”
“Sorry for barging on your domain, Xia.” You smirk at him when he’s close enough to see it. Tara is abandoning her psych girl and their conversation to throw her arms around his neck because Tara has known Caleb almost as long as you have, and the two of them dissolve into the loud, hugging, half-shouting reunion that they always seem to do whenever they collide somewhere unplanned.
Which leaves Zayne leaning against the wall with the bottle hanging loose in his hand, watching the spectacle with that mild expression that doesn’t quite commit to anything.
Watching, you realise after another second, you.
The cigarette burns down a millimeter while you hold his gaze, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the bass still thumping faintly through the wall behind you or the fact that you weren’t expecting him here, but you can feel the heat climbing in a slow crawl up the side of your neck that you can’t quite reason away. You lift the cigarette in a small salute across the gap between you, then bring it back to your lips and pull a deliberate drag with your eyes still on him.
“Didn’t have you pegged for the underground type, Zayne.” you finally call, loud enough to carry over the loudness around you, soft enough that it isn’t really for anyone but him.
His head tilts a fraction, and he pushes off the wall to come closer. “Didn’t have you pegged for a smoker.”
He takes his time crossing to you, the bottle still loose in his hand, and you catch the way his eyes flick down the length of your dress and back up in the kind of split-second pass that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. You were looking for it, which is why it is hard to bite back the small smirk painting your lips.
“I guess I’m just full of surprises,” you say, shrugging one shoulder against the brick, unbothered.
“So I’m gathering.”
He stops in front of you, closer than acquaintances usually stand. The corridor is loud but not loud enough that you wouldn’t hear him if he wasn’t staying so close. He doesn’t really need to stand in your personal space, but it still feels like a decision, one he made somewhere around three strides back. You tilt your chin up to keep his gaze, and the brick is cool through the thin fabric of your dress where your shoulder blades are pressing into it.
“Caleb dragged you out, didn’t he?” you smile at him, eyes flicking back over his shoulder where Caleb is laughing with Tara and another girl a few steps back, and then flick back at him.
You’re aiming for casual, but it comes out a little lower than you meant it to, smoke-slow almost. His mouth does a small twitch at the corner, the not-quite-smirk that you’ve watched from across a seminar table more times than you’d like to admit to yourself in this exact moment. It makes heat crawl up your spine, grip your cigarette a little tighter.
“Something like that,” he hums, tilting his head.
“He’s persuasive.”
“He’s something.”
The laugh that comes out of you is real and surprised, the alcohol warming it from the inside, and Zayne watches you laugh with an expression you can’t entirely place, except for the part of it that you can. You hold the cigarette up between you, the smoke curling thin and pale through the space between his face and yours.
“You smoke, Zayne?” You already know the answer to that, like you knew the answer to him drinking, yet here he is in an underground pub with a bottle of cheap beer in his hand. So really, do you know the answer?
“Not usually, I don’t.” There’s a small pause, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “I do on special occasions, though.”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing in surprise. “Social smoker?”
“Something like that.” Your eyes follow as he lifts the bottle to his lips, head tilting slightly as he takes a sip of the beer. It’s probably gotten too warm, judging by the smallest narrowing of his eyes at the taste.
You drag another smoke into your lungs, even if only to distract yourself from staring without any regards at him. His throat bobs slowly with it, and you can’t help but trace it with your eyes.
You’re not as subtle as you usually would be. Granted, you’ve got a little too much alcohol in your system to care for subtlety, but you’re at least aware of Zayne watching you closely too. That alone makes you shiver slightly, a small tremor up your spine, which you could always blame on the coldness of the wall behind you. It would be a lie, anyway.
“Sorry if I’m having a hard time believing that, Zayne—you? A social smoker?” you puff out the smoke, letting it curl in the space between you that has gotten an inch smaller since you’ve started talking, “What, you’re a social drinker, too? And here I thought you lost a bet to Caleb or something.” You gesture to the bottle in his hand with a cheeky smile.
Zayne only hums, something you can’t actually hear because of all the noise, but you do inch a tad bit closer to him.
“There’s quite a lot you don’t know about me.” He tilts his head down, hazel eyes focused on you, and the subtle move has your heart picking up the pace a little. He only lingers on your face for a few seconds before looking around casually. “Is it that hard to believe I’m here out of my own free will?”
You puff a small laugh, because yeah, it is quite hard to believe Zayne Li would choose this as his preferred Friday night activity. He doesn’t seem that out of place as you would have thought he would, if someone were to come up to you and say they saw Zayne Li in an underground pub, surrounded by smokers and loud college students, drinking beer in a leather jacket and tight jeans.
“I feel like answering that would not make your impression of me improve.” You inhale again, pursing your lips around the cigarette. A small curve of his lips has your stomach doing a flip, because of many reasons, really. One would be that you never expected Zayne to be so easy to talk to, and another one would be how good that smirk looks on his lips.
You lick your own unconsciously.
He shuffles closer to you, and you shift on your heels to make some space for him. Leaning with his shoulder on the wall, he brings the bottle to his lips again, so you break eye contact to rummage through your purse again, looking for another cigarette since the one you had in your hand burned all the way through.
From the corner of your eye, you see Tara and Caleb laugh at something, then Tara looks your way and silently gestures toward the bar at the end of the corridor. You immediately get what she’s saying, the two of them already making their way there, Caleb’s hand around her shoulders to stabilize her. You roll your eyes and smile, turning back to Zayne who’s silent beside you, eyes looking in the same direction.
You’re almost out of cigarettes, which would be just your luck, but at least you’ve got enough to stay out here for a while longer. Not that you really need an excuse to hang out here, but hanging out with Zayne in this enviorment which is far from academic, makes you feel a new type of nervousness.
You light your cigarette with a flick of the lighter, the small flame catching the corner of your mouth for half a second before it disappears, and you tilt your body in Zayne’s direction, hip cocked against the brick, smoke curling slow up between you.
“Fair enough. Then you won’t mind me asking why you’ve picked up smoking?”
He lifts a brow at you, something curious in his expression, something almost probing, like he’s already three steps ahead of whatever answer you’re about to give him. He waits patiently for your response, head tilted a fraction, and you find yourself shrugging a shoulder before the silence has the chance to stretch into something heavier than you want it to.
“Bad habit,” you offer, mouth curving in a playful gesture, something someone who hasn’t fully decided how much to share would do, tapping a little ash off the end of your cigarette. “Seems like I stumble into bad decisions lately.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, the smallest thing, but enough that you catch it and feel the warmth of it settle somewhere low and pleased under your sternum. You like that. You like that you can pull that out of him without seeming to try very hard at all. He brings the bottle back up to his mouth then and tips the rest of the beer into his throat in one slow swallow, the line of it working under the dim corridor light. When he’s done he leans sideways and sets the empty bottle on the narrow ledge running off the brick, where someone has already left two crushed caps and a folded matchbook.
“Do you mind?” His chin lifts slightly toward the cigarette between your fingers, brows arched, easy with it.
You blink at him for half a second, an eyebrow flicking up in something that’s mostly confused and a little curious, and the smile that pulls at your mouth has a touch of cheekiness in it that you don’t quite bother smoothing over.
“By all means.”
You pass it to him slowly, the brush of your fingers landing in the handoff, and you watch with quiet curiosity as he lifts it to his mouth, the filter catching the light where your gloss has left a faint pink print along it. He pauses just before he draws, gaze flicking up over the line of his fingers to lock with yours, holding it there long enough that the air between you tightens around your ribs.
You lean in then, mouth drifting close to his ear because you tell yourself the corridor is loud, even though neither of you have been struggling to hear each other.
“Is this one of your special occasions, then?”
You linger only a breath longer than you need to before easing back, and the small smirk that curves slow over his mouth has your stomach turning once in a lazy roll.
“I have a feeling you wouldn’t mind if it was, would you?”
His voice is low, casual enough on the surface that it would be easy to miss what’s underneath it if you weren’t already listening for it. He drags a slow inhale from the cigarette, the ember flaring orange in the dim light, and tilts it back toward you between two fingers while exhaling the smoke off to the side of you, lips half-parted, gaze still settled steady on yours.
You raise an eyebrow at him.
He raises one back.
“Come closer, then.”
You take half a step in and tip your face up, but he doesn’t pass the cigarette to your fingers this time. He holds it for you, knuckles brushing the corner of your mouth as you wrap your lips around the filter and draw. Your free hand drifts up the front of his jacket, fingers walking slow over the leather, finding the lapel and curling there a beat before sliding higher to the collar. You tug him down without hurry, just enough that his head dips and his lips part on a quiet exhale that you can feel along your top lip.
You let the smoke leave your mouth in a slow, unhurried push, and he takes it from the gap between your lips in a soft inhale, his chest rising shallow with it, the line of his mouth coming so close to yours that you can feel the heat of him without quite touching. Inches between you. Neither one of you moving to close them.
His free hand finds your hip then, settles there with a quiet weight that’s deliberate in a way that makes your breath catch under your ribs. His eyes search yours for half a beat, something unspoken passing through them, a question low enough that he doesn’t need to voice it for you to feel it land. You tilt your head a fraction in answer, nose brushing slow against his, and the corner of his mouth twitches against the small drag of it.
You slip the cigarette from between his slender fingers, holding it up between you with a small, playful curl of your mouth, and bring it to his lips while trying to not be too aware of how close you’re standing. He smirks, eyes still on yours, and parts his lips around the filter as you hold it for him, the ember catching as he draws. His hand slides from your hip up along the line of your waist in the same breath, fingers spreading wide over your ribs through the thin material of your dress. The sudden firm grasp of it pulls a small gasp out of you before you’ve decided to make a sound, your back arching against the brick on instinct.
He uses it. He bends his face down into the small space your gasp has carved between you and exhales the smoke between your parted lips in a slow, deliberate stream, and you breathe him in without thinking, the heat of his breath, the bitter trace of the cigarette, all of it dragging down into your lungs while his thumb sweeps a slow circle against the side of your ribcage.
You hold the smoke a beat longer than you need to before letting it spill back out, curling pale up between your mouths. You see his gaze drop and stay this time, settling on your parted lips, a look so intense it has your tongue peek out to wet your lower lip.
“You’ve made a real mess of it, by the way.”
His voice has gone quieter, more of a low vibration in his chest than a proper sentence, and his thumb keeps up its slow tracing against the side of your waist, the easy patience of it almost worse than the kiss he isn’t giving you yet. You’re pretty sure that’s where this is going, and you don’t know what made you dizzier. The fact that his hand is on your waist, burning through the fabric, or that you’re close enough to smell his cologne mixed with the cigarette smoke.
You don’t quite follow at first, head still hazed from the smoke and the alcohol and the warmth of him pressed close.
He did it so casually, too. You knew Zayne to be confident in his academics, but didn’t quite expect him to flirt so smoothly. When you offered your cigarette to him, you thought he would either pass or just awkardly draw from it, aiming to indulge you. What you didn’t expect but are currently pleasantly surprised by was his little cocky act of doing shotguns with you.
“Of what?” You breathe against his lips, batting your eyelashes at him.
“Your lipstick.”
Your tongue traces the inside of your lower lip on instinct, and his gaze drops with the movement and snaps back up as if it hadn’t quite given itself permission to wander.
“Have I?”
“Half of it. Pretty thoroughly.”
The way he sets it down has a careful weight to it, an observation laid between you that he’s clearly waiting for you to do something with, and it takes you a beat longer than it should to catch the implication underneath. Smudged. Like someone else has already been at your mouth tonight before him. The slow grin tugs at the corner of yours before you bother to school it.
“And you’ve just been thinking about that this whole time, is that what you’re saying?”
His thumb hasn’t paused along your ribs, the slow circle of it almost distracted in its patience, grounding and indecent at once.
“Hard not to, when it’s right there.”
“Got a theory?” You stare right into his hazel gaze, voice a little defiant in its provocation.
His hand drifts slowly, sliding up the line of your side until his warm palm finds the curve of your throat and settles there, fingers spreading along the side of your jaw with a tenderness that doesn’t quite match the heat behind his eyes.
“A few.” His eyes trace a slow path from your eyes to your mouth and back up.
“Care to share?” you whisper, finger dragging slowly down his chest.
The pad of his thumb drags slow along the corner of your mouth, no accident in the angle, smearing the gloss further across the seam of your lips, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the small curl of satisfaction it pulls into one side of his own.
“Not particularly.”
You let him. You let him work the soft pad of his thumb across the ruined line of your mouth, eyes still tipped up to his, your own smirk tugging slow at the smudge he’s just made worse, and you can feel your heartbeat picking up under your collarbones in a way that’s almost ridiculous, given how little it takes to set it off. You laugh lowly, more of a hum in your chest than a proper sound, and his thumb pauses at the corner of your mouth at the feel of it before resuming, slower now, almost thoughtful.
“It was a shot glass,” you tell him, smiling sweet up at him through your lashes in a way you know is performative and a little unfair. “Disappointing answer, I know.”
His mouth twitches, the not-quite-smirk pulling at the corner.
“Hm. Less interesting than I had it.”
“And what did you have in mind?”
“Someone less careful than I would be.”
That lands low and warm in your stomach in a way the alcohol can’t take credit for, and the air between you thins by another fraction, your chest brushing his with the next breath you take in.
“You think you’d be careful with my mouth, then?” You raise your eyebrows at him, while he only tilts his head to the side.
“When I wanted to be.”
“And when you didn’t?”
His gaze drops to your mouth again and holds there, the smallest curl pulling slow at the corner of his, his thumb still warm at the smudge he made.
“You’d find out.”
You let the silence stretch a beat longer than it needs to, fingers still curled loose at the collar of his jacket, the cigarette burning quietly down between your knuckles, his palm still cradling the side of your face.
“Hm. Then perhaps I can just...”
You don’t wait on him this time. You tilt your face slow out of his hand, the drag of his palm trailing along your jaw as you go, and bring your mouth to the line of his instead, lips parting against the faint catch of stubble as you press a soft kiss just below the corner of his jaw. His exhale stutters audibly through his nose, and you feel the small tightening of his fingers along your jaw before they slip down to settle warm at the side of your throat.
You drag your mouth lower, unhurried, brushing along the line of his jaw and dipping into the soft warm hollow under it, where his pulse is hammering a good deal faster than the rest of his face has bothered to let on.
“Looks like I’m finding a way to smudge it on my own,” you murmur against his skin, the words landing in soft drags of your mouth as you say them. “Hope you don’t mind.”
You feel his hand slip from your throat, his arm winding loose around your waist as it goes, palm trailing the line of your spine in one long, slow stroke before it dips lower still and finds the curve of your ass. There’s no hesitation in the way his hand settles there. He cups you with the same easy certainty he used to find your hip earlier, except this time he uses it to pull you flush against the front of his body in one quiet, deliberate haul. It takes you off guard, the gasp that comes out of you is small and entirely involuntary, breaking soft against the side of his neck where your mouth had been working a kiss in.
You let it land. You let yourself breathe through the sudden warm press of his body against the line of your hips, the heat of him through denim, before you tilt your face up to drag your lips along the shell of his ear.
“Keep that hand right there, Zayne,” your voice has gone smoke-low, almost lazy with it, the dirty curl in it sliding under the playfulness, “and you’re going to ruin a lot more than my lipstick tonight.”
You could care less that you’re surrounded by people, and Zayne doesn’t seem to mind either, so you resume your kisses down his neck. There’s nothing to see, anyway. If anyone glances your way they would only see two drunk college students making out against a wall, in a dirty underground corridor connecting multiple pubs.
He huffs a soft sound through his nose, something close to a laugh but not quite committing, the warm gust of it stirring the hair at your temple. His hand tightens a fraction at the curve of your ass before easing back into a more measured grip, like he’s reminding himself of the line he’s already crossed. His other hand has come up to your face at some point you can’t pinpoint, and you find his palm warm along the side of your throat with his thumb resting at the line of your jaw.
“Is that the alcohol talking?”
The words land close to your temple in that low tone you remember from across a seminar table, except they’re pressed up against the side of your face now and carrying a heat behind them you’ve never heard him use in a classroom. Your hand has its own ideas about the silence, sliding slow up from the lapel of his jacket along the line of his throat, fingertips dragging through the soft warmth at the side of his neck before settling there. You watch the way his throat works in response, the small swallow he doesn’t quite manage to hide.
“Are you blaming my advances on how much I had to drink?” you pull back from his neck, lashes fluttering.
“Shouldn’t I?” His thumb traces your jaw, gaze flicking over the color sitting high in your cheeks like he wants you to know he’s noticed. “You’re flushed all over and clinging to me.”
Your fingers curl at the back of his neck where the hair tapers short as you laugh softly at his words, giving a small tug at the strands there, just enough to angle his face down a fraction lower toward yours. The flicker of surprise that crosses his eyes is gone almost as fast as it shows.
“Don’t girls cling to you without being tipsy, Zayne?” Your gaze drifts lazy up at him through your lashes, slurring your words just enough. “I doubt it.”
You watch as his gaze drops slow over your face, considering what you’re implying. His hand at your throat slides a fraction higher, his palm now cupping the underside of your jaw, and that has your pulse picking up under his fingers. The silence stretches loaded enough that you shift your hips an inch against the front of him just for the warmth of him through your dress, and the corner of his mouth twitches, catching it.
It’s not that you really think girls just throw themselves at Zayne on a daily basis. He is smart, funny, and considerate, yet he doesn’t strike you as the type to just have women at his side. That would be Caleb, with all his positive energy and charisma, a true heartbreaker with women hanging around him all day in hopes of keeping his attention on them.
Zayne is the opposite. Or at least, the Zayne you knew before tonight. Quiet Zayne, who girls occasionally gather enough courage to go up to and ask to hang out under the pretense of studying together. But this Zayne is different. Or maybe it’s just another side of him you didn’t know existed, yet somehow managed to capture your attention and keep it.
You’re intrigued, that’s what this is. Intrigued of just how he’ll behave if you push him just a bit more.
He plucks the cigarette from where it’s burned down between your knuckles between two of his own fingers, gentle about the handoff, and lifts it back up between your faces.
“Finish your cigarette.”
You arch a brow at him, the smile pulling slow at one side of your mouth and a little defiant.
“Finish it for me.”
His mouth twitches deeper this time. He lifts the cigarette to your lips without ceremony, holding it for you the way he did before, and you let him, drawing slow with your eyes still up on his while the ember flares. When you pull back, he brings the filter to his own mouth and pulls the last of it down to almost nothing in one long, easy inhale, the line of his jaw working under the dim corridor light in a way that has heat curling low in your stomach for what feels like the tenth time tonight. He drops the spent end to the floor and grinds it out under the heel of his boot.
You don’t wait for him to take the lead this time. Your right hand that has been rsting on his chest simply moves, fitting along the line of his jaw with a grip that’s firmer than is strictly polite, thumb sliding under his chin to tilt his face down toward yours. The small flicker of surprise that flares behind his eyes is barely a breath long before it folds back into the half-lidded heat that’s been settling there for the last several minutes.
“Won’t you kiss me?” the words curl between your mouths like smoke, soft and tempting.
You don’t bother making it sound like anything other than what it is, just a soft, easy question, your mouth already drifting up toward his on instinct. As you move to close the distance, his hand moves to your face, thumb pressing firm against the soft underside of your chin to keep you a careful half-inch shy of getting there.
It catches you off guard. You’d half-expected him to dip into it the second you angled up. You feel the wall of him before you feel the resistance, but he doesn’t move into your hand and doesn’t move out of it either. He just stays like that, with his head tilted slightly, the little smile playing slow at the corner of his tempting mouth.
“Is that all it takes?”
Your brain runs a beat slower than it should, the smoke and the alcohol and the warm pressure of his palm cupping your ass adding up to something you can’t quite manage at speed, so you blink up at him in something soft and confused before the question lands properly.
“Hm?”
“Batting your eyelashes at a guy and sweet-talking him in order to kiss you breathless?”
The word breathless lands somewhere behind your sternum in a way that doesn’t help the current situation where you can only think about how much you want to close that inch between you. Your lashes do a small, slow drag down his face, entirely accidental this time, and you watch his gaze flick down to catch it. Your fingers shift along his jaw, thumb pressing a little harder under the line of his chin like you’re trying to hold him in place by sheer reminder of who started this.
“They usually fold at that.” you smirk up at him, looking as confident as you can be.
He mirrors your smirk, hazel eyes sparkling in what you guess is amusement and wonder.
“I’m sure they do.” His thumb leaves your chin to trace a slow line along the seam of your bottom lip, dragging the smudge of lipstick a fraction further across your mouth. “But you don’t have to do all that with me.”
You blink up at him properly this time, something almost wary threading through the heat, because that wasn’t quite the response you’d braced for. The hand still cupped firm around your ass tells you he isn’t pulling away. The hand at your face tells you the same. So what he’s actually saying takes a moment to settle.
“All what?”
He leans in, close enough that the warmth of his breath skims along your top lip, close enough that for one suspended second you think you’ve actually won, but his voice when it comes is barely more than a vibration in his chest.
“Beg.”
Your breath stops in your throat. The breathy tone he used, dancing across your mouth while his eyes stare you down, it all makes your thighs tense.
“As much as I’d love to get you begging, I tend to reserve that for activities a little more befitting than kissing.”
That one sentence does something to you that you weren’t prepared for, and your whole body responds before your brain has a chance to catch up. The heat climbs hot up the column of your throat, your thighs press together on instinct against the wall and the front of him, and the laugh that tries to come up at the back of your throat dies somewhere before it makes it to your mouth, because you suddenly have no idea what to say back to that.
You decide, somewhere fast and unspoken, that you don’t necessarily enjoy not knowing what to say.
So you do something with your hands instead.
The fingers curled at the back of his neck tighten down hard, the hand at his jaw drops to fist in the front of his jacket, and you push off the wall behind you with one decisive step that brings him with you, his weight following your pull in a way that suggests he had maybe half a second to brace and chose not to. You spin your bodies slowly until you are the one with facing the wall now, and his back finds the brick where yours had been pressed up against it a heartbeat ago.
He goes easily. He goes so easy you don’t entirely trust it, because the corner of his mouth lifts in something that isn’t a smile so much as an acknowledgement, like he’s noting the move down somewhere for later reference.
You take it anyway. You pin him there with the flat of your palm pressed against the front of his jacket, your other hand sliding from his jaw down to grip the side of his throat with a hold that’s firm and just slightly bossy, your thumb resting against the soft hollow under his ear. His hands settle at your waist, both of them now, his cool palms warm again through your dress. His grip is still rather loose, casual even, no attempt to flip you back, just standing pinned with his hands at your sides like he’s letting you have this and intends to enjoy every second of it.
You let go of his jacket to slide your hand down and curl your fingers along the dip of his waist, gripping there. You pull his hips snug against yours in one slow controlled drag, while you slide your hand back up from his throat to cup the side of his jaw, fingers fitting along the line of bone there with a hold that is firm and unmistakably for-keeping, tilting his face down toward yours another small fraction.
He lets the silence sit for a few beats. Lets it work on you. His thumb has started a slow, lazy drag along the dip of your waist again, like he is in no particular hurry about anything despite the position he’s currently in.
“Besides,” he tilts his head a fraction lower, mouth grazing along the line of your cheekbone now, the brush of his stubble pulling another small involuntary shiver through you, “you’re beautiful even when you’re sexually frustrated.”
Your breath catches audibly. You can’t help it. The grip you have along his jaw tightens, your fingertips pressing into the soft skin at the side of his face hard enough to leave a faint imprint, the other hand sliding up his waist to fist loose at the side of his jacket and drag him in another small fraction.
You hold his gaze. You don’t bat your lashes like before, you only lift your lashes very slowly from his mouth to his piercing eyes, licking your lips. Every sensual second of it pointed straight up at him with no question left about what it’s asking for.
“Kiss me, Zayne.”
He leans down to kiss your cheek instead, the brush of his mouth too soft to count, the smirk you can feel against your skin doing the rest of the work. You catch the faint warmth of his breath before he pulls back just enough to watch you suffer through it.
“You’re just teasing me at this point!” The huff comes out half laugh, half complaint, and your body betrays you anyway, leaning harder into the line of him, hips finding the firm shape of his thigh through his jeans. You grind once, slow, mostly to see what he does with it.
What he does is press his thigh up a fraction to meet you, casual as anything, like he hasn’t just made your dress ride higher up the back of your leg. His free hand settles on your waist, thumb pushing under the hem to find bare skin, and you forget, for a second, that you’re standing in a corridor at all.
“You asked me to kiss you,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to tilt your face up to catch it, and there’s a quiet laugh threaded through it that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
You blink up at him, lashes heavy, mouth parted around the obvious answer he’s pretending he didn’t hear. The little crease at the corner of his eye gives him away. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying you, scrambling.
“Obviously I meant my lips.” You jab a finger lightly into his chest, the gesture losing all its bite when your palm just stays there, flat against the warmth of his shirt, feeling the slow steady thump of his heart under it.
He glances down at your hand. Then back up at you. The smirk pulls a fraction higher on one side, like he’s clocked the way your fingers have curled into the fabric without permission, and he is going to make you live with the evidence of it.
“Should have been more specific.” It comes out almost lazy, dropped right against the bridge of your nose, and you have approximately half a second to register the unfairness of it before he moves.
He smirks and leans down, rotating you so your back is against the wall again, brick cool through the thin fabric of your dress. His mouth brushes yours, a graze, barely a promise, and his hands come up to cup your face, tilting it the way he wants it with that easy confidence that should not be legal on a college campus.
You close your eyes. You wait for it. You actually part your lips for it. And then his mouth slides down past yours, jaw to throat, lips closing soft and sucking against the skin under your ear.
“Why don’t you—oh fuck…mmm.” Your voice flatlines mid-sentence, the rest of whatever clever thing you were going to say abandoned somewhere you don’t care about. The frustration that had been building under your skin tips, slides, becomes something heavier and lower and a lot less articulate. Your fingers, still flat against his chest, curl until you’re holding fistfuls of his shirt.
That has your arms wrapping around his neck, palm sliding up into the back of his hair where it’s soft and a little damp from the heat of the place. One of his hands leaves your jaw and finds your ass through your dress, gripping firm enough that you feel it in your teeth, pulling you flush against him. He moves slow over your throat, mouth open, sucking kisses in a careful line like he’s mapping for something specific. When he finds it, just under the angle of your jaw, you make a sound straight into his ear that you would not have made sober. He hums against your skin, satisfied, and stays there to suck more marks.
The corridor is loud. There’s music thumping muffled through the wall behind you, somebody shouting somebody else’s name from the bar end, the wet smack of a bottle going over and a chorus of laughter rolling after it. You hear all of it from somewhere far away. The actual noise in your head is the rush behind your ears and the soft, obscene sounds his mouth is making at your throat, and the way your body keeps trying to climb him by half-inches.
You’re thinking about his dorm. You don’t even know if his dorm is empty right now, or if another one of his roommates is there right now. You’re thinking about it anyway, in the vague, drunk way of somewhere with a door that closes, and you’re imagining how fast you could get there if he picked you up off this wall right now and asked.
“Babe?”
Simone’s voice cuts through it like somebody pulling a needle off a record. You feel Zayne smile against your throat before he lifts his head slowly, taking his sweet time about it. His thumb strokes once over the line of your jaw before his hand drops.
You turn your head against the brick. Simone is two steps out of the pub door, one hand braced on the frame to keep herself vertical, the other holding what looks like somebody else’s drink, because she’s not the type to drink that questionable-looking liquid. Her eyes have done the math on Zayne’s mouth and your throat and the gap that is approximately nonexistent between your bodies, and instead of saying anything about it she just goes wide-eyed and breaks into a slow, delighted giggle behind her hand.
“Oh my god,” she shouts-whispers, which is louder than her speaking voice, “okay, okay, I didn’t see anything! I’m looking for Tara. Have you seen Tara? Hi, Zayne.”
“Hi, Simone,” Zayne says, perfectly even, like his hand isn’t still resting on the back of your thigh.
You open your mouth to answer her and don’t get the chance, because that’s when Tara rounds the corner from the bar with Caleb half-draped across her shoulders and a small herd of people you only half-recognise from someone’s seminar trailing in their wake. Tara takes one look at you against the wall, one look at Zayne, one look at Simone giggling into her own wrist, and her face does something complicated and triumphant that you’re going to have to answer for tomorrow.
“Round two!” Caleb announces to the entire corridor, lifting an arm. “Music’s fucking unreal in there, we’re going back in. Li. Bring your girl.”
Your girl. You feel that one land somewhere under your ribs. Zayne’s thumb does a small, deliberate stroke against the back of your thigh where nobody can see it, and you don’t trust your face at all.
“We’re good,” Zayne says easily, already pushing off the wall enough to give you space without giving you up. “You guys go.”
“Booo. Boring.” Caleb grins at him with no real heat. “Suit yourself, man. Text me.”
Tara’s eyes flick from Zayne to you and back, and she doesn’t say a single thing, which from Tara is loud. She just hooks her arm tighter around Caleb’s waist and lets the herd pull them toward the door, Simone falling in beside her with one last giggly look thrown over her shoulder.
The door swallows them. The bass kicks back up muffled. You’re aware, suddenly and very clearly, that you are still flushed from your collarbones up, that your dress is twisted slightly at the hip, that you can feel the wet print of his mouth cooling under your jaw, and that your head has started doing the slow soft pitch that means another drink would absolutely be a bad idea.
You should go in with them. The smarter version of you, the one who isn’t several drinks deep with her thighs still pressed together against a brick wall, knows that. The version of you currently operating is mostly running on the question of whether Zayne is going to put his hand back on your face or not.
He doesn’t. He steps in close again, but only to lean down to your ear, one hand braced on the wall above your shoulder, and his mouth ghosts over the same spot under your jaw that he claimed two minutes ago.
“If I kiss you properly right now,” his voice has gone quiet enough to be just for you, “you’re not making it home alone. So.” he pauses slightly, the barest scrape of his teeth against your skin. “Be specific next time, hm?”
He kisses your cheek. The same chaste, smirking press as before, in exactly the same place, and you feel it like a verdict.
When he pulls back his eyes are doing that mild thing again, the one that doesn’t commit to anything, except now you know better. He pushes off the wall, fishes his phone out of his back pocket, fires off something quick that you assume is the promised text to Caleb, and tilts his head toward the stairs at the corridor’s end.
You follow him with your throat still buzzing and your head full of all the versions of tonight that just got taken off the table, and you are absolutely going to think about the one where you’d been more specific the entire way home.
(credits for the Art go to Raoni - @/raonnni on X)
.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!
Happy pride month to all LADS fans except the homophobes, transphobes, racists, fatphobes, misogynists, bitches who have doxxed and harassed people over stupid shit, and the evil motherfuckers I've blocked over the year!
Thrive, protect your own, express your beautiful head-canons for your main and BE MORE GAY 🌈
INFECT ME WITH YOUR LOVIN'| KILL ME WITH YOUR POISON !
summ. After your base is attacked, you're left at the whims of the wilderness- that includes to a lonely Na'vi that seems to take a liking to you.
w/c. ~7.3k
tags. Na'vi!Caleb, human!reader, soft yandere, alienxhuman, Avatar (2009) AU, Slight angst and fluff, Mentions of war, forbidden love (kinda), forest setting, CAVE sex (again??), slight infantilization, doting Caleb, slight predator/prey dynamic, pathetic Caleb agenda, minor injuries, drooling, p in v, HUGE dick, masturbation, spitting, filthy filthy $mut, size difference, cvmming inside, begging caleb, he whines, making out, slightly maniuplative caleb
a/n. it's finally here...this one took me way too long lol. some minor things: in this AU humans can breath on pandora for minutes at a time without a mask. ur girl gotta have more time to make out w the aliens LOL. oh and also, brown skin is mentioned like once, but this is just to refer to human skin (since all skin tones are shades of brown, whether light or dark) not to make the reader insert a certain race.
Your breaths come in ragged, panicked pants, each puff fogging up the cracked glass of your mask. Your brain screams at you to move. Your body stays locked up, though, pinned against the rough bark of a tree.
The edge of an oxygen mask glints alluringly in the midday sun— untainted, uncracked, with advanced tech you know will last you months, but it lays about twenty feet away. And that’s twenty feet deeper into the foreign, bushy wilderness.
Head thumping back against the tree, you spare a few seconds to think. Most people, if not everyone in that lab, are getting killed or already dead. It’s likely still teeming with those hostile Na’vi, so it’s not like you’ll be able to go back anytime soon.
Fuck, this is what I get for applying for this position, you curse internally, gritting your teeth. Some shady military op that’s apparently trying to conquer an alien planet and put scientists like you, who were just trying to understand alien life, in danger.
Oxygen leaks out of your mask with a steady hiss. Your breaths grow shallower, chest tightening. You need that mask. Even if it risks giving up your hiding spot.
Slowly, you crawl out into the open, tufts of plush grass tickling your palms. You keep glancing surreptitiously towards the base, half expecting a screeching Na’vi to pounce at you at any second.
The mask is ten feet away. Now five. You’re about to make the final stretch. But first, you feel it: a little tingle on your skin, a dark inkling that something is wrong.
Then, you see it.
Two dark eyes are pinned on you, peeking through the thick foliage. A zap of terror shoots through you. Instead of recoiling back, you freeze, chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with your lack of oxygen.
Time stands still.
Move, you snap at yourself internally, but you can only stay petrified, mouth agape, on your hands and knees, arm still reaching for the mask like an idiot.
Would moving even make a difference? The other part of your brain laments. It’s not like I could compete with a Na’vi’s speed.
Then, the branches part. The being reveals himself, all long, blue limbs toned with muscle. A male, you realize, unable to do much but stare right back at him. A bow is slung over his back.
Your heart pounds, fully anticipating him to just whip out an arrow and shoot you right there. But his gaze isn’t predatory or malicious, no— it’s sharp with curiosity, almost wide with surprise at seeing a human in these forests. He’s not one of those hostiles, then?
Even through his messy, brown hair, you can see that he dawns markings that don’t correlate with any tribes you’ve seen. With your experience in studying the Na’vi, you quickly catalogue potential identities. A lone hunter? A nomad?
He steps closer, and closer yet, until he’s just a foot away. Brilliant bright eyes— violet, you realize— drop from you, to the sought-after mask, before shooting back up to you.
Then, with all the grace and elegance of a cat, he crouches down and plucks the mask from the ground.
Desperation rising, you blurt, “No!”
He was merely turning the object in his large palms, inspecting it, but at your outburst he pauses, head slowly raising to stare at you. You resist the urge to clasp a hand over your mouth.
What were you thinking, yelling at this lethal alien? But he hasn’t killed me yet, when Na’vi are known for ending their victims relatively quickly, you ration. So maybe I have a chance?
Your oxygen mask beeps in warning, drawing his endlessly fascinated gaze. You need that mask.
“I mean,” you try again, this time in the basic Na’vi you picked up while studying, “that’s mine.”
The Na’vi tilts his head. Then his lips twitch, sharp eyebrows lowering, as if pleased by hearing you speak to him.
The one-sided conversation is interrupted by a loud crash from the base.
Both of your heads snap in the direction of the base. There’s another crash, accompanied by the screeching of approaching Na’vi that gets louder by the second. The takeover hasn’t stopped. It’d been just moving throughout the base, and now it’s moving towards you.
Finally, you scramble up, forget about that stupid mask, and run.
You don’t know where exactly you’re going. You just push through thick branches and foliage, hoping the vegetation will shield you from the hostiles’ eyes. But then you realize there’s a second set of footsteps behind you.
You shriek as a long arm binds around your waist, tugging you flush against a firm chest. A large blue hand grabs both of your flailing arms easily, and you’re hauled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
At first, you want to kick and fight some more, but when you look back at the wrecked base, distance from it growing with each of the Na’vi’s long strides, you see the building shake with a low boom, and arrows whiz past the interior. He’s saving you. And though you have no idea where you’re going, as long as it’s away from the mass slaughter taking place in there—
You can only tuck your face against the Na’vi’s neck and pray.
You feel him mount you on something, and you peek just a bit and see that he’s ushered you on an screeching ikran. “Wait,” you panic, squirming to look up at him, but he only glances down airily, before shoving your face into his broad chest with a large palm.
You suppose you should be grateful for the way your view is hindered as the ikran rocks and takes off shakily, as you’re positive you would’ve vomited everywhere if you were forced to see the treetops far below. You still squeal though, clutching at the Na’vi’s torso like it’s a lifeline, eyes squeezed shut. You swear you feel his chest rumbling with laughter against your cheek.
It’s been minutes when world tilts again, air rushing past your ears. You can feel yourself soaring up, steeper, before suddenly the ikran lands with surprising grace, and you’re on stable ground again.
The Na’vi wastes no time in dismounting and taking you up in his arms again. Finally, you open your eyes. The area is lush with vegetation, but it’s clearly distinct from where the base was. Jagged rocks jut out against hills, creating interconnected networks of caves that extend outwards in different openings.
He takes you to one of them. You assume it’s his longtime home, as it’s entrance is veiled by a net woven with beads and wooden vines. He lifts the veil, revealing a spacious interior that glows with bioluminescent fauna that glows dimly even midday. As he sets you down, you can only marvel at the space, curiously taking in a Na’vi den you’ve only studied on computer screens— yet this one seemed decisively different. Most Na’vi homes were villages, clusters of netting and treehouses that were interconnected, built alongside nature, but never the nature itself, like this cave you’re in. There were some similarities, such as the woven net covering the cave that extends slightly to create a hammock-like structure, before dipping to cover the cold stony floor, that suggested he’d settled here for long enough. He must not be a nomad then. But there’s no village in sight— so what is he?
Your thoughts are cut off when you’re lightly shoved onto the hammock without any warning.
You twist, only to see the Na’vi kneeling over you. “What— hey!”
Your words are in English, but he still seems to sense your distress. “Calm down,” his voice is surprisingly soothing even when he’s speaking an alien language. “I just need to fix you up.”
He gestures to a shallow gash on your shin that you didn’t even know was there. Huh.
“But first…” he delicately hands you the oxygen mask. You take it eagerly, discarding your old one. The Na’vi watches, fascinated by the sight of your face without a barrier, but you’re quick to clasp on the new mask, eyes averted.
You sigh in relief, the tightness in your lungs fading with just a few breaths of the recycled air. Yet, you tense up again when lithe fingers grip your shin.
Now it’s your turn to watch in fascination as the Na’vi brings out what looks like a giant pestle bowl and grind up some sort of herbs, the plants bleeding an alarmingly neon green color that honestly looks poisonous— but it’s not like you’re in any position to complain, so you just let him work. You shift your feet a little, feeling ridiculously out of place. He’s quiet, probably concentrated on his work, but your human mannerisms and curiosity urge you to fill the silence with conversation.
“So…” you clear your throat, straining your tongue to wrap around the foreign vowels of Na’vi to tell him your name, before adding, “what’s your name?”
“Ca’leb,” he answers simply.
“Caleb…” you probably mess up an accent or two, but that’s the least of your worries. Mindfully, as not to be rude to your host, you ask, “why did you save me?”
“Well, you were in danger,” Caleb hums simply, and you jerk when his long fingers apply the cool herbal salve along the stinging cut. As his grip shifts to unnecessarily cup your calf in a gentle caress, his violet gaze shimmers in the glowing fauna, intense yet almost shy. “Besides, I’ve never seen a human up close before. I just had to take you.”
Ooookay, you flush, refusing to meet his insistent gaze, I might be stuck with this weird loner Na’vi for a while. At least he’s healing me?
“Alright,” you clear your throat, “thank you. It was…awful back there.”
Caleb shifts closer, slender tail flicking behind him excitedly as he practically lounges on the hammock with you, sturdy netting barely dipping under his weight. “You’re welcome. In fact, I’m surprised you even got away. Humans seem very fragile…can I?”
You don’t even have a chance to reply before he’s practically feeling you up, large hands lifting and turning over your smaller limbs, eyes wide with intrigue. He pokes and prods at your ribs and thighs, drawing quiet noises of shock from you. His hands go up, pushing up the fabric of your shirt, exposing your stomach and almost—
You shove his hands away urgently, letting out a snap. “Don’t you even try going there! Please,” you add quickly, anxious about angering him.
Instead, Caleb looks sad, eyes widening and lip jutting, tail curling backwards dejectedly.
Huh. Strange equating this lethal creature to a puppy, but here we are.
To his credit, he gets over it relatively quick, a pleasant expression making its way back on his face. He tugs his hands away, as if just now realizing that personal space would be nice, especially after the frightful event you just experienced.
More alert now, he stands to his towering height and tucks some furs around you. “Get some rest,” he orders, heading towards the entrance of the cave, where he perches, bow by his side. “I’ll keep watch and make sure no hostile tribes followed us here.” You blink, watching him leave rather abruptly.
You’d think falling asleep in such an unfamiliar place is hard, especially when said place is the wilderness of an alien planet. Yet, with the soft elastic material beneath you and a hide pulled up to your chin, it’s not long before you’re in a land of dreams.
When you wake, the sun hangs low in the sky. Sitting up, you notice Caleb’s steady form is gone from the opening. Apprehensive mingles through you: you didn’t exactly want your only source of protection gone when you were out here in the wilderness.
Meekly, you stand— ignoring your stinging shin— and creep out of the shelter, lifting the netting to step out onto the grass. Glancing around doesn’t give you any more insight on where you are as you’d hoped. Well, it’s another forest, you think dryly, blinking up at the towering trees around you.
“What are you doing outside?”
You turn at the sound of his voice. Gone is the innocent exterior he held; Caleb’s glaring, sharp brows lowered and jaw clenched. Slung over his shoulder is a bloody carcass of some sort of creature, and despite his softness earlier, you find the violence comes eerily natural to him. You swallow thickly.
“I woke up and was just wondering where you went,” you stammer, and his expression slowly relaxes. He really can switch up, huh? You wonder. Are all Na’vi like this?
“Alright,” with a hand on the small of your back, you’re ushered back inside. “Right on time for dinner. Just don’t walk on your injury, yeah?”
You nod, perching back on the hammock. You watch him bring the animal just outside the cave, where he sparks up a small flame. You choose to look away as he hacks at the meat with a knife into tiny cuts— you’ve been on this planet for a while, but as a scientist, your exposure to the wilderness and camping has been limited to cooking smores back on Earth. Eventually, though, Caleb returns with a steaming plate of roasted meat, with a side of what looks like grain and herbs. It’s not any human food, but just the smell of it is enough to make you salivate.
“Thank you,” you eagerly reach for the bowl, but Caleb merely pulls it back an inch, shaking his head with a smile.
“Let me feed you. You should save your energy,” and he’s perching right next to you on the hammock, scooping some food onto a spoon.
“Oh, no, I’m alright—”
He’s already holding out a spoonful. “Say ahh!”
Reluctant, you lift your oxygen mask, leaning forward to take a bite. Caleb watches your expression, enraptured, as you chew and swallow. You give him a strained smile— the food is amazing, but having him be so attentive is a bit embarrassing.
“Delicious,” you comment as you slip the mask on for a second to steal some breaths of oxygen. Caleb lights up at the praise, lips splitting with a smile, big eyes glimmering.
“Good. Eat it all, then. You need strength, yawntutsyìp,” you have no idea what that nickname means, but you continue letting him feed you.
“You should eat too.”
“I will, later.”
“Alright,” eating and rushing a few breaths of oxygen doesn’t exactly leave any room for speaking, but your curiosity really knows no bounds. “What animal is this?”
“It’s a syìl*,”*** Caleb seems eager to hold a conversation, so he doesn’t mind when you eat slower to rush out some questions. “Herds of them are plentiful around these forests, especially less than a mile north.”
“Oh,” you’ve heard of those deer-like creatures in your research. Knowing that you’re tasting one makes you feel an absurd amount of giddiness. “You seem very knowledgeable about these parts.”
“I am. I’ve lived here for quite a while.”
“But I don’t think there are any tribes or villages nearby,” you are careful to tread lightly. As familial bonds are deeply sacred to the Na’vi, and his isolation is not only deeply baffling and rare, the subject may be a sensitive one. “Do you live here alone?”
But Caleb looks unfettered and merely nods. “Yes.”
You press your lips together in thought, but you have to quickly part them again to take the spoon in your mouth again when he insistently waves it around. It seems like this is all you’re getting out of him today, because by the time your bowl is empty, he’s pushing you to lie back into the hammock.
“Sìltsan,” he coos, brushing a palm over your head as you lay down, “good, good job. Now just go to sleep, yeah? You’ve had a long day.”
You’re too tired to even bristle at his doting— does he seriously think humans are a kind of pet or something?— dozing off under his persistent, gentle pats. You sleep deep enough that you don’t stir when he curls up beside you later.
You learn a few things about Caleb in the next days that pass.
One, being that he’s alarmingly attentive.
You’ve woken up at least 3 times with Caleb’s bright eyes pinned on you in the dark of the night. You at first wondered if he was irritated— did you take too much of the pelt, leaving him chilly? Or were you hogging too much space? You attempted to resolve this by shifting away from him one night, ensuring you don’t brush against him. He didn’t take too much of a liking to that, tugging you close again with his long limbs and nuzzling into your hair. You had squeaked, offput, but said nothing. Perhaps you should’ve, because now these nightly cuddles have become a habit. But you don’t want to complain to your ever-accommodating and considerate host. Maybe he’s just lonely, you think, wide awake in the dark cave as Caleb’s breath brushes your hair, arms heavy around you. And really does see you as some sort of pet. Or comfort object.
And that’s another thing: he’s very much completely alone.
Sure, Na’vi travelling alone for some time isn’t absolutely unheard of, but they always return back to their villages. From what you’ve heard from Caleb, he’s never spoken of any relatives or past tribes. And he speaks a lot.
Not that you’re complaining. Most of it is about any fauna or wildlife he brings back to the cave. You’re always quick to stop him before he can cook everything, inquiring about each thing incessantly. He mirrors your enthusiasm, happily rambling out information like they’re not the greatest gems of knowledge for a scientist like yourself. Sometimes, he loves talking about his flying practices in particular, how he maneuvers his ikran and soars over the clouds. You wish you had a notebook to write these stories down sometimes, so you can show them to…
To who? You huff at yourself. The corpses of those scientists back at the base?
You grimace at your own gruesome thoughts. There’s no telling if anyone survived back there, but there had to be more human bases around, right? Though being a cuddle-buddy to an alien out in the wilderness isn’t the worst fate, you have every intention of exploring the possibility of reuniting with other humans later.
You two manage to develop some semblance of a normal routine over the next few days. By the time you wake, Caleb is back with some early-morning catch, and you sometimes help cook it into breakfast, before loitering around all day trying to chase boredom, through the various efforts Caleb endorses. Escaping from civilization for a bit is fun at first.
The first few days you’re taken with the idea of weaving, spending hours trying to loop some vine around a stick. “It’s kinda like crochet,” you realize, slowly going through the motions that Caleb had previously guided you through— “Upwards, then around, then through,” he had instructed, larger hands cradling yours with a delicacy that made you flush.
Caleb just tilts his head. “What is crochet?”
You tell him, and he listens with endless fascination. That’s another thing about Caleb; he loves listening to you speak, however basic your Na’vi, about human life. You tell him about the plants on Earth, the things you used to eat, hobbies, even the boring stuff like jobs and work and traffic. But he just listens, head propped up in his hand, staring so intently you wonder if he’s even listening or if he’s just staring because he wants to.
But eventually, talking about civilization makes you miss it with each word you blurt. And by the— tenth? or eleventh—day, you’re completely over this little vacation.
“Caleb,” you say, in the middle of him braiding back your hair for bed— you’ve long since given up trying to protest this. “Do you think it’s about time I went back out and explore for other humans? I’ve been here a while.”
His fingers pause against your scalp. “Why?”
You blink. “Well, because…I can’t exactly stay here forever. I’m human.”
His fingers continue their strokes, and his tone is more playful than curt this time. “And why not, huh?”
You’re surprised how much the question catches you off guard. Caleb is harmless, that much is sure, even if the large creatures he drags back after each successful hunt is a bit alarming. And it’s not like you have anyone you’re missing back on base or even on Earth— that’s why you signed up for this job, anyways.
“Because,” you huff stubbornly, ducking your head. “That’s just how it is.”
He finishes your braid without another response. But you still haven’t gotten a clear answer from him.
“So, I’ll probably go back out and search tomorrow.”
“No.”
You frown, twisting back to glance at him over your shoulder. “…no?”
His brows are furrowed, azure cheekbones taut with barely-concealed irritation. “No. There’s no telling how many hostiles are still out there. You could be attacked immediately.”
“But how much longer am I supposed to wait? Have you seen any signs of danger nearby?”
Caleb’s eyes widen, before he quickly averts them, almost guiltily. “Signs, yeah. Footprints and such.”
“Right,” you sigh, disbelieving. “So I should just sit here forever then.”
His face softens, and he reaches out to pinch at your cheek. “Don’t be upset,” he croons. “You’re a fragile human*.* There are many creatures waiting in the wilderness to catch you. I wouldn’t want my yawntutsyìp to be in danger, would I?”
“No,” you respond leniently, and he beams, pleased, tail swishing behind him. “No, you wouldn’t.”
But when Caleb curls up beside you that night, steady pats bewitching you into slumber, you form a plan.
You know his schedule by now; every morning, right before the sun has risen, Caleb gets up to hunt.
You remember it because you stir awake every time you feel the hammock shift beneath you, the loss of his body heat. You usually end up turning over and get right back to dozing off.
But today, you don’t let yourself drift off when you feel Caleb sit up. To fake being asleep, you continue inhaling and exhaling deeply, breaths hissing out of your oxygen mask.
A palm brushes over your head, and then a quiet sniff against your hair. Woah, is this part of his normal morning routine too? It takes everything in you to not flush and turn away. Finally, after a bit more nuzzling than needed, you feel his presence depart.
You wait a few more minutes to just make sure he’s really gone, breath held, body tense, before your eyes slide open. Sure enough, the cave is empty, the dim fluorescent fauna illuminating all crevices and corners and confirming that you’re alone.
As you rise and exit the cave, looking over the darkened forest, you rethink your decisions just a little bit. What exactly was the plan after this? You suppose you should at least get to a high place and see if you can spot any structures down below, or even if some humans can spot you and extract you. You’d explore for a few hours, you decide, until the sun rises. And if you don’t return before Caleb gets back, then you’ll just apologize.
I don’t owe him anything anyways, you think as you weave past trees., trying to feel less guilty. Sure, he saved me and all, but I’ve only known him for a week. It’s not like I’m obligated to stay with him.
The actual outcome is not as easy as you hoped.
Sure, finding and traversing an inclined hill was easy enough— aside from how you end up with raw marks on your skin from sharp thorns, leaves and branches in your hair. Your struggles are for nothing.
Because when you look over the edge, you don’t see any buildings or structures amidst the treetops. No, you only see mist, tinged pink from the sunrise.
It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not mist. It’s clouds. He took you to one of those floating sky islands.
Your stomach tilts with unease. Just how far up are you? How far away did he take you from any other living, sapient being?
You’ll never be able to get back down to civilization without his willingness to help, will you?
Your revelation is broken off by a crack of a branch below you. You whip your head down so fast you’re surprised you don’t roll over.
His chiseled torso is smeared with blood. You know better than to think it’s his own. A carcass is already hiked up over his back.
Caleb. He’s standing there, meters below you, looming on the forest floor, gleaming eyes pinned on you even from this distance. And he looks livid.
Long dark hair frames the sharp edge of his tense jaw, falls just over his furrowed brow. It’s a look you’ve never seen on him. Unhinged, feral.
He just stares. You stare back. You don’t know why you feel the urge to run. This is Caleb. He’s cared for you, saved you. Logically, there’s nowhere you can go. But a more primitive part screams at you to get away.
But this is Caleb. He’d never hurt you.
You run.
There’s nowhere run except down, so you make a mad dash down the hill, the swoop of gravity boosting your speed and sparking a rush of exhilaration in your chest. Those branches are clawing at you, tugging at your clothes as if the planet itself was against you, but you push through, breaking into a clearing. You pause for a moment, turning and looking at all possible directions. Before you can decide where to go, you hear the padding of large footsteps on the muddy ground.
It seems you may have become his next hunt.
You panic, turning just in time to try and spring the other direction. But, like the skilled hunter he is, he’s already directly behind you. A hand clasps around your arm, tugging you so that you’re flush against his large body. You wail in discomfort as the glass of your mask is forced against his blood-stained abs, before he’s hauling you off the ground. You shriek, limbs thrashing until he traps them between your bodies, subduing your struggles entirely, and easily begins walking.
“C-Caleb,” you cry, his arms crushed too tight around you, like a deadly snake. “Caleb!”
He shushes you sharply, arms tightening possessively around you. You let out a strained sound in protest.
His feet stop abruptly, and you startle at the sound of another voice.
“What do we have here?”
Caleb physically tenses against you. You wish you could twist around, see who has appeared behind you, but the apprehensiveness radiating off Caleb keeps you obediently still.
Maybe Caleb was just using a very basic dialect of Na’vi with you, because when he speaks to this unknown stranger, you find you can barely understand a full sentence. As they exchange words, you only understand a few phrases; “live nearby” and “friendly” and “mate.”
Mate?
The stranger’s tone darkens, deepening into one that almost seems like he’s lecturing or berating Caleb for something. You make a quiet sound of fear, half expecting to hear the sound of a bow being drawn in your direction— the clamor of the attack on your base still wracks in your head like warning bells.
The conversation quiets at your noise, as if both Na’vi are observing you. Then the stranger barks out a final order, “get going then.”
You feel Caleb continue walking, this time with more urgency.
You’re silent on the way back. When he sets you down on that damn hammock again, you want nothing more than to bury your face somewhere, stomach in knots.
He’s silent, too, uncharacteristically so, as he sets his bow and hunt away and kneels down in front of you. He keeps his gaze fixed stubbornly to your scraped knees, rubbing salve on every tiny nick.
You don’t think you can take the carefully neutral look on his face, the way his eyes avoid yours. “Caleb,” your voice cracks on the syllables. He doesn’t regard you, staying intent on his work.
You tear off the oxygen mask with a hiss, freeing your sight of the murky glass, and swallow painfully. “Caleb. I-I’m sorry, okay? I just thought I’d be able to get rescued by some humans— Caleb,” you cry when he dips his lead lower, brown strands shielding his face. His incredibly tall body, now shriveled up, hunched over till he’s short enough to avoid your eye.
“You know what that Na’vi wanted back there?” he grits out, and you freeze at the sound of his voice. You’ve never heard it this dark; it’s worrying. “He saw you and questioned your presence. He wasn’t part of those hostiles, but the Na’vi know. They all know the intent of most humans who come here, so they assume the worst of every one of them. If he found you before I did…”
His cadence dips. His back shudders as he heaves a shaky breath, blue skin rippling with muscle. Your body reacts before your brain can think, and you’re brushing his hair away from his face, reaching down to cup his face.
“I know, I’m sorry, okay?”
He melts. Violet hues finally raise, wide and shiny. When they flit around and land on yours, his pupils slowly expand, swallowing the irises like a black hole.
“Why did you leave?”
“Because…I have to go back to civilization. It’s not like I can live in the wilderness forever.”
“Why do you want to go back?” Caleb shakes his head, lips trembling. “You’re not like those humans, who just want to conquer and destroy. You can’t truly be happy there. It’s selfish of me, but…” a large palm cups your cheek, stroking your bare skin reverently. “I want you by my side.”
Your lips part in surprise at his declaration. Your heart squeezes— because you know it’s the truth. Just coming to terms on what the company you had worked for was doing, and witnessing the sheer massacre they were willing to provoke from the natives, the countless employees they sacrificed for a greedy and entitled cause was hard enough, but Caleb laid it all out for you. Living with a Na’vi in just this short amount of time showed you what could have been lost because of a human conquest— the tradition and livelihood, sure, but the smaller things, like breakfasts, homemade salves, woven hammocks. What are your options if you return to civilization? It’s either on an overpopulated, dying Earth, or supporting a cause that will destroy the things you’ll come to love.
You feel lightheaded, not just from the heavy, foreign air, but from your heavy thoughts as well. But you don’t slip on the mask if it means it’ll ruin how his skin brushes yours.
Thankfully, Caleb doesn’t seem to expect a response right away just yet, standing to perch beside you. You steal some breaths of oxygen but ultimately keep the mask off, refusing to put any barriers between you two again. He stays close, tail flicking anxiously behind him.
“Did I…scare you back there? Why’d you run?”
“A little, I mean, I guess the sight of you angry and covered in blood was a bit off-putting.” You admit sheepishly.
Caleb laughs, hanging his head, pretty smile softening his features. You can’t help but laugh with him.
“I’m sorry. I just sensed another Na’vi nearby and knew I had to get to you. You’re not hurt anywhere else, right?”
You shake your head, but he frowns, leaning in closer. “But wait, your face…”
“Oh,” you realize, reaching up to feel a few small nicks. “Just some branches scratched me up a bit. No big deal.”
But he leans even closer, until you’re gasping, quickly leaning back so your noses don’t brush. “You need to be more careful,” he breathes, brows still drawn together. He cups your face with both hands, an expression of fretfulness flashing across his features that was so intense it was almost comical— though you held your laugh, not wanting to make fun of his concern.
“Poor thing, your face is all cut up,” Caleb practically whines, thumbs darting to brush every mark. Your cheeks heat under his touch.
“Please, it’s not that bad—”
“Shh,” his nose brushes yours, and he simply caresses your face for a few moments, as if his touch alone could heal you.
“Caleb,” you murmur, muffled by the way he smushes your cheeks slightly.
“Hmm?”
“What all did that man say back there?”
“Oh,” his eyes lowered, a purplish hue staining his cheekbones— is he blushing? “Like I said, he’s a head of a tribe nearby and was just patrolling around their territory. When he saw me with a human…well, he was naturally just appalled. But it’s okay! I just let him know that you were friendly to Na’vi, harmless, and my mate.”
“What?’
“Not that you are,” Caleb blurts, backtracking. “Or that you aren’t. Well, I mean, I had to defend you somehow. But he was obviously taken aback, saying how it’s against Eywa. But…I’ve never been too firm of a believer in that, have I?”
His tone dips to a more sultry one that makes your heart pound. “He says it’s against nature. That something interspecies wouldn’t benefit Awaang. But…” his hand slides down your arm sensually, sending goosebumps in his wake, “I haven’t been much for following the norm, or what’s seen as right.”
Caleb’s lips are a breath away. Your heart pounds. “I’ve never desired anything as much as I’ve desired you,” he pants raggedly, before crushing his lips to yours.
You melt immediately, hands tangling in his long locks and tugging, and he whines against your lips, suckling and biting. Caleb’s kisses aren’t gentle or perfect; they’re eager and sloppy. He licks into your mouth and pushes you onto your back, hulking body enveloping you entirely, shielding your arching and squirming body from the world.
“I’ve never asked for anything, except for you,” he rasps, before sealing the words with a rough kiss,“Eywa couldn’t possibly deny my only request, right?
You squeak against his mouth as he ravages your lips, struggling to keep up with his hunger with your own meek kisses. He finally breaks away with a last wet smooch, glossy lips parting, drool smudged down the corner of them.
“Caleb,” you wheeze quietly, and he’s scrambling to press the oxygen mask to your face, concern bleeding past his arousal.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, can you breath?” Caleb rushes, biting his swollen lip as you take deep, hissing breaths. “I’m so sorry, I did it for too long, I’m sorry,” he gasps again, leaning back off of you to give you some space. You’re not having any of that.
Once you’ve taken a few deep breaths, you’re tossing the mask aside and kissing him again.
Caleb whimpers like he’s in heaven, sagging back over you, pecking and licking at the seam of your lips. He’s gentle at first, as if still concerned about your respiration, but he quickly loses himself, his hunger growing by the second. It seems like he’s taken advantage of the opportunity to pick up exploring your anatomy again from that first day he met you, hands eagerly bunching up your shirt just past your ribs, slipping under to squeeze your tits until you arch and mewl. His other hand wastes no time in sliding down, slipping under your pants to caress your bare thigh, claws tantalizingly close to nicking your soft skin.
When he takes your bottom lips between his sharp teeth and sucks, you can’t repress a quiet moan. The sound makes him harden against you—you can feel the press of it from where it presses against your thigh, and it feels huge.
When Caleb breaks apart again, a string of saliva pulls taught until it snaps, and he wipes it away with a swipe of his thumb. Gently, he rubs the glass of the oxygen mask clean, before securing it back over your face.
His calm actions are at odds with the pained look on his face; you twitch needily at the expression of longing, in his furrowed brow and parted lips.
“Fuck, yawne,” he pants, sitting up to reach for the loincloth around his waist. “Please, need you so bad, please please—”
“Yes,” you gasp, pushing off your already-strewn clothes—first, you kick off your pants and panties, before lifting your shirt and bra off and tossing it aside. Caleb watches the unfamiliar clothing with enrapturement, glowing eyes particularly caught on your discarded panties. His long fingers grasp the cloth, brushing it reverently.
He’s shoving off his loincloth with the other hand, and you are not prepared for the sight of his cock; it bobs up immediately, smacking against his blue abdomen, and it is large. The size of your forearm, almost? Your thighs clench with arousal at the thought.
Caleb groans, brushing the head of his leaky tip with his thumb, before beginning to jerk himself off right in front of you. His bright eyes are pinned to you, raving over your human anatomy, and his abs clench deliciously as he tries not to cum immediately.
Your face heats, and you squirm underneath his heady stare, pussy clenching around nothing. “Please, pretty,” he begs sweetly, scooting a bit closer. “Just need to get myself ready for you, I’m so hard. Need your spit.”
You stare blankly, quietly shocked at his lewd words. “Your spit, hahh,” he clarifies, head rolling back in pleasure, till he’s staring through half-lidded eyes. “Please spit on me.”
You snap out of your daze, leaning your face forward towards his cock. It twitches, a zap of pleasure shooting through it just from your attention alone. You purse your lips and let a wad of pearly saliva land right on his leaky tip and slide down his shaft, highlighting every thick vein in it’s wake.
“Nghh, fuck,” he almost sobs, quiet schlicks from his cock as he begins to pump it with your spit as lube. “Thank you, thank you.”
You’ve never been more soaked in your life. “Caleb,” you wail, shifting your thighs apart eagerly to reveal your swollen pussy, throbbing with need. He gapes at the sight of it, awe and thirst settling on his face now. “Please just put it in. Need you.”
You know he can’t resist. He melts almost immediately, throbbing cock forgotten, settling his massive form between your thighs. He presses his face between them, hesitantly kissing the glossy folds like he’s worshipping at an altar.
You twitch, letting out a keening sound. “I know,” he cooes, brow scrunched as he nuzzles his nose against your thigh. “I just don’t know if I’ll fit, yawntutsyìp. Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Just put it in, fuck, need it—”
Caleb is nothing if not attentive to you.
Pulling back, he lines himself up, tip just nestled against your hole. He pushes in slowly, making your pussy squelch, walls fluttering so hard immediately it almost pushes him back out. Caleb’s jaw tenses as he tries to go slow, hips twitching eagerly and making his tip slipping in with a pop.
“Ngh, ohmygod,” you squeak, tight ring of muscle burning deliciously at the stretch. You buck your hips for more involuntarily, to which Caleb pins them down firmly with a single hand to your stomach—which only serves to press down against his tip bulging inside you, the pressure making your feet kick out in pleasure.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb rushes, but he doesn’t move his hand, ears pinned back and flushed. He only pushes his hips forward, feeding you inches and inches of his long cock until it presses deep past your gooey walls, poking directly into a bundle of nerves in you. His palm can feel his hard dick in you through your stomach, and just the thought has him spurting precum in you.
“Don’t you dare stop,” you pant before he can start apologizing again, chest heaving as you try to accommodate his size. Caleb’s eyes drop from your face to your alluring tits at that, and he’s dazedly leaning down before he even knows what he’s doing, taking a bud into his mouth eagerly.
“Cay,” you mewl, hands pushing and smacking at his abs, begging him to start moving and relieve you of the pressure. Finally, he blinks away the fog of arousal, maw unhinged against your breast, drooling on your tit as he begins thrusting.
He pumps slow and deep, tip ramming steadily against your g-spot. “You feel so good, can’t believe you can take me so well—” he rambles against your chest, ragged breathes brushing your hardening nipples.
Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clicking with each thrust and leaking all the way down his shaft, until it’s slathered in a creamy mess. Caleb finally lifts his head to look down at the sight, where blue meets brown, Na’vi meets human, where two worlds collide into lewd, forbidden pleasure.
His hips quicken at the sight, until he’s pounding into you, desperately chasing that pleasure again and again. You mewl with every thrust, cunt spasming around his shaft, wringing a pained groan out of him. Your thighs quiver, jerking every time his pelvis smacks against them wetly, the skin pinkened and raw.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m yours, don’t ever leave me,” Caleb blurts, and he feels your stomach spasm underneath his palm in pleasure. You nod drunkenly, lips parted.
“Hahh, yes Caleb, need you so bad!” You hiccup, not exactly aware of what you’re affirming, but his tail swings happily behind him all the same at the agreement.
“Ah, nghh,” his jaw drops again when you clench around his shaft; you swear he’s sheathed in so deep that he’s pressing up against your guts. It’s so full, combined with how his large palm presses your tummy down firmly. “That’s it, my perfect mate,” he grits out, eyes feral and wide with the need to fill you up.
You whine out when he shoves himself a fraction deeper, his leaky tip kissing into your cervix, brute size bruising your walls up. His cock presses up against every nerve ending, making you tense up with pleasure, thighs locked and toes curled.
“I’m gonna cum,” you squeal out, fists curling against his large pecs. “Please—please!”
Caleb doesn’t stop, hips pumping with an exactness that has you seeing starts. “Yeahh, cum all over my cock,” he begs, expression crumbling prettily as he nears his own release. “Let Ca’leb fill you up, please—”
You gush around his shaft with a squeal, pussy clenching down hard when you cum, your smaller feet kicking and curling against the hammock as shocks of pleasure rack through you. Caleb cums immediately at the sensation, and like the rest of him, his load is huge— it doesn’t all fit in your tiny stomach, leaking steadily out of your messy cunt.
Caleb doesn’t even pull out when he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush your body. You don’t complain, heartbeat pounding in your ears as the rush fades, leaving you satiated and sleepy.
You both lay there exhausted for who knows how long, before Caleb suddenly lifts his head from your chest, blinking at you.
“I forgot to make and feed you breakfast. You must be hungry.”
“Mmm, no, Caleb. Not hungry.”
“But you can’t sleep if I haven’t braided your hair,” he complains quietly, frowning. “Then I won’t be taking care of you properly.”
“Trust me, you’ve taken care of enough,” you huff, turning over to nestle your face into his chest.
You’re both content to lay there, instead of going on with your usual schedule. You, because you have a place that feels like home now, doze off as you nuzzle into the hammock. And Caleb, because he finally has someone who belongs to him, sighs as he nuzzles into your hair.
your pussy was already raw and throbbing, swollen from how hard he’d been pounding you, his cum still dripping out from the last round. you thought he’d slow down, but sylus just groaned, pulled out, and hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting you off the bed like you weighed nothing.
“hold on to me, sweetie,” he muttered, voice low and rough, sweat sticking strands of hair against his forehead. his cock pushed back into you in one brutal thrust, bottoming out so deep your scream tore through the room.
“ahhh... ahhh... fuck, sylus! s-so deep...! hhnnngghhh...! y-you’re splitting me open!” you sobbed against his shoulder, clinging to him desperately while his cock pounded into your cervix.
he grunted with each thrust, eyes dark, jaw tight. “and you fucking love every second of it, don't you, kitten? getting fucked like this—you say that and you’re still squeezing me like this cock’s the only thing you need.” his hips snapped up hard, making you jolt.
“c-can’t—ahhh—too much—ahhh—fuck, it’s so big!” you wailed, voice breaking into filthy cries, your nails clawing down his back. “yeah?” he rasped, fucking you harder, the back of your thighs slapping against his thighs with every lift. “you always take it so good for me, baby. look at you—screamin’ for it like a good girl.”
your body trembled, squirt gushing out around his cock as he drilled up into you, making you cry out hoarsely. “ahhh... ahhh—sylus! i’m cumming—ahhhhh, f-fuck, i can’t...!” he groaned deep, grinding you down onto his cock, holding you tighter when your body shook violently in his arms. “there you go, baby. fuuuck... yeah, that's it... fucking cum on my cock.”
your dripping pussy kept convulsing around him, messy and soaking, slick running down his thighs as he never slowed. “sylus—ahhh—nnghh—‘m sensitive—too much—c-can’t think—ahhh!”
“shhh,” he husked against your ear, still pounding you mid-air, his voice a deep growl. “don’t need to think, sweetie. just hold on and let me fuck this pussy—you're not done.”
CW: 18+ (MDNI) oral, fingering, come spitting, voyeurism, overusage of pips/honey, Caleb larping as an omegaverse expert (he has no clue what he's talking about), Caleb/Zayne (snowapple), kind of ooc for Caleb & Zayne || Words: 3.3k || Summary: Caleb snoops through his gf's belongings and stumbles upon her BL fics.
A/N: Late bday gift for @losermuse!! I'm sorry that this took so long my brain went on strike </3 Love you lots musey muse!! <3333 Manifesting good grades and rest for you mwah 💙
also zayne has a dick piercing as requested by @harlotistic >:3
Anxiety settles between his ribs, trying to gnaw its way out. His throat going dry—it was just a kiss. A kiss with another man. Not just another man, but Caleb. The look on his mother’s face, perplexed with a hint of revulsion. Mrs. Li is going to tell dad. Dad’s going to—
How melodramatic this is, Caleb thinks. You’re spending time writing this? Caleb lets out a snort in disbelief. Well, it’s better than Pips getting in trouble and Caleb having to bail them out.
Any other person would be creeped out by their girlfriend writing stories about them and a close friend. Not Caleb. Pipsqueak is thinking about him. You see appeal in putting Caleb in fictional scenarios for your pleasure. Gosh, you probably rub your pussy to the thought of him and Zayne fucking.
A thought that goes straight to Caleb’s dick and thus Caleb’s grand plan was forming in his brain. Caleb flips a few pages ahead, curious to see how this story ends. An action that ends up being worthwhile.
Caleb’s fingers dig into Zayne’s hip, the bed creaking underneath the rough and quick snaps of his hips. Caleb’s free hand is wrapped around Zayne’s dick, feeling him throb in his hand.
Caleb’s eyes widen as he reads the explicit words before a slow exhale leaves him. He knew you were a freak. An apple that fell far from the tree but still inherited Caleb’s freakiness—you wouldn’t be his baby sister if you were normal.
—
“I’m not the one who said you were a bottom, it’s what her story implies,” Caleb says, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He leans back on the couch, stretching out his long legs, arms tucked behind his head. “It’s not my fault I’m an alpha, Zayne. I’m born this way.”
Zayne’s right brow quirks up, nimble fingers coming up to loosen the knot of his tie. “I’m not sure I’ve come to the same conclusion. Just because that Zayne was on the bottom once doesn’t make him a bottom.”
Your mouth parts then closes, what does one even say in this situation? Caleb and Zayne were never supposed to know about your little stories. When had an ad gone out for personal beta readers? You’re sat on the couch between Caleb and Zayne. They’ve been discussing your writing for the past fifteen minutes.
Caleb shrugs, “yeah but you have nice birthing hips.”
“I have what?”
“Nice birthing hips. So, you’d be the omega.” Caleb clarifies, leaning closer to you. Violet eyes meeting yours, “did I use the right term, honey?” Caleb’s looking at you like a dog waiting for praise but all you can do is gawk at him. This is not a conversation you could have predicted. Ever.
“I don’t have birthing hips! My hips are perfectly proportionate to my body. You have bigger tits than I do, Caleb.”
“And a bigger dick. That’s why I was designated the alpha.”
This argument is so ridiculous but it does earn a laugh from you. “Dick size doesn’t designate you as the alpha,” you finally speak up, the initial embarrassment has faded. Still, this isn’t an ideal situation. You’d rather Zayne and Caleb remain blissfully unaware about that slow burn fanfiction that ended with Zayne’s face being forced into the pillow as Caleb took him from behind.
“Yeah, Caleb.” Zayne agrees, his leg crosses over the other leg. “Besides, my dick is bigger. We measured it before, remember?” An amused hum leaves him, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose before he pushes it back up.
“That was like years ago. You hit puberty before I did!” Caleb retorts.
Wait what? Caleb and Zayne measured their dicks before? Teenage boys are so strange… Then again, measuring themselves is the most normal thing they could’ve done.
“There couldn’t possibly be a drastic difference from then to now.”
“Wanna bet? Let’s measure our dicks now. Pips, go get the measuring tape.”
Should’ve seen this coming from miles away—Caleb and Zayne have always been competitive. Rising from the comfortable couch, your arms raised above your head to get the most needed stretch. You head to the bedroom, straight to Caleb’s desk.
Organized. You didn’t even have to search, it was right there, waiting for this important moment. This was the night that the measuring tape settled a debate: who has a bigger dick?
From the bedroom, you can hear Caleb shout Zayne’s name in awe. What’s going on now, you wonder as you make your way back to the living room. Both men have stripped. Their clothes neatly folded and placed on the couch.
Caleb’s on his knees, his attention all on Zayne until he hears your footsteps behind him. He turns his head, “look at what Zayne has,” surprise coloring his tone. “Zayne, dude, show her.”
Zayne’s clears his throat, his ears glowing as bright as Rudolph’s nose. “I don’t know why he’s making such a big deal of it.”
One would assume that Caleb’s teasing Zayne about his size, oh no. Although, first glance at Zayne’s dick—impressive for being flaccid. However, it’s the shiny metal pierced into his skin that has all of the attention.
“A Prince Albert piercing!?”
Your eyes are wide, without much though you tug the ring, checking for authenticity. Dr. Li has a fucking dick piercing!
Zayne lets out a quick exhale through his nose at the gentle touch—sensitive one, isn’t he? “Is it that surprising?” he questions. “Everyone gets piercings.”
“But not everyone gets a genital piercing.” Caleb points out, his eyes drifting over to you. “Who knew Dr. Li could be so… hardcore, huh?”
A dick piercing isn’t that strange when it comes to Zayne. Zayne, who used to wear his fringe over his left eye (attempted to, his glasses would get in the way), and wore black eyeliner (that he stole from mama), and the skinniest jeans imaginable—he would definitely get a dick piercing.
Dr. Li who lectures you on eating healthier and going to bed at a decent hour, not so much.
“It’s so cool, Zayne! Maybe I should get a clit piercing…” Just an off-handed comment, is it something you would follow through on? Probably not. Your suggestion makes Zayne’s dick twitch in interest.
Movement that catches Caleb’s attention and his amusement. “Don’t those piercings heighten sensitivity? You’re already so sensitive, it’ll probably take a few rubs and you’ll finish before we even start.”
You roll your eyes at Caleb’s comment, “says the one who finished in his jeans just because my ass brushed against his crotch.”
Caleb sputters and then looks at Zayne, "that has never happened. She’s lying. A true alpha doesn’t finish before his girl.”
“Baby, you’re the omega in our relationship. You even said if we were seahorses, you’d gladly carry our babies and—“ Caleb’s hand covers your mouth. Caleb’s cheeks grow rosy; your boyfriend is not an easy guy to fluster. Usually he’s the one trying to embarrass you.
“Anyway! As the alpha, I say we should measure our dicks now before Pips tries to ruin my credibility.”
Clearing his throat, unsure hazel eyes dart from you to Caleb. “I suppose… if this is to be fair, we’d both need to be aroused.”
Caleb nods in agreement, “right, because some people are growers, not show-ers.”
Caleb’s hand caresses the back of your head, “honey, since you like Zayne’s piercing so much, why don’t you help him out?”
What? You were only going to be the unbiased dick measurer. Now, Caleb’s telling you to help another man get hard?
“Pfft, Zayne doesn’t need help. He can just think of someone hot or something.”
“He could,” Caleb agrees. “But I think you’d love the opportunity to play with his piercing.” Caleb has a point. He always has a point.
When your weary gaze catches Caleb’s, he only gives you a self-assured nod. Well, if your boyfriend wants you to help out a friend, how could you turn down the suggestion?
“You don’t mind, do you, Zayne?”
“Of course not.”
And what started out as Caleb and Zayne critiquing your writing has ended up with your tongue teasing Zayne’s tip. Warm metal slides over your tongue; kitten licks over his sensitive head that causes Zayne to grow embarrassingly fast, much like Caleb.
What an ego-boosting reaction.
Now that the surprise of Zayne’s piercing has waned, you’ve noticed how neatly groomed he is. Pubes trimmed down, the clean scent that clings to his skin, mixed with a hint of musk.
Caleb spits in the palm of his hand, “that’s right, Pips. Get him nice and hard. He’ll need all those inches to beat me.” He taunts. Caleb strokes himself lazily, his attention captured by his girlfriend sucking his friend off; arousal outweighs any potential jealousy.
Your lips stretch over Zayne’s girth, the additional weight of his piercing is an odd sensation. The metal clinks against your bottom teeth a few times as you bob your head up and down; sending a shiver down your spine.
Zayne lets out a heavy exhale through his nostrils, muscles tense from your oral ministration. His hand rests on the crown of your head, hips bucking forward to drive more of himself down your throat. You gag as his tip bumps the back of your throat.
“C’mon Pips, you’ve taken a bigger dick than his and you’re still gagging?” Caleb scoffs, giving himself a rough tug. “Is this just to boost Zayne’s confidence?”
You pull off Zayne’s dick, saliva strings from your mouth and his flared head. Zayne’s dick pulsates with need, slick with the mixture of saliva and precum. Instead of responding to Caleb’s tease, you grab the measuring tape.
The measuring tape stretches from Zayne’s tip to the base. “Seven and a half. Impressive, Dr. Li.”
Albeit a dull compliment, Zayne’s chest still inflates from praise.
“Seven and a half! I’m sure if you had a partner, they’d be thoroughly satisfied, dude.” Caleb says, clapping Zayne on the back.
“Regardless of size, I’m still very proficient with my hands.”
Caleb chuckles, “now that, I can’t refute.”
Caleb pushes forward, standing right in front of you. “Pips, I’m ready for my measurements to be taken.”
You repeat the measuring process with Caleb, tip to base, although it’s harder to accurately measure since Caleb’s dick curves upward. “Mm, it looks like eight and three-fourths.”
Caleb’s dick is bigger. The tape measurer does not lie. Even when they stand side by side, the size difference is obvious.
“See Zayne, it just makes sense for me to be the alpha in our relationship. You know bottoms have the smaller dick,” Caleb explains, smugness oozing from his words.
When did Caleb did a Ph.D in Omegaverse? He read the Omegaverse wiki and called it a day, apparently. “Caleb, dick size doesn’t determine status,” you remind him. Caleb only shrugs your reminder off. “Still, he has birthing hips. He’s submissive. And you wrote him as the bottom in your little fic,” Caleb points out with a hint of a smile on his lips.
After a moment, you rise from the floor. “Well,” you begin, your arms wrap around Caleb’s midsection, fingers trailing over the ridges of his spine. “This is reality.” Nails graze his skin, causing goosebumps to flourish on his skin. “And you’ve been acting more like a brat than anything else.”
“C’mon,” Caleb protests, dipping his head so that he could nuzzle into your neck. Uh oh! Caleb has equipped the puppy tactics, must stay strong. “I was teasing Zayne. You know, I have no clue about the alpha and omega stuff.”
“I know.”
Running your fingers through his dark brown hair, lips pressed against his ear before you speak, the warmth of your breath causes Caleb to shudder slightly. “That doesn’t free you from the consequences though, honey…” Honey, so patronizingly cooed in his ear.
“Down on your knees.”
Up and down goes Caleb’s Adam’s apple, skin prickling with the sudden desire to obey. Lovesickness is incurable—Caleb would never want to be cured anyway.
Your boyfriend sinks to his knees.
“Since Zayne doesn’t get laid often, why don’t you help our gege out?”
Zayne sputters, his hands going through the motions to tug at a tie that’s no longer around his neck. Laughter bubbles up from your chest at his reaction—it’s rare to see Zayne so flustered.
“Did I say something wrong?” You question with your head tilted, feigning innocence.
“N-no, it’s just…” Zayne stammers, pushing his glasses up. His words die off as Caleb’s tongue darts out to lick at Zayne’s tip—already mourning the loss of your saliva, all he can taste is the bitterness of Zayne’s precum. “You’re lucky she’s in charge, Zayne. You know the roles should be reversed,” Caleb huffs, his cheeks puffed out as if he was wronged.
Zayne lets out a breathy laugh. “Then you should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
Caleb’s eyes narrow, he doesn’t respond verbally. Instead Caleb’s cheeks hollow as he bobs his head back and forth. His hand stroking what he can’t fit into his mouth. He attempts to swallow Zayne down to the hilt, only to let out a wet and muffled gag once Zayne’s tip hit the back of his throat.
“You can do better than that, Caleb.”
Already, your body is sprawled out along the length of the couch. Your bottoms and panties discarded on the floor. “Honey, didn’t you train me to take your dick without gagging? Why don’t you use those skills on Zayne?” Your taunt makes Caleb’s dick throb and arousal spurt from his slit.
Your legs part, your hand finding their way between your thighs. Collecting your arousal on your middle finger, you spread it around your swollen clit. The sigh that escapes your lips is of pure relief.
Caleb’s tongue plays with Zayne’s piercing, causing Zayne’s hips to flex. Violet eyes meeting hazel ones; competitive but both share a common goal, and that’s making sure that you enjoy the show.
Zayne’s fingers thread in Caleb’s short strands, guiding Caleb’s movements. Caleb relaxes his jaw, his tongue swirling against the sensitive underside of Zayne’s length. Zayne’s head is thrown back; heavy pants and moans that can’t be contained, not with the way Caleb is working his cock.
Best seat in the house. Watching your boyfriend suck off his friend—the best gift ever. Even if it came at the cost of your mortification of Caleb and Zayne reading those stupid fics you wrote about them.
“Good boy,” you praise, shooting an encouraging smile in their direction.
“Zayne, make sure you encourage him too. He is the one servicing you.”
For a moment, Zayne looks dumbfounded.
Strong angular brows pull together in thought before he speaks up, “an alpha that’s good at sucking omega dick, how rare…” His ears and cheeks are crimson—the only time you’ve seen Zayne this red is after being out in the snow for hours.
You bite your lower lip to stifle the laugh but it comes out anyway. “Zayne, you can just encourage him like normal.”
Zayne clears his throat and nods. “Your mouth is immensely pleasurable.”
That does sound more like Zayne. You’ll help him work on his dirty talking later. Your finger prods at your entrance, slowly stretching out the muscle. Your finger pumps in and out, slick coating your skin.
Caleb pulls back, needing to fill his lungs with more oxygen. “Zayne, what the hell was that?” He questions, his free hand kneads Zayne’s balls. “Good looks, occupation, and dick size carried you through your first time, huh?”
Just as you’re about to open your mouth to reprimand Caleb, Zayne’s pushing back into his mouth. Caleb’s nose presses against Zayne’s pelvis, causing Caleb to choke from the girth forced down his throat again, eyes welling up with tears.
Zayne’s dirty talking may need work but not his taming skills.
“He’s so mouthy sometimes.” More than mouthy. What shuts Caleb up? You sitting on his face. Caleb look gorgeous when he’s on his knees. Long lashes with tears clinging to them, his lips slightly swollen and covered in a his saliva. Zayne’s not making it easy for him, fingers curled in Caleb’s hair, his hips pumping forward, and forcing Caleb to take every inch.
This is so much hotter than anything you could’ve written about.
Warmth begins to build in your lower tummy. Every deep thrust of your fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Caleb’s dick is drooling, throbbing from neglect. He’s cute this way. It’s the best payback for snooping and that ego of his. “Nn, fuck. Caleb’s learning fast, isn’t he?”
Zayne doesn’t answer. All of his attention is on Caleb.
You can see the moment Caleb’s jaw goes slack and he allows Zayne to drive into his throat. Rough pumps of Zayne’s hips that draw out strangled gasps, balls slapping against Caleb’s chin.
Flushed skin that sheens with sweat, fringes that are glued to their forehead, and spit bubbling from the corners of Caleb’s mouth—an ethereal scene that would be studied in art history 101 if Michelangelo had painted it.
Zayne’s glasses hang low on his nose, his pants heavy. Caleb’s looking up at Zayne through dark damp lashes; with his free hand, Zayne caresses Caleb’s cheek, thumb rubbing over his soft skin. “You’re going to be a good boy and swallow, right?” Zayne asks, voice strained before fading into breathlessness. His balls draw up towards his body, muscles tensing.
Caleb nods.
Zayne’s lips lift upward in a small smile, “that’s right. Good boy.” All it takes is a few more shallow thrusts into Caleb’s fluttering throat.
Knowing that Zayne is close makes your fingers speed up their pumps. Just have to time it right and you can come with Zayne. You have to remind yourself to keep your head up and eyes open, even with your orgasm creeping up your spine.
Missing the moment when Zayne spills in Caleb’s mouth would be devastating.
Zayne buries himself one last time in Caleb’s throat, his body momentarily stiff. Zayne’s release comes out in heavy spurts, filling Caleb’s mouth. “Fuh-fuck,” Zayne groans. Caleb gags, his eyes closing as Zayne’s creamy load coats his tongue. Just one taste and Caleb knows he still prefers your come on his tongue.
“Go ahead and swallow it, honey.” You encourage Caleb but he only pulls away from Zayne. His cheeks slightly puffed out, some spillage dripping down his chin. Caleb crawls towards your resting body on the couch.
“Open,” Caleb demands, angling his mouth to avoid spilling Zayne’s come.
Your brows shoot up at the request and you pause. Then your mouth opens. Caleb spits Zayne’s load into your mouth and you swallow. Just a slight tang—Dr. Li has a decent diet. Desperate lips connect with yours, his fingers immediately replacing yours, he collects your arousal on his index and middle finger.
Caleb has to touch you. Needs to touch you. Repent for being a terrible alpha—whatever that means. Caleb’s fingers press forward, velvety walls tense at the sudden intrusion. Caleb’s fingers are longer than yours, stretching you out. “Did I do a good job?” He asks in between kisses.
“Of course,” your back arches as Caleb hits a sensitive spot. “I could tell Zayne loved it. His ass clenches a certain way—“
“I’m sorry?” Zayne interrupts. He’s sitting in the armchair, catching his breath.
A soft laugh leaves you. “Don’t worry about it, nobody will notice unless they’re looking at your ass.”
Caleb’s thumb circles around your swollen nub. His tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours, trying to savor the combination of saliva and Zayne’s come that lingers behind.
Caleb moans into the kiss, fingers curling upward, rubbing that magic spot that always has you seeing stars. He breaks the kiss just to hear you cry out in ecstasy, body trembling in as your orgasm washes over you, gushing all over his fingers like you were made to do.
“Cute,” Caleb mumbles against your jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses on heated skin. His fingers stop moving, allowing you to compose yourself.
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