My name is Toby (he/him please) and please feel free to come chat to me!
Im unlikely to post much (if any) content on here as my main accounts are kept seperate, but i'll often repost a variety of content!
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I am currently hyperfixated on Love and deepspace, but will also interract with other fandoms, kink content, aerial/pole, art and sometimes cosplay.
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Quick disclaimer about my page, I am an ADULT. I will often engage with 18+ topics on this account, so please please Minors do not interract.
I may also interract with heavier 18+ topics including niche kinks and some mental health thingies so please interract at your own comfort!
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WE ARE PRO HUMAN RIGHTS. Which means trans rights, gay rights, women's rights, abortion rights, black lives matter, free healthcare and anti-war.
From that, ANY racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, or any other form of hate or bigotry, will not be tolerated by me, or on my page, so please leave - you are not welcome here.
NOTE; I am ANTI AI. I do not consent for my posts or works to be used to train AI. AI art is stealing.
I was rewatching Sylus’s Lingering Lust’s card on youtube and genuinely i need this man to bend me over a spank tf outta me and make me thank him for it… i am unwell and i miss my husband 😭
Instead of making you count each spank he does, and he tells you to say thank you after each one. If you don't say thank you, he has to start all over again. "One." you tremble as his hand connects with your ass, the sting making your eyes water "t-thank you..."
"Two." another slap rings through the room, and you swallow a moan. "Thank you..." he doesn't soothe the hits either, watching your skin bloom red. "Three." Same spot, worse sting. "T-thank you!"
Your mouth waters, watching the apples on the screen get brulee’d with a chef’s torch gun. The creator drones on about the recipe for apple crumble as they place a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of the plated dessert. Without a second thought, you swipe up on the video and send it to Caleb. Maybe he can make it when he gets back. You realize a little too late that he’ll see you sending recipes to him at two in the morning. He’s definitely going to scold you for staying up late when he checks his phone. You groan and turn over in bed, reaching for the pillow from his side of the bed. You grab onto it with both arms and bury your face into it, breathing his scent in deeply. You know he needs to log night time flight hours once every few months, and you know he’s only gone for a few days, but you hate that you feel this way every time he’s away. You find it hard to sleep without his arms around you, without his breath tickling your ear as he cuddles you from behind, without feeling his heart beating against your back.
You’re in the midst of feeling sorry for yourself when you hear your phone chime. You groan again, dreading the message you’re already expecting from him. You swipe to unlock your phone and peer at the screen.
> Can’t sleep?
You sigh, and start typing a message back.
< the bed’s not the same without you :(
He sends you a sticker - the red apple patting the smaller green apple’s head. You watch the animation, your chest aching a little.
> Poor Pipsqueak. Wanna do a video call?
< you aren’t busy? I thought you were flying tonight.
> Yeah, but I can do a quick call for a few minutes. Put this thing on autopilot.
You chew the inside of your cheek, considering it. You don’t want to be a burden, but you also miss seeing his face. You decide to take him up on his offer.
< ok, let’s do it :)
Almost immediately after you send the message, your phone starts to ring. You quickly answer it and are met with a view of Caleb’s forehead.
“Hang on,” he says, his voice slightly distorted. “I’ll prop you up on the panel.”
Your view shifts a few times as he tries to find space for his phone on the panel. Once you both have a good view of each other, he settles into his seat again, and grins at you from where he’s sitting. You return his smile, the ache in your chest softening.
“Hey,” you whisper, taking in the view. He looks good in the cockpit, with his hands on the controls, and you realize you like looking at him being in control. It suits him.
“What’s keeping you up?” he asks, flicking a few switches on the board in front of him.
You shake your head. “Just can’t sleep. Too much space in the bed.”
Caleb chuckles, his attention turning back to you. “I’ll be home soon. In the meantime, do you want to see the sky tonight?”
You nod eagerly, and he reaches for you again, adjusting your place on the panel. Soon, your view is of the outside of the windshield, and you can see the night sky. You gasp, taking in the sight of countless stars against the inky sky. Caleb is flying above the clouds, and the moon is nowhere in view, so all you can see are the countless tiny lights scattered across the windshield.
“Is this your view every time you fly at night?” you ask him, slightly breathless.
“Most times. Not bad, huh?” he chuckles again. “I wanna show you something.”
You see his hands come into view, waving to get your attention. “You see these stars?” he asks, pointing at ones that are shaped into a cluster that looks like an asymmetrical arrow. “This is cluster X-02AA.”
“So cool,” you breathe, waiting for him to continue with his astronomy lesson.
“But I like to call them the Pipsqueak constellation,” he muses.
Your heart flutters slightly, and you fight to keep your voice steady. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because they point in the direction of where we live. Because when I see them, I know that I can follow them and they’ll eventually lead me to you. Seeing them in the sky means that I get to see you soon.” Caleb’s voice softens at the end of his statement, and you feel a tear roll across your cheek. No doubt your pillow is going to be damp. You hope he doesn’t hear you sniffling as you wipe at your eyes.
“I can’t wait,” you tell him, trying to swallow your tears back.
He continues with the astronomy lesson, pointing out different stars and planets, naming constellations and telling you random facts about them as if they were his old friends. Your eyelids start to feel heavy, but you’re intent on trying to absorb as much information about the stars from Caleb as you can. However, your sleepiness wins the battle, and soon, you’re snoring softly, your phone face down on the pillow.
“Pipsqueak? You still there?”
Caleb listens to you breathe, smiling to himself. He keeps you on the line as he continues his flight, occasionally glancing back up the Pipsqueak constellation.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, hoping his voice will filter through to your dreams. “I'm sorry for making you wait. I’ll be home soon.”
He parts his legs for you, giving you plenty of room to settle down on his thigh. His hand comes away from his face, cigarette perched lazily between his ring and middle finger. A stream of smoke puffs from his nose like a dragon as his lips curl into a smirk. "It doesn't last long enough," Sylus says. "Can't I be allowed a little vice?"
You roll your eyes at him, but you can't deny the raw sex appeal he oozes like this. Lounging in his leather chair, whisky on the table beside him, wrist resting limp on the arm, smoke drifting through the room like a serpent.
He watches as you lean forward. You lay your chest against his, watching as you lift his hand toward your mouth. He turns the cigarette over between his fingers, facing the yellow-orange butt your way. His eyes flicker between your eyes and your mouth, watching with the haze of arousal and desire. You don't look away as you take a long drag, the amber glow burning the end into ash.
His other hand lifts to cradle the back of your neck. Cold metal rings touch your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. As you pull off the cigarette, he drops his hand off to the side and draws you in, meeting your lips with his before you can exhale.
He kisses you deep. Devouring. Lifts his leg to press you higher up in his lap. He groans softly into your mouth, nibbling at your lip, tugging on it as he pulls back.
Smoke slips from both your mouths. Wafts away with breaths heavy with desire. He doesn't look as he snuffs the last remnants of the cigarette in the ash tray, all to free both hands, to grab your hip and guide your leg until you're fully straddling him.
"You're going to kill me long before these things do," he rasps, eye glowing steadily brighter in the dim light. He draws you in again, sharing your air, lips only ghosting, watching your face. Watching your eyes, heavy-lidded, staring at his mouth, longing for more. His mouth quirks into a smirk, one you feel against your own as he finally satisfies his addiction for your love.
a/n: hi hi ! quick caleb thing i thought of bc i saw this tiktok, i love u yandere caleb …
“okay i found his instagram, he seems normal? he has a sister so that’s a green flag right?” the light from your FaceTime call on your laptop is the only thing lighting up your bedroom.
your friends voice comes through the speaker, “yes! it seems like he has good friendships too and doesn’t brag about the colonel stuff either so that’s good,” she adds on. you nod, both of you continuing to dig deeper into caleb’s life.
you liked caleb, he seemed like a great guy! he was kind, respectful, funny and really fucking hot. there had to be a catch, right?
only a couple clicks later and you’d managed to find his address.
“dude, i think i just found his address,” you laugh, hand covering your mouth.
a ding caused your eyes to flicker to the top of your phone
caleb :P : hey what are you up to? i just got home im so tired :((
“he just texted me right now, said he just got home,” the heat rushes to your cheeks immediately as you text back, smiling when he responds only seconds later.
“helloooo im still on the call y’know,” your friend brings you back to reality. you giggle, apologizing before focusing at the task on hand once more. “what’s his address? send it, let’s see what kind of neighborhood he lives in,” your friend wiggles her brows at you and you immediately screenshot the house and send a link over.
your fingers move quicker than your eyes, too used to her contact being the first to pop up on the share button. you’d forgotten how often you’d been sending things to caleb.
“did you get it?” you ask, already scrolling down the street of his house in skyhaven.
“no? you haven’t sent me anything yet,” she replies easily. the color drains from your face as you open your message app.
[1 screenshot sent]
[1 link attatched]
all sent to caleb.
“oh my god, I’m so fucked dude,” your eyes widen, heart falling through your ass as the one word you now dreaded the most appeared in conversation. read.
“why what happened?”
“I sent him his own address. I’ve never once been over.” the mortification is obvious in your face, your friend immediately mirrors your expression.
“maybe you can unsend it?”
me: oh my god i swear this isn’t what it looks like
“he read it- fuck he’s typing oh my god I’m so fucked it’s so over for me, I’m so fucking—”
caleb :P : i live in the next house over not that one. 104, not 105
“holy fuck,” you mumbled, heart racing as you read his text over for the nth time, your friend shrieks over the phone. okay maybe you’re not completely done for.
caleb sits in bed, smiling at his screen.
you’d finally taken the bait, followed the trail he’d left of himself online. pretty posed pictures, a perfectly curated account. everything you liked and everything you wanted. he put just enough information for you to find everything you’d wanted if you dug juuust a bit, if you were like him. and now he knows you were like him.
caleb is relieved, shutting the live feed off from the camera he’d installed in your bedroom. you’ll be over at his tomorrow, he’ll make sure of it.
masterlist
taglist: @hirayalia @violasepals @txtworlddom @mrs-lixiaqin @pjselee @luvyizhou @colonelkaboom @xyzsbaobei @ellavelysworld @floatingpalelilies @stillseiims ask to be added :3
Hot water, steam, and the fruit scent of your shampoo fill the small confining space of your shower. The shower that was perfect for you. But, in hindsight, not the best for you and your towering 6'2 wolf.
"S-stop complaining!" Your lips quiver as your nails dig into his wrist, the one that is angling your detachable shower head directly at your cunt. The setting turned to a more concentrated stream, not too harsh to hurt, but enough to create dizzying pressure as it sprays your clit.
"I'm getting a cramp in my lower back." Valko whines into your ear, nuzzling your neck and further curving his spine despite his initial protests. The sound of your melodic whimpering is making his cock throb hard and heavy against your ass, leaking copious amounts of precum but it's hard to tell with your skin already being wet.
"V-val..." You swear your legs are going to give out, face flushed from more than just the heat of the steam as he's been using his other hand to keep your cunt spread open, revealing your puffy twitching clit to the unrelenting stream of water. "S'okay, little lamb. This is the only way we can help each other out in here without knocking all your..." he glances around at your shelves of soaps, scrubs, and hair products.
"Pretty things down, yeah? Don't want a noise complaint from your neighbors at this time of night..." God you can't even process what he's actually saying. Sure you've masturbated like this before, but the shower head has never felt this fucking good. "Valko, m'gonna cum."
Your nails dig harder into his skin, head pressing into his collarbone as he nips at the nape of your neck. "Cum for me, then. I wanna see you cum while standing up, let me feel your legs give out on you. I promise I won't let you fall, hmm?" You're visibly trembling, gasping for air as you mumble a mantra of "I'm cumming!" over and over for him to hear.
Your legs do give out on you, and with one swift motion, Valko's hand is around your waist and supporting you as if you weigh nothing at all. "That good, little lamb?" He's nuzzling your neck again, settling the shower head back in its holder so you both get sprayed with hot water again. "Better than my cock?" Whispered, as if taunting you.
"Course not." You choke. "I-I mean yeah it was good, but not your cock, Val. Fuck, I want your cock, can I have it please, pretty please?"
Mmm... maybe you're getting that noise complaint after all...
This is, in fact, some of what I was daydreaming earlier lol - Soul
Your beautiful face, the way your eyes light up when you smile at him, the little crease between your brows when you’re concentrating, the way your lips part when you moan his name. Your lovely personality that somehow balances his perfectly. Your voice, especially when you laugh, when you tease him, when you whisper “I love you” against his skin in the middle of the night.
And your body.
He’s obsessed.
Ask him “ass or tits” and the man will genuinely start tearing up because how could you make him choose?
Your tits are perfect, so soft and warm in his big hands, so responsive when he squeezes them, when he leans down to suck marks into the soft flesh, when he slides his cock between them and fucks them eager and messy while you look up at him with those pretty eyes.
But your ass… fuck.
The way it jiggles when he has you bent over, hips snapping against you hard enough that the sound echoes. The way it recoils so beautifully when he slaps it, leaving his handprint glowing on your skin. He loves gripping it while he fucks you from behind, spreading you open so he can watch himself disappear inside you.
And don’t even get him started on your thighs.
He could live between them.
He loves biting them, leaving little marks that only he gets to see. Loves when you wrap them around his head while he’s eating you out, tongue buried deep as you squeeze and shake around him. Loves when they’re wrapped around his waist as he fucks into you, or when he props your legs up and slides his thick cock between them, groaning at how soft and warm they feel.
No matter what position you’re in, his hands are on you; grabbing, groping, squeezing, squishing. He can’t help it. He’s addicted.
One night he had you on your back, legs over his shoulders as he thrust into you. His hands were everywhere, kneading your tits, sliding down to grip your ass, then gripping your thighs so tight you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow.
“Fuck… I love every part of you,” he groaned, voice wrecked as he leaned down to bite the soft flesh of your thigh. “all mine.”
You were barely coherent, lost in how good he felt, how full he made you. “Valko- please-“
He growled softly, hips snapping harder as he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.
“My beautiful mate,” he whispered, hands still roaming like he couldn’t get enough. “Every single inch of you… I love it all.”
NERD!ZAYNE TEACHING THE GUYS HOW TO MAKE YOU SQUIRT.
PART ONE HERE PART THREE HERE
CW: Oral, fingering, squirting. 🔞MDNI🔞
"Yeah," Xavier said "Can you teach us how to make her squirt?"
------
The room had gone completely still. Sex and whiskey hung in the air, thick enough to taste. You were breathing wrong, every breath felt heavy, caught in a throat made raw by whiskey and sharp gasps. Zayne's chest felt warm and unyielding at your back, getting up would have required a kind of effort the room didn't seem to allow for.
Xavier's tongue was tracing the edge of his knuckle where your first release had coated him. His eyes had gone almost entirely black, pupils blown so wide there was barely any color left, every bit of that darkness was fixed between your thighs.
Behind you, Zayne exhaled, low and unsteady, the sound catching in his throat before it reached your skin. He hadn't moved back. He had moved closer, pressing his hard cock between your ass, the friction made it clear his medical textbooks hadn't prepared him for how much he actually wanted to ruin you right now.
"That requires an entirely different approach," Zayne's voice was thicker and rougher than it had been. His hands tightened on your waist before he said anything else. Then he bent his head, lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear.
"Are you alright with this? Do you want to show them?"
Your head had already begun to fall back against his shoulder and the whimper that came out of you wasn't something you'd planned.
"Yeah"
His patience didn't leave exactly, but it changed shape, it became something slower. His hand moved from your waist, sliding up until his palm curved around your breast again, broad, warm and unhurried. His thumb found your nipple without searching for it and he began to roll it between his fingers with a steady pressure that sat right on the edge of too much and didn't waver.
"The G-spot," he said, his voice settling back into something that almost resembled composure, "isn't about surface stimulation. It isn't about rhythm either." He pinched your nipple lightly, and your breath caught. He continued as though he hadn't noticed, or perhaps because he had. "Squirting isn't something you can rush. We've spent nearly twenty minutes on foreplay and that's perfect because the entire pelvic region needs time to fill with blood, to become fully engorged. Without that, it won't work."
His thumb moved in a slow circle around your nipple, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.
"The targets are the paraurethral glands. Small, about the size of a pea, sitting on either side of the urethra, close to her G-spot. Most people don't know they exist. Most people don't know what they're capable of." A pause. "You're about to learn."
Xavier's voice came quiet and low. "I want to try."
Whatever remained of the quiet, compliant boy from freshman orientation—the one who'd handed you a campus map and apologized for bumping into you—was gone. Completely. He moved forward until he was wedged between your legs, his thighs pressing firmly against your calves.
A cold spike of something, fear, want, the particular overwhelm of both arriving at once, shot straight down your spine. Your thighs tried to close on instinct, a reflexive flinch against the intensity of his gaze, the nearness of him and the reality of what was about to happen. Your knees had barely begun to move before something stopped them.
Caleb moved to the edge of the mattress and closed his hand over your right knee. Not gently. He pressed it down and out over Zayne's thigh, his grip immovable, the kind that didn't invite negotiation. You weren't going to close yourself off. He'd made that clear without saying a word.
Rafayel took your left. His fingers found the inside of your knee and held on with trembling pressure.
You looked down at them through the blur of whiskey and heat.
Caleb's jaw was locked, a muscle jumping in his cheek like he was chewing through something. The flush on his neck had darkened to something almost bruised, creeping up toward his jaw, his breath coming in audible hitches he wasn't bothering to hide anymore. Rafayel had his bottom lip caught between his teeth hard enough to drain the color from it, his eyes tracking every shiver that moved through your body like he was trying to memorize them.
And then lower.
A small, damp circle had bled through the gray of Rafayel's sweatpants. The front of Sylus's pants were pulled tight, a matching wet spot darkening the fabric, spreading slightly every time he exhaled.
"Keep her steady." Zayne's hips kept moving, that same slow roll against you, while his fingers worked both of your nipples at once, rolling and pinching until heat shot straight down through your stomach and didn't stop.
"Xavier." His tone shifted into something clinical "Two fingers, palm facing up toward her navel. Her arousal is sufficient as a baseline, but you need to use the lubricant on my nightstand. I don't want friction, I don't want any tissue irritation." A pause, weighted. "Once you're inside, feel along the anterior wall. There will be a ridge, different from the surrounding tissue. Think of the roof of your mouth."
Xavier reached for the lubricant and coated his fingers slowly, his hands were shaking. Then he brought them to your entrance, just the tips at first, barely making contact, and paused there for a breath that felt longer than it was.
He pushed in slowly.
Inch by inch, the stretch of it opening you around him, his fingers pressing through the heat and slick of you with patience. His eyes had gone wide by the time his fingertips swept up and found it, the ridge Zayne had described, unmistakable, exactly where he'd said it would be.
A cry tore out of you before you could stop it, fractured and too loud. It rang off the walls and you knew without question it had carried straight down the hallway outside.
Sylus shadow fell over you before he leaned down, face unreadable, there was a particular stillness of someone exerting tremendous control. His thumb caught your chin and pressed your jaw down, and then his fingers were in your mouth, muffling whatever came next. You closed your lips around them without thinking. Your tongue found his knuckles and you pulled him in, sucking hard, needing the solid reality of him to hold onto, something grounding while everything else was coming apart.
"Keep it down, sweetie." he said. Low. Almost gentle.
"Like this?" Xavier's voice came from below, strained thin.
He had begun to move, curling his fingers up, knuckles dragging against your entrance with every stroke while his fingertips pressed into the ridged wall above. He went deeper with each repetition. Not faster. Deeper, the hook of his fingers catching on the sensitive texture inside you and holding there just long enough before pulling back and doing it again.
"Slower."
Zayne's breath was scorching against your neck, his fingers never stopping, working your nipples with a precision that had stolen most of your ability to think. Behind you his hips pushed forward, heavier than before, a frustrated grind that he didn't bother to disguise.
"You're skimming the surface," he said. "Press into it. Maintain the motion and add external pressure to the clitoris, combine both. Increase as the tissue expands." His voice dropped slightly. "Can you feel how she's changing around you? How she's pulling you in?"
Xavier made a sound low in his throat, almost involuntary, his head dipping forward. His thumb came down against your pelvic bone and he adjusted his angle, pushing deeper until his knuckles were completely slick. His strokes slowed and firmed, each one pressing up into you with a patience that was clearly costing him something.
"It's getting tighter," he said, voice fraying at the edges. "It's... it's pushing back. She's so hot inside."
"She's engorging, the fluid is building in the glands. You cannot break the rhythm, not now, not for anything. If you ease up even slightly, the accumulation dissipates and you lose everything you've built."
He said it like a warning. Like he was saying it to himself as much as Xavier.
It was nothing like before.
Not the sharp, electric jolt of Zayne's thumb. this was something else entirely. Deeper. Heavier. A fullness that built with every stroke and didn't recede, coiling low in your abdomen like pressure with nowhere to go. Every time Xavier's fingers found that spot and pressed, a wave rolled through you, enormous and terrifying, making you want to beg for something you didn't have words for. You bit down on Sylus's knuckles without meaning to, eyes losing focus, your whole body tightening around a point you couldn't reach.
On either side of you, Caleb and Rafayel hadn't moved. Couldn't. Their knuckles had gone white where they held your legs open, and their eyes were fixed on Xavier's hand, on the way his fingers disappeared into you and came back slick, on the wetness that had gone past the point of containment. It was pooling at your entrance, spilling over and running down Xavier's wrist.
It was Rafayel who broke first.
"Zayne." His voice came out cracked, barely holding together. He swallowed hard, his gaze still locked on the fluid stringing between your skin and Xavier's hand, his body giving him away beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. "She's...fuck...it's leaking. Is she close?"
"She's almost there."
Zayne's voice had lost everything clinical about it now. Whatever composure he'd been maintaining had come apart completely, leaving only this—his fingers digging into your nipples, pinching hard, driving the sensation past the point of bearable while his hips pressed into you with desperation.
"Xavier. Fast circles on her clit, other hand, now." A beat. "Force it."
Xavier looked up at your face instead.
Your eyes had gone hazy, barely tracking, tears gathering at the corners from nothing but sheer overwhelm. Your lips were still wrapped around Sylus's fingers, your chest heaving in ragged pulls, small broken sounds escaping around his knuckles every time Xavier moved inside you. You were completely undone. Anyone could see it.
Xavier saw it too.
He didn't raise his hand to your clit. Something shifted behind his eyes, a flash of something reckless and deliberate, the look of someone who had been quietly calculating this exact moment and had finally decided to take it.
"You said anything I can do with my hands," he murmured, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper, "I can enhance with my mouth, right?."
His blonde hair fell across his forehead as he leaned down.
"Xavier—" Zayne's voice came sharp with warning.
Too late.
Xavier buried his face between your thighs.
The heat of his mouth hit you without warning.
Xavier's tongue sealed over your clit and the sound that came out of you was strangled, swallowed by Sylus's fingers, barely contained. He didn't tease. He remembered every word Zayne had said, flattened his tongue broad and wet against you, using the full weight of it to meet the pressure building from inside, while his fingers hooked harder and began to move in a rhythm that was merciless and gave you absolutely nothing to brace against.
"Breathe." Zayne's lips found your temple and pressed them there, warm and close. "What you're feeling, the fullness, the urgency, it will feel exactly like a need to release. That's correct. That's exactly right." His breath shook against your skin. "Don't fight it. Bear down. Let your pelvic floor go completely. Let it happen."
You stopped fighting.
You exhaled and let go. Your pelvic floor released and you bore down against the hook of Xavier's fingers, against the wet relentless press of his tongue, and for one suspended second everything went very still.
Then your body locked.
Every muscle seized at once, thighs convulsing against Caleb and Rafayel's grip. They leaned their full weight into your knees and held. Caleb let out a breathless "fuuuuck look at her". You bit down on Sylus's fingers hard enough to feel his knuckles against your teeth, vision narrowing to nothing.
It came in a rush, clear and forceful, spilling over Xavier's chin, across his cheeks, soaking into the fabric beneath you. His fingers stayed where they were, buried deep, riding out every contraction as your body clenched around him in waves that didn't stop, that pulled at him and wouldn't let go.
He didn't pull back. His tongue kept moving through it, his jaw working, his nose pressed to your skin while you sobbed through the aftershocks, open, head falling back against Zayne's shoulder again, with the full dead weight of someone who had nothing left to hold onto.
The room went quiet before you heard the slow, wet sound of Xavier withdrawing his fingers. Sylus drew his hand from your mouth just as slowly, his thumb dragging across your lower lip, catching a smear of saliva and wiping it away. He didn't look away from your face. The darkness in his eyes hadn't lifted. It had settled into something that made it very clear this wasn't over.
Xavier raised his head.
His face was flushed deep, his lips wet, a streak of fluid catching the lamplight as it ran down the line of his jaw and dripped onto his collarbone. He looked up at Zayne.
He looked like someone who had just discovered something he couldn't un know.
"Like that?" Xavier asked. The smugness in his voice was not even slightly hidden.
Zayne didn't answer right away.
He was staring down at the space between your thighs, at the soaked mattress, at the evidence of everything his careful, clinical framework had produced. His chest rose and fell hard against your back, his breath coming uneven against your neck, and you felt it before you fully understood what it was, a spreading warmth behind you, seeping through the fabric of his trousers, pressing into you. Unmistakable.
"Yes," Zayne said finally. His voice was stripped of every careful layer he'd spent the entire evening constructing "Exactly like that."
NERD! ZAYNE TEACHING THE GUYS HOW TO MAKE A GIRL CUM USING YOU AS VISUAL AID😝
🔞MDNI🔞
*Yes, this is a fuck you to that bitter anon.
Part 2 here Part 3 here
"They are full of shit" Caleb wiped a stray drop of alcohol from his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at nobody in particular. "The girls on the third floor make up half that stuff for fun."
You were wedged in the middle, squeezed between Caleb and Rafayel on the edge of a mattress that groaned under the collective weight. Every time someone moved, the springs let out a pathetic little squeak. The alcohol was starting to feel like a warm, heavy blanket behind your eyes, blurring the room into soft edges, but it was definitely making you feel a little more brave. Or reckless. Probably both.
You’d know these idiots since freshman orientation. Two years of shared greasy takeout, late night study sessions, and brutal hungover Sundays. That messy stretch of friendship was the only reason you felt comfortable enough to let your filter slip.
"It's not just the third floor," you said, tracing a finger around the rim of your cup. "It's everybody. The nursing majors. The track team. Pretty much every girl I've talked to. They all said the same thing, that you guys look like you belong on a billboard, but fuck like clumsy horny dogs."
"A horny dog? Seriously?" Rafayel looked genuinely wounded. "I am an artist and a very attentive one."
"You think lighting candles counts as attentiveness."
"It contributes."
From across the room, Sylus remained focused on his phone.
"Let them talk," his thumb paused over the screen "The loudest complaints usually come from people who never say what they really want."
You laughed "That's what you're going with?"
Sylus shrugged.
"Fine. Caleb?" he immediately looked suspicious.
"What?"
"That girl from the lacrosse team you fucked last weekend..."
Caleb groaned. "Oh, come on."
"How do you know she actually finished?"
"Because she told me she did."
"And?"
"And she was loooooud."
You stared at him and saw his confidence falter slightly.
"Girls do that so you'll speed up and get it over with"
Caleb opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked toward the window, his jaw shifting. "She... she wrapped her legs around my waist the entire time. That means it was good, right?"
"That means she was trying to get more friction because you weren't hitting the right spots," you said turning your head towards Rafayel "What about you?"
Rafayel straightened. "What about me?"
"When was the last time you actually looked down to see what was happening instead of just listening to the noises she was making?"
Rafayel's face turned a bright pink that extended to the tips of his ears. "I can tell by the rhythm. The atmosphere shifts."
"The atmosphere doesn't make a girl cum, Raf," you laughed, the whiskey bubbling up in your chest.
Across the room Xavier finally lifted his head from the rug, his hair stuck out in every direction.
"I just do it until they tell me to stop."
The room went quiet.
"Xavi, that is not the reassuring answer you think it is."
"Oh." he considered that.
"See?" you said, pointing around the room. "None of you actually know how to make a girl cum, you just assume you did a great job because you're hot, and then leave them to finish the job themselves after you fall asleep."
"That's correct"
The words cut through the conversation.
Zayne didn't look up from his anatomy textbook, he just adjusted his glasses and continued reading for a few more second before lifting his eyes.
Caleb barked out a laugh. "Oh, here we go."
Zayne ignored him.
"Most guys operate on assumptions rather than observation."
"Listen to the expert," Caleb said. "A man whose dating life exists entirely in textbooks."
Zayne's expression didn't change. "I understand the theory better than you"
"Theory?" Caleb repeated.
"Anatomy, Caleb."
"That's a lot of confidence for someone talking in hypotheticals." Sylus teased.
Zayne hesitated "It isn't as complicated as people make it out to be. I can show you."
"Do it." the words left your mouth before you could calculate the weight of them. "Show them."
Caleb sat up straighter. Rafayel looked interested. Xavier was really awake now.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Sylus finally dropped his phone into his lap, his gaze locking onto your face, heavy and unblinking.
Zayne didn't blink either. A dark red flush crept from beneath the collar of his black sweater, staining his throat. He looked at your cup, then at the space between his own knees, his jaw working as he swallowed.
Shit Shit Shit
"We're... we've known each other a long time, this feels like we're crossing a line."
"She asked," Sylus stood, the leather chair groaning beneath him. He crossed the room to slide the deadbolt into place before he leaned against the door and folded his arms. "And the doctor says he has the answers. Let's see a demonstration."
------
The floorboards felt cold under your bare feet. Taking your clothes off wasn't nearly as smooth as moments like this looked in movies. It was awkward, rushed, and far too real. Your jeans caught on your ankles as you kicked them off, your bra strap twisting before you cleared it from your arms.
"Sit here," Zayne whispered. He was now sitting on the edge of the mattress, knees spread wide apart.
You moved into the gap between his thighs. His chest felt warm against your shoulder blades.
Caleb and Rafayel pulled two chairs forward and Xavier stayed on the floor, dragging himself closer until his knees almost touched your ankle.
Before moving anywhere else, Zayne clamped his hands around your waist. His palms felt warm against your skin, holding you steady between his thighs.
"The skin requires warming first, If you touch her when she's cold, the muscles contract. It closes the blood vessels."
His hands slid higher, the friction of his palms catching against your ribcage. He paused when he reached your breasts, using his fingers to lift and shape them without any sudden squeezing. He kept his touch frustratingly light, his thumbs sweeping in slow arcs across the base before flicking directly over the tight tips.
A gasp caught in your throat, slipping out as a sharp breath. You dug your fingers into his knees, squeezing just to keep from writhing away from his hands.
"Are those goosebumps?" Xavier asked from below before reaching out, his hand hovering an inch from your left knee before he dropped it back to the floor.
"Yes, but it's an involuntary reaction," Zayne leaned his head forward, his hair brushing against your earlobe. "It doesn't mean she's cold."
Caleb cleared his throat, looking down at his hands, then back at you.
The sudden loss of Zayne's touch on your breasts made you shiver, his hands already traveling down your abdomen to grip your inner thighs. He parted your legs wide, exposing you to the heavy stares of the room. Under the direct glow of the desk lamp, the skin of your inner thighs visibly trembled.
His knuckles dragged over your outer lips and he stalled there, his jaw tightening as he drew his hand back and stared down at the slight sheen—not nearly enough.
"She’s nervous and that's completely normal. Any friction here would just cause irritation."
"So you're stuck," Rafayel said. He was leaning so far forward his chest rested against his knees, his eyes wide and tracking every movement of Zayne’s hand.
"No."
Zayne brought his hand up to your face and pressed his middle and index finger against your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open. The scent of paper vanished under the wet heat of your mouth. "Wet them."
You took his fingers in, tongue curling around them. Zayne watched your lips close around his knuckles, his chest expanding against your back, before he pulled them out with a wet pop, a thin thread of saliva breaking between his hand and your mouth.
"You only need to do this once to get things moving," Zayne explained guiding his wet fingers back down between your thighs. "If a man needs to re wet his fingers or use lube over and over, it means he’s doing something wrong."
He pressed his slick fingers directly against your clit, rubbing an agonizingly perfect circle.
A sharp cry broke from your lips and he rested the heel of his hand firmly against your pelvic bone, using that grounding weight to steady his touch while his index and middle fingers began a slow, testing exploration of the skin surrounding the swollen bud. He moved in light crescent shapes, mapping the outer edges first without touching the center directly.
Your hips moved, trying to force his hand to hit your favorite spots, but Zayne held your waist with his other hand, keeping you still.
"Not yet," his voice was losing its stiffness "Look at how she reacts when I go near it. She's so sensitive right here. Such a good girl for letting you all see." The bastard knew about your praise kink. Of course he knew.
He changed the strokes to a firm downward motion along the sides before gathering the slick that was beginning to coat his knuckles and smoothing it back up. He watched your skin change color under his fingers, his thumb finally making direct contact with your clit, pressing down and tracing a tight, clockwise circle.
Your thighs twitched, knees trying to clamp shut around his arm.
"Don't hide," his thumb switched direction, drawing slow figure eight that dragged across the very top of the bud before dipping into the soft groove underneath. "Let them watch how wet you get when someone actually takes their time with you. You look so pretty when you're dripping like this."
Across from you, Caleb's hands were gripping his own knees so hard the fabric of his sweatpants strained. His eyes were wide and fixed entirely on the gloss of your skin where Zayne’s thumb was slicking the fluid back and forth, finding the exact weight that made your head fall back against his shoulder "She’s... she’s shaking..." his voice sounded rough and uneven.
Rafayel moved to the edge of his seat, his fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt, his face had gone from pink to tomato red "And the color is different..."
"Because the blood is pooling exactly where it’s supposed to," Zayne told them increasing the pressure just a fraction until you let out a broken whimper. "If you change the rhythm too fast, you lose the progress, so find the pattern she responds to, and you stay there."
From the floor, Xavier stared at the small twitches of your hole "She’s pulling in, like she wants to wrap around something."
Sylus stepped away from the door, his hands were out of his pockets now, his knuckles white as he watched Zayne’s fingers spread your folds apart, exposing the wet, pink interior completely "She's begging for it."
Zayne looked up at the four men watching.
"The manual rhythm is only the baseline, the tissue is highly receptive to temperature and texture. Anything you can execute with your hands, you can replicate, and enhance, with your mouth.
He brought his index finger directly to the very tip of your swollen clit, pressing with small, localized prods.
"If you use the tip of your tongue like this," Zayne explained, his finger mimicking the flicking motion against the sensitive bud, making your hips jump, "you target the isolated nerve clusters. It's high intensity and it forces the blood to the surface faster."
He then slid his index and middle fingers tightly together, flattening them against each other to create a wider, smoother surface. He pressed the flat length of both fingers firmly against your entire center, dragging them in a long upward stroke from your entrance all the way up to your clit.
"But when she gets overwhelmed, you switch," Zayne said as he repeated the stroke "You have to use the whole flat of your tongue like this. It dampens the sharp sting of the sensitivity while keeping the heat building. You alternate based on how much she's twitching."
He used his other hand to gently pull your lips apart "Look at the opening," Zayne's breath felt soooo hot against your neck. "When the nerves are active, the tissue swells. It opens on its own."
Behind you, something thick pressed firmly into the cleft of your ass. Zayne was completely hard. His glasses had slid down his nose, but he didn't take his hands away to fix them.
"Zaynie..." you moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder again. The sight of the guys watching you was winding the coil in your belly tighter and tighter.
"Tell them," Zayne ordered, his fingers digging harder into the top of your clit. "Tell them what it feels like."
"It's... it's so good," you sobbed out "I... Zayne, I need...fuck...."
Sylus moved closer.
"The internal contractions," Zayne told them, his words breaking as his thumb worked in a fast circle. "They will milk whatever is inside. Just one finger in. Now. Feel it."
"Now?" Rafayel stammered, his hand shaking as he reached out.
"Now!" you ripped the word straight from your chest,
They moved together, a crowded rush of limbs. Four fingers,all pushed into your wet pussy at once.
Your muscles clamped down in spasms. Caleb let out a low curse, his head dropping against your thigh as you squeezed his finger. "Fucking hell... tight little pussy."
"Keep your fingers still," Zayne's thumb was still holding pressure against your twitching clit while he kept your hips steady against his own shaking thighs. "Feel the rhythm. That's her release."
Rafayel didn't speak, his eyes were fixed on his finger buried inside you.
The silence returned slowly, punctuated only by the sound of you trying to catch your breath. One by one, the fingers withdrew, leaving your cunt open and drooling. You collapsed back into Zayne, your muscles humming with the aftershocks.
Four men stood around the bed, looking down at their wet hands. Zayne was breathing hard against your neck, one hand shaking visibly as he pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
He cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly "Are there... any other questions?"
Xavier raised his hand slowly to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the wetness on his knuckle, his eyes completely dark as he stared at your open thighs.
"Yeah," he said "Can you teach us how to make her squirt?"
♡︎ synopsis: After a stranger’s crude comment leaves you unsettled, Valko helps you reclaim the rest of your night - and reminds you how safe and adored you feel in his arms.
♡︎ pairing: Valko x fem!reader
♡︎ tags: established relationship, fluff and smut, hurt/comfort (mild), mention of catcalling, mention of alcohol (drinking cocktails), foot massage, body worship, oral (f receiving), use of 'sweetheart' 'baby', attempt at describing lotus pose, creampie ofc, aftercare
♡︎ word count: 7.2k
♡︎ a/n: Got catcalled the other day, so I wrote this to make myself feel better lol.
♡︎ Again, thank you, @unintentionalseductress for helping, and also its-de for beta reading.
divider by @ anitalenia
The smell of your favorite takeout hits you before you even get the door fully open. Your hand stills on the handle, your bag slipping lower on your shoulder as you step inside and find Valko standing in your kitchen with the paper bags open in front of him, transferring food onto plates. A small smile tugs on your lips, because there is something ridiculous and tender about the sight of him there, too tall for the space, too broad beside your cabinets.
Valko looks up as soon as he hears you.
“There you are,” he says, his voice warm with the usual excitement.
You close the door behind you. “I’m impressed,” you say. “You were smart enough to order takeout instead of trying to cook without me.”
He huffs out a laugh, glancing down at the plates. “I know my strengths.”
You manage another smile as you take off your shoes by the door and set your bag on the small table near the entry.
In the kitchen, Valko keeps moving, the plates clinking as he finishes dividing the food. “How was it?” he asks. “You had a good time?”
You head toward the sink instead of going to him, reaching for a glass from the cabinet before you answer. “Yeah,” you say, filling it with water. “It was good.”
You take a sip of water and keep your eyes on the glass.
You hear Valko move behind you, and when you turn, he is near enough that you have to tilt your chin to meet his eyes.
“Hi,” he says, softer now, like the first greeting had not counted because he had been too far away.
“Hi,” you answer.
He leans in for the kiss he always takes when you come home to him. You give him just a quick press of your mouth to his, and then you pull back with your glass still in one hand and your other palm braced against the counter.
Valko does not comment on the kiss, but you catch the brief change in his face before he turns back toward the food, a small crease between his brows, there and gone quickly enough that you could pretend you missed it.
“So,” you say, lifting your glass again as you move closer to the food, “what did you order?”
His gaze stays on you for another moment. “The usual,” he says, reaching for one of the containers, “and something from the new place across the street because I wanted to try it.”
“Of course you did.”
“It looked good.”
“You say that about everything.”
“Not everything.” He opens another box and tips his head, considering it. “Most things.”
Despite yourself, you smile as you step beside him, looking over the spread he has arranged – the familiar dishes are there, warm and fragrant, but there are two new ones too, both still steaming as he moves them onto the plates. “Okay,” you admit, “that does look good.”
“Obviously,” he says, with the confidence of someone taking credit for cooking it himself. “And if we’re having cocktails later, we should eat properly first. Especially you.”
You let out a small chuckle, setting your glass down. “Yeah, yeah. You’re probably right.”
Valko asks if you want to eat at the table or on the sofa, and you say, “Sofa’s fine,” without really looking at him.
This time, he does not move back to the food.
You notice the way he turns fully toward you instead of only glancing over.
“Okay,” he says, his voice lower now. “What’s wrong?”
You shrug too quickly. “Nothing.”
His eyes stay on your face. “I know you.”
“It’s really not a big deal.”
“Then tell me.”
You breathe out through your nose and look away first, because the last thing you want is to drag the ugliness of it into your kitchen. Still, the words come out after a moment, plain and clipped, enough to explain but not enough to make a whole scene out of it. You tell him that, on your way back, some jerk threw a crude comment at you, that you ignored him, that it annoyed you more than you wanted it to, and that it was stupid anyway.
By the time you finish, your own mouth has twisted with irritation.
“Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head as if that can knock the feeling loose. “It doesn’t matter – ”
When you glance at Valko, the look on his face makes the rest of the sentence disappear.
His jaw has gone tight, the easy warmth from a minute ago pulled into something harder and much less familiar. You have seen him annoyed before, but this is different.
“It’s not nothing,” he says.
The roughness in his voice catches you off guard, even though you know it’s not aimed at you.
You shrug again. “It’s fine. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last, so there’s no point making it into something.”
“Don’t do that.”
You pause.
His tone has gone firmer, and when you look back at him, his attention has not moved from you. For a second, neither of you speaks. His expression shifts into something more careful, and his shoulders ease a little as he reaches for you.
Your body moves before the rest of you catches up.
You take a small step to the side, barely anything, but enough for his hands to stop between you.
You turn toward the counter, taking the plate. “It’s not worth thinking about,” you say, a little too lightly. “Let’s just eat.”
For a moment, you can feel him watching you, and you keep your attention on the food. Then he picks up his own plate and follows you to the sofa, giving you enough room to sit first before he settles beside you.
The TV comes on a minute later, filling the silence. Valko eats beside you, quieter than usual, though his attention keeps coming back to you.
Instead of pressing you further about what happened, he asks about your friend.
The question helps more than you expect. You tell him about the bookstores you wandered into and the café you found by accident, all pretty lights and beautiful little details, with coffee that was better than you expected and dessert good enough to make you regret not ordering a second one.
As you talk, the better parts of the day start coming back in pieces.
You remember the table by the window, the sound of your friend laughing across from you, and the comfort of staying longer than planned because, for once, neither of you seemed to be rushing anywhere.
He listens like the details matter.
You are grateful he doesn’t ask why you stayed out longer than you said you would. He could have. The two of you had plans, and he had still come over on time, still ordered dinner, still waited in your apartment while you turned an afternoon coffee into nearly three hours outside. Instead of making you feel guilty for enjoying it, he seems pleased that you did.
You tell him about the lipstick your friend gave you. “She gave it to me because she thought the color would suit me,” you say, glancing toward your bag near the entryway. “It’s still in my purse.”
Then your gaze drifts to him.
He is already dressed for later, and you notice it properly now that you are sitting beside him. He looks handsome enough that, on any other night, you would have teased him for it immediately, just to see the pleased little spark in his face when he realized you had been looking.
You glance down at your plate instead. “You know, we don’t really have to go out.”
Valko turns his head toward you.
“We can just stay in,” you continue, already reaching for a lighter tone. “We still have food, and we could try to make dessert or do some terrible homemade cocktails. Then we can just cuddle and watch something.”
You expect him to agree before you finish speaking.
Valko has never needed much convincing to stay close to you for hours, especially when there is food, a sofa, and an excuse to tuck himself around you until you can barely move. It is one of the things you love about him, how openly he wants the simple comfort of being near you, how little shame he has about reaching for it.
Instead, he pauses.
His face shifts into something more serious, and the change is small enough that anyone else might miss it. You do not.
“Do you want to stay in,” he asks, “or do you just not want to be seen tonight?”
You stare at him for a second. Part of you wants to be annoyed that he did not take the offer, because staying in would be warm and easy and comfortable. Another part of you knows this should not surprise you at all. Valko is sweet, almost painfully so sometimes, but he has never been the kind of sweet that lets you hide behind a convenient lie.
You look away first. “I’m a little tired.”
He keeps his attention on you.
“I know you dressed up,” you add, softer now. “Sorry, I just – ”
“That doesn’t matter.”
You stop.
He sets his plate on the coffee table and turns more toward you. “If you’re tired, we stay here. I’ll make bad drinks, you can tell me they’re bad, and I’ll still pretend I did well.” His mouth curves slightly, though his eyes stay serious. “But I’m asking if that’s the real reason.”
You press your lips together.
He waits, and somehow that makes it harder.
After a moment, you stand and take both plates. “I’m just going to rinse these.”
Valko lets you go, then follows with the empty glasses, taking his place beside you at the sink. The two of you work in silence for a minute, you rinsing, him clearing the leftovers and wiping the counter, the routine familiar.
Then he speaks more quietly.
“We can go out,” he says. “You can wear whatever you wanted to wear.”
Your hands slow under the warm water.
“I’ll be there,” he adds. “You can just enjoy your night. If someone wants to be stupid, I’ll handle it.”
The words warm your heart, and this time the smile that comes to your face feels genuine.
The question is still there, waiting for an answer you do not have yet.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” you say.
Valko nods. “Okay.”
*
By the time you come out of the bedroom, your skin is glistening from the body lotion, your makeup is fixed, and the dress you picked for tonight is smoothed down over your thighs, though the zipper sits open along your back where you couldn’t reach it.
You pause in the doorway with one hand holding the fabric in place.
The living room has changed while you were gone. Only the lamps are on now, with pillows and a blanket spread across the sofa and a TV show playing quietly in the background. Valko’s waiting on the sofa, and when he sees you, his attention lifts immediately, his face easing into a smile that is softer than his usual grin.
You suddenly feel a little shy standing there with your back half-open and your dress held together by your fingers.
“Can you zip me up, please?” you ask.
Valko stands without making you ask twice.
His fingers find the zipper carefully, and his other hand settles near your shoulder blade just long enough to keep the fabric steady.
When he finishes, he lets his hands fall away before you turn to face him.
“So,” he says, looking you over with a small smile, “we’re going out.”
You nod, smoothing your hands down the front of the dress. “Yes. Unless you really want to stay in now.” Your gaze flicks toward the sofa, the blanket, the pillows, the room made soft for you. “It looks like you already started getting comfortable.”
Valko shakes his head. “I was ready for either answer.”
That makes something in your chest loosen.
His eyes move over your face, then settle on your lips. “Do you need to finish your makeup?”
“Oh.” You glance toward your bag. “Yes, actually.”
Valko stays where he is while you use the mirror by the door, giving you space to apply it without leaning over your shoulder.
You press your lips together, studying the color first, then the rest of your reflection. A pleased smile forms on your lips, your posture straightening a little as you look at yourself.
“There she is,” Valko says softly.
You turn toward him, suddenly flustered by the realization that you were almost posing in front of the mirror while he watched.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“Thank you,” you say softly, your cheeks still a little warm.
Shortly after, you leave the apartment together.
*
By the time you return to the apartment, the warmth from the cocktails has already begun to fade, leaving behind only a pleasant looseness in your body and the ache in your cheeks from smiling so much.
Valko holds the door open for you, and you step inside with your heels clicking softly against the floor. After he slips out of his shoes, he heads towards the kitchen while you stay at the entryway, still taking off your heels.
While he pours the water, you look at him properly.
You had noticed him before you left, of course, but now you let yourself linger on it – the way his hair has fallen slightly out of place, the fabric of his shirt pulling around his biceps, the rolled sleeves showing his forearms. He looks unfairly handsome like this, and the sight of him makes something sweet spread through you.
When he comes closer and hands you a glass, he catches you staring.
“What?” he asks, smiling because your expression must be giving you away.
You take the water from him and let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.” His eyes narrow playfully. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No.” You take a sip, then lower the glass, still smiling at him over the rim. “I was just thinking that you look really handsome tonight.”
The faintest color rises in his face.
“I see the alcohol is still in your system,” he says.
You roll your eyes. “It’s mostly gone.”
“Mostly?”
“I can feel my feet again,” you say, glancing down at your feet. “That’s how I know.”
Valko laughs under his breath.
“Sit down, sweetheart,” Valko says, taking the glass from your hand before you can ask why.
You let him lead you to the sofa, where he drapes a blanket over your lap.
“Stay here,” he says.
“Where else would I go?”
“With you, I never know.”
You make a face at him, but he only smiles and disappears toward the bathroom.
For a minute, you sit there with the TV playing in front of you, your glass of water waiting on the coffee table. You can hear him moving around in the bathroom, the rush of water, the opening and closing of a cabinet.
When he returns, he’s carrying a basin filled with warm water, faintly cloudy from the bath salts dissolving inside.
Your expression softens. “Valko.”
“What?” he says, setting it carefully on the floor in front of the sofa. “Your feet hurt.”
You look down at the water, then back at him, and the fondness in your chest feels almost too full for something so simple. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
You dip your feet into the basin, and the first touch of warm water makes your eyes close for a second as you sink deeper into the sofa.
Valko sits next to you, looking a little pleased with himself.
By the time the episode ends, the water has cooled and your whole body feels heavier in the best way, softened by the warmth, the drinks, and the steady comfort of Valko’s presence beside you.
He gets up before you can decide whether you should move, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a towel in his hands. When he sits back down, he spreads it over his lap, then pats it lightly.
“Feet here.”
You lift your feet from the basin and place them over the towel on his lap. Valko wraps the towel around one foot first, drying you with gentle movements, then does the same with the other. He folds the damp towel aside and places your foot between his hands, pressing his thumbs into the sole.
“Oh,” you breathe, your head falling back against the cushion. “That feels really good.”
His mouth curves, but he keeps his eyes on what he is doing. “Good.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
The TV keeps playing, though you stop following the episode after a while.
Your attention drifts instead to his hands, to the way they move over your foot and up to your ankle, then higher to your calf when he shifts closer and draws your leg a little more securely across his lap.
A soft smile stays on your face.
You look from his hands to his profile, letting yourself linger on the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. He looks calmer now than he had earlier, though there is still something attentive in him, something that keeps checking on you without needing to ask every few minutes.
Valko’s thumb presses into a tender spot near your heel, and you let out a small sound.
He glances at you.
You clear your throat and look back at the TV as if you have been paying attention the whole time.
His smile deepens, but he says nothing, only continues the massage on the other foot with the same patience.
After a while, Valko’s hands slow, his thumbs resting lightly against your arch as the episode continues playing in front of you.
You draw your legs back slowly, feet settling on the floor as you turn toward him. Valko’s gaze follows, shifting from your face to the way you’re leaning closer now.
“Tired?” he asks, softer than before.
You shake your head. “Not yet.”
Your eyes drift to his lips. When you glance up, he’s already watching you with that adoring gaze that stirs butterflies in your chest. He leans in just a fraction, then holds there, waiting.
So you close the rest of the distance yourself.
The first kiss is gentle, almost testing, your mouth brushing his before you press closer. Valko answers immediately, one hand lifting toward your back while the other stays on the sofa, giving you room to decide how much of him you want.
You kiss him again, longer this time, letting yourself sink into the warmth of his mouth, and the low sound he makes when you lean in more fully sends a pleased little shiver through your body.
After a few moments, you sit up and move before you can overthink it, swinging one leg over his lap until you are straddling him.
You slide your hands to his shoulders, then up to the sides of his neck, feeling him beneath your palms, solid and close and real. His hands settle against your back and pull you nearer before one slides down to your calf, almost absentmindedly, his fingers finding the same sore place he had been working on before. The touch is still gentle, still soothing, but now it runs through you differently as his thumb presses into your skin while his mouth moves over yours.
A small sound slips from you.
Valko’s hand pauses for half a second, then continues, slower than before.
You smile into the kiss, and he catches it, his mouth curving against yours as his palm slides along your calf. Your dress rides higher over your thighs as your fingers curl lightly at the back of his neck, and every slow movement of his hand makes you lean into him more.
Your heart beats harder in your chest, a sweet ache spreading low in your belly as his fingers trace idle patterns along your skin. You pull back just a little, and the words slip out in a soft whisper against his lips.
“Take me to the bedroom.”
Valko’s breath catches for the briefest moment, and then his arms tighten around you – one hand splaying across your lower back while the other cradles your thigh. “Hold onto me,” he murmurs. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, and hook your legs around his waist as he rises from the sofa with effortless ease, as if you weigh nothing at all. The movement presses you even closer, your chest flush against his as his arms hold you securely, his mouth never leaving yours.
When he reaches the bedroom, the lamplight from the living room spills through the doorway, casting warm shadows across the bed. Valko sits down on the edge of the mattress with you still wrapped around him, so you settle easily back into his lap, straddling him once more.
His hands stay gentle at your waist, holding you steady on his lap as the kiss lingers between you. Being this close to him makes something in you ache softly for more. When you finally draw back enough to speak, your lips brush his.
“Unzip me, please.”
He does not hesitate. One hand leaves your waist and finds the zipper at the small of your back. He takes his time, pulling the zipper all the way down before his palm rests lightly against the bare skin he has uncovered.
Only then do you break the kiss. You rise just enough to slide the dress from your shoulders and over your hips. You step out of it slowly, standing before him in the lamplight while his gaze follows every movement.
You unhook your bra next, the straps slipping from your shoulders, and you let the garment fall away. Valko’s breath leaves him in a low, appreciative sound, but he does not reach for you yet. He waits, watching as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and ease them down your legs. They join the rest of your clothing on the floor, and when you straighten again you are bare before him – every inch of skin touched by the soft light and the heat of his undivided attention.
A quiet thrill moves through you at the way he looks at you, like you are something precious he has been given permission to cherish.
You take a step toward him, ready to return to his lap, but his fingers wrap gently around your wrist before you can climb back onto the bed. The touch is light, yet it stills you completely. He draws your hand toward him and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, then turns it over and brushes his lips against the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. The touch sends a small shiver up your arm.
Without a word, he guides you closer to the bed. His hands settle at your waist as he helps you onto the mattress, and you lie back against the pillows.
He lifts one of your legs, his mouth finding your ankle with a slow press of lips before he gives the other the same lingering attention. Then the heat of his mouth trails upward, each kiss drawing closer, and something low in your stomach tightens with anticipation.
You watch him as he settles between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. The first slow drag of his tongue through your folds makes your breath hitch. He does it again, firmer this time, and your thighs instinctively part wider for him.
His hands slide under your hips, holding you steady as he licks into you with more purpose now – slow, thorough strokes that have you growing slicker by the second. When he finally seals his lips around your clit and sucks, your back arches hard off the bed with a broken moan.
Your fingers thread into his hair as your hips start to move on their own, rolling against his mouth. Valko groans at the movement, gripping your hips harder and letting you grind against his tongue, meeting every roll of your body.
The pleasure builds fast now. Every stroke of his tongue, every time he sucks on your clit, sends sparks racing through you. You can feel how wet you are, how easily his mouth moves against you. Your moans grow breathier, your thighs starting to tremble around his head as the tension coils tighter in your stomach.
You keep your eyes on him the whole time. His gaze is locked on your face, but there’s a new tension in his expression now – his pupils are blown, brows drawn, like he’s fighting to stay focused on you while his own hunger bleeds through.
And then you notice the rest of him.
His hips are moving in small, involuntary thrusts against the mattress, rutting into the bed in time with the way his mouth works over you. The sight of it – how turned on he is just from tasting you – makes you clench hard around nothing.
His name slips from your lips in a broken moan, soft at first and then louder as the heat inside you coils tighter and tighter. Valko answers with a low sound against your soaked folds, and then he murmurs right against your skin.
“I can feel you getting close... Come on my tongue, baby – I want to taste you when you do.”
One of his hands finds yours, threading your fingers together and holding on tight. Your hips move faster now, grinding down against his mouth with desperate little rolls. The moment his lips close around your clit again, the tension finally snaps.
It rolls through you in heavy, pulsing waves. Your thighs shake around his head as your fingers tighten in his hair, and a string of broken, breathless sounds spill from your lips – his name tangled with soft, incoherent praise you barely register saying.
A deep, rough groan tears from his throat as his hips jerk harder against the mattress, the movement no longer small or controlled, and the hand holding yours tightens. His eyes stay locked on your face even as they darken further, that faint crease between his brows deepening as he fights to keep his focus on you.
The knowledge that your broken praise is undoing him only makes the pleasure burn hotter, dragging another helpless moan from your throat as the last ripples of your orgasm roll through you.
For a little while, neither of you speaks. Your body feels pleasantly spent, your fingers still loosely threaded with his while your other hand moves slowly through his hair in gentle, absent strokes. Valko stays exactly where he is, his breath warm and uneven against your soaked skin. For a long moment he doesn’t move, only presses soothing kisses along the inside of your thigh, then higher, brushing his lips over the soft curve of your stomach and the sensitive crease where your hip meets your leg.
Then, instead of rising, he begins to kiss lower again.
His mouth trails back down, lips parting against your still-sensitive folds as if it is the most natural thing in the world for him to keep going.
Your fingers tighten in his hair.
“Valko,” you breathe, your voice still shaky.
He lifts his head immediately, eyes finding yours.
You swallow, your hand sliding from his hair to gently touch his jaw.
“Come here,” you say softly.
His voice comes out low and rough. “I am here.”
You shake your head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips.
“Up here.”
He hesitates for a second – just long enough for you to see the way he is still caught in that deep, giving place he goes to when he has his mouth on you. Then, slowly, he begins to crawl up your body, pressing kisses as he goes. His mouth moves over your stomach, the center of your chest, your breasts.
When he finally reaches the crook of your neck, he pauses there, nuzzling into the warm space under your jaw, his nose brushing your skin as he breathes you in.
You stay like that for a while, your fingers still moving slowly through his hair while his face remains tucked against your neck.
After a moment, you speak, your voice soft and a little hoarse.
“Are you planning on taking those clothes off at some point?”
Valko lets out a quiet huff of laughter against your neck.
He lifts his head, and you see the familiar teasing smile on his lips. “Why?” he asks. “Do you want me to?”
You roll your eyes, but the smile that follows gives you away completely. Your hand slides from his hair down to the back of his neck as you pull him closer until your lips are almost brushing his.
“I need to feel you against my skin,” you whisper. “I need your warmth. Your everything.”
The teasing in his expression softens. His hand tightens gently around yours where your fingers are still linked.
Valko doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he kisses you once more before pulling back to sit up. You watch as he reaches for the buttons of his shirt, his fingers working them open one by one. The fabric parts gradually, revealing his chest and the defined muscles of his torso. He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders and lets it fall somewhere beside the bed, never once breaking eye contact with you.
When his hands move to his belt, the quiet clink of metal and the slow drag of leather send a fresh, unexpected flutter through your already sensitive core, making your thighs press together. He notices, and the corner of his mouth lifts before he finishes undoing his belt and pushes both his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.
He steps out of the last of his clothes and returns to the bed completely bare.
The sight of him makes your breath catch. In the dim light, his cock stands thick and flushed a deep, aching red, the head glistening with precum that has already begun to leak down the shaft. He braces himself above you on one forearm before lowering his body until his full weight settles over you. The pressure is immediate and sweet, sinking into your skin and muscles in the most comforting way. His mouth finds yours at the same time, lips locking in a hungry kiss as his tongue slides against yours. You can taste yourself on him, and the realization only makes you kiss him harder, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as you hold him close.
When you wrap your legs around his hips, the movement drags the thick length of his cock through your soaked folds. The blunt head nudges against your clit, and a broken moan slips from your throat into his mouth. He’s so hot and heavy against you, the underside of his cock gliding through your wetness with every small shift of his body.
You start to move first.
Your hips roll upward in a slow grind, coating the length with your arousal and his saliva. He follows your rhythm, the tip nudging just barely at your entrance before sliding past again, teasing you both with how close he is to sinking inside.
“I need you inside me,” you whisper against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”
You spread your legs wider for him, opening yourself completely as he begins to ease inside, slowly and carefully. The stretch is intense and delicious, your body yielding to him while his eyes stay locked on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your expression.
Your arms wrap tighter around him, one hand sliding up to grip the back of his neck while the other stays curled on his shoulder. He holds you just as close, one arm braced beside your head, the other sliding under your back to pull you flush against him as he sinks deeper.
“You okay like this?” he asks quietly.
When you nod, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your eye. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he just breathes with you.
Then, slowly, he begins to pull back – almost slipping out – before sinking back in. The movement pulls a soft sound from your throat, your hips lifting instinctively to meet him.
He picks up the pace gradually, each thrust growing a little heavier, a little deeper. Your arms stay wrapped tightly around him, holding him close as soft moans spill from your lips with every stroke. The heat between you builds quickly – the slick drag of his cock inside you, the way his pelvis grinds against your clit on every downward thrust, the way his breath fans hot across your mouth.
You can feel how close he is.
It’s in the way his cock keeps twitching inside you, in the tension locked through his shoulders, in the rough, broken groans that escape him. His face is tight with pleasure, brows drawn, jaw clenched as he fights to keep control.
You whisper against his lips.
“You can let go… I want you to. Don’t hold back.”
Valko shakes his head once.
“No,” he breathes. “I just… want to savor this a little longer.”
After a moment, Valko shifts his weight and wraps both arms tightly around your torso. In one smooth motion he sits up, bringing you with him until he’s kneeling on the mattress with you straddling his lap. Your legs instinctively wrap around him as you adjust, your arms sliding around his shoulders while your chests press flush together. The new angle makes him sink even deeper inside you, and the sudden fullness draws a breathless moan from your lips.
He holds you close – one strong arm wrapped around your back, the other hand gripping the curve of your ass, keeping you anchored against him. Your bare skin slides against his with every breath, your nipples brushing his chest. Neither of you speaks for a moment. You simply breathe each other in, bodies locked tight, his cock pulsing deep inside you while your arms stay wrapped around his shoulders like you never want to let go.
You begin to move first, rocking slowly against him.
Valko lets out a low, guttural sound the second you start moving. He kisses you again, but this time there’s nothing controlled about it – his tongue pushes past your lips with no hesitation, sliding against yours in a wet, hungry glide. The kiss turns messy fast. It’s all heat and spit, the wet sound of it mixing with the low groans rumbling from his chest as his teeth catch your bottom lip, grazing, nipping.
His hand on your ass tightens, fingers spreading wide as he begins to guide you. The motion stays shallow, limited by how tightly you’re pressed together, but even with how little you can move, it feels devastatingly good. Every slow circle of your hips makes his cock rub against that sensitive spot inside you while your clit drags over his pelvis, slick and swollen and aching.
“That’s it… take what you need,” he murmurs against your lips. “I love feeling you like this.”
The fullness is constant, overwhelming in the best way – every tiny shift of your body makes you feel stretched around him. Your nipples slip and slide against his sweat-damp chest with every movement, the friction making your body grow hotter.
“I can feel how close you are,” he murmurs against your lips. “I can hear it in the way you moan for me. You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”
You can only whimper in response, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you hold on. You can feel how close he is too – the way his cock keeps twitching inside you, the tension coiled so tightly through his body, the way his breathing has turned ragged and uneven. He’s holding back, barely, and it only makes you want to push him over the edge with you.
You shift your legs, planting your feet flat on the mattress on either side of his hips. The change in angle lets you lift yourself higher, and when you sink back down, you take his thick length even deeper than before. The helpless, strained whimper that tears from Valko’s throat makes your pussy cream around him, slick and messy. His forehead drops to your shoulder, hot breath fanning over your damp skin as his arms tighten around you like he’s trying to hold himself together.
Valko lets out another broken sound against your neck as you start lifting and dropping on him. His arms lock tighter around you as he tries – and fails – to keep guiding your hips the way he was before. The new angle has him sinking impossibly deep with every stroke, and a wrecked groan tears from his throat.
“Fuck – you feel too good,” he pants, voice strained. “I’m trying to let you have this… but – ha-ah – you’re gonna make me lose it.”
You slide one hand up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as you roll your hips again, using your new leverage to grind down on him harder.
“I want you to come,” you breathe. “I need it. I need to feel you.”
That’s all it takes.
Valko’s hand squeezes your ass in a bruising grip as his hips jerk up to meet yours in short, desperate thrusts. His mouth latches onto the side of your neck, sucking hard while his tongue drags over your skin between bites. His sweaty chest slides against yours with every desperate grind, your nipples dragging over the slick, overheated skin. His pelvis is soaked with your arousal, and every roll of your hips grinds it firmly against your swollen clit, sending sharp, relentless sparks racing through your entire body. The combination is too much – the way he stretches you open with every thrust and the constant, filthy pressure on your clit. It builds so fast it feels dizzying.
Your climax crashes into you with overwhelming force.
A silent whimper catches in your throat before it breaks into a loud, shattered moan. Your walls clamp down around him in hard, rhythmic pulses, your thighs shaking as your fingers dig into his shoulders. The pleasure is blinding, ripping through you so intensely that all you can do is cling to him, your body trembling as wave after wave crashes over you.
Valko’s arms lock around you the second your orgasm hits. His forehead presses hard into your shoulder as his cock throbs violently inside you, and you feel the way your pussy squeezes around him, milking him. His whole body goes tense, muscles straining as he fights to hold on for just a few more seconds.
“That’s it – I’ve got you –” His voice cracks. “Just hold onto me – please – ”
His breath hitches.
He yanks your hips down hard and holds you there as he starts to come. You feel every thick pulse of his cock as he fills you – hot spurts that seem to go on and on while he keeps grinding you against him through it. His mouth finds yours in a breathless, messy kiss, all tongue, groans, and the sharp graze of teeth. He kisses you like he’s drowning as he empties himself inside you in thick, relentless waves.
He holds you so tightly against his sweat-slick body that you feel every tremor run through him, his cock still twitching and spilling deep inside you.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. You just stay like that, chests pressed together, breathing hard against each other’s skin. Then Valko tilts his head and kisses you again – slower this time, softer, lingering. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then higher, brushing his lips against your cheek.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “More than okay.”
He makes a soft sound of relief and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing your skin as he just breathes you in. You smile against his hair, your fingers grazing his undercut… until a dull, tingling ache starts to spread through your thighs.
You shift a little, wincing. “Okay, wait. My legs are going numb.”
Valko lifts his head, blinking at you for a second. Then a quiet chuckle rumbles out of him.
He carefully helps you untangle your legs from around his waist, one hand supporting your lower back while the other guides you down onto the mattress. You stretch out with a soft sigh of relief, the sheets cool against your overheated skin. Valko stays close for a second longer, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappears into the bathroom and returns a moment later with a warm, damp towel. You feel a little flustered when he settles between your legs again, but the look on his face is so gentle and focused that you don’t stop him. He cleans you with careful strokes, the warmth of the cloth soothing against your skin.
When the towel grazes your still-sensitive folds, you flinch a little.
“Shh,” Valko soothes, caressing your thigh with his free hand. “Just a little more.”
He finishes with the same tender care, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to the inside of your knee.
“There,” he says, tossing the towel aside. “All clean.”
He crawls back up the bed and pulls you into his arms again, tucking your head under his chin. One hand starts slowly stroking up and down your back, warm and steady.
He murmurs your name against your hair, barely more than a breath. “You okay? Really?”
You nod, your cheek pressed to his chest. “Yeah… Just a little floaty.”
He makes a pleased sound and presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“Good,” he says quietly. “You were so beautiful like that. I loved every second of it.”
You smile against his skin, a little shy. “You didn’t have to clean me up, you know.”
“I wanted to.” His fingers keep tracing slow paths along your spine. “I like taking care of you.”
There’s a short, comfortable silence. Then he shifts just enough so he can look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek.
“You need anything?” he asks. “Water? Snacks? Or just me?”
You laugh softly and burrow closer. “Just you, baby.”
He chuckles and wraps both arms around you more securely.
“Alright then,” he says, settling back against the pillows with you. “You’ve got me.”
He kisses your forehead once more and then just holds you, his breathing slowly evening out as his hand continues its gentle path up and down your back.
