🫧moo🗻

The small pink box sits on the edge of the sink, its cheerful pastel packaging a mockery of your current situation.

You grab a tampon, ripping the cardboard open with your teeth because your hands are already shaking too much to coordinate a proper tear. The bathroom feels suddenly stifling, the white tiles and harsh fluorescent light amplifying your misery.

This was supposed to be the day. The day Caleb finally stops pretending he doesn’t want to fuck you with his big ass cock.

All morning, you’d been planning.

You’d shaved everywhere, even the places that didn’t need it, and slathered yourself in that vanilla body butter he always compliments. You’d been practicing your speech in the shower, not that you’d need one.

The plan was simple. Clean up, then plant yourself on his lap while he’s watching TV, all innocent-like in just your oversized t-shirt and no underwear. You’d make a joke, then bite your lip. He’d get that look in his eyes, the one he thinks you don’t notice, and then... finally.

But now? Now you’re standing here with blood running down your legs and a tampon that feels like it’s expanding to the size of a football inside you.

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it, then another. You wipe them away angrily, but they keep coming.

“Stupid hormones,” you mutter, but the tears keep falling, hot and insistent. Your chest feels tight, like something’s squeezing your lungs, and your nose is starting to run. God, you’re a mess.

You reach for a tissue to blow your nose, but your hand knocks over the box of tampons, sending them scattering across the bathroom floor. The sound of them bouncing off the tiles is loud in the quiet house. Too loud. You freeze, listening.

For a moment, there’s nothing.

“Pips? You okay in there?”

Caleb’s voice.

Of course it’s Caleb’s voice.

You squeeze your eyes shut, mortification washing over you.

How much did he hear? The crying? The cursing? The tampons falling everywhere? Has he been standing out there the whole time, listening to your meltdown?

“I’m fine!” you call back, your voice cracking on the last word.

You sound anything but fine, even to your own ears. You hastily gather the scattered tampons, shoving them back into the box with shaking hands. “Just... dropped something!”

There’s a pause, and you can picture him out there, head tilted, brow furrowed in that way that makes the little crease appear between his eyes. “You sure? You’ve been in there a while.”

“Yes,” you insist, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Just... period stuff. You know.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to take them back.

Why did you tell him that?

Now he knows. Now he knows you’re bleeding and crying in the bathroom and that the day—and probably the next five days—are completely, utterly ruined.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection again. Your eyes are red-rimmed, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A strand of hair has escaped your ponytail and is sticking to your damp forehead. You look, in a word, pathetic.

Your stomach gives an uncomfortable twist, and you press a hand to it, wincing. The cramps are starting, another lovely feature of this wonderful day. You reach for the bottle of Midol on the shelf, popping two without water. They stick in your throat, and you have to swallow hard to force them down.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not today. You’d checked your period tracker app just yesterday. You weren’t due for three more days.

But your body, apparently, had other plans. Your own body has cockblocked you in the most literal way possible.

Outside the door, you can hear Caleb shifting his weight, the soft creak of the floorboards betraying his presence. He’s still out there, probably wondering what the hell is going on with you.

Part of you wants to fling the door open and throw yourself into his arms, to bury your face in his chest and let him tell you it’s going to be okay, the way he did when you were kids and scraped your knee or had a nightmare.

But you’re not a kid anymore, and the things you want from Caleb now are decidedly not the things a sister should want from her brother.

Another cramp hits, harder this time, and you bite your lip to keep from making a sound. The tampon feels wrong inside you, too big and too small all at once, a constant reminder of what you can’t have today.

You splash cold water on your face, trying to pull yourself together. Your reflection looks marginally better—the cold water has taken some of the redness from your eyes and cheeks.

You take a deep breath, then another. You can do this.

You can walk out of this bathroom, tell Caleb you’re fine, and then go lock yourself in your room with a heating pad and a pint of ice cream until this feeling passes.

But as you reach for the doorknob, there’s a soft knock that makes you jerk back as if burned.

“Pips?” Caleb’s voice is lower now, concerned. “I can hear you crying. Please let me in?”

You press your forehead against the cool wood of the door, another tear slipping free.

Of course he heard. Of course he knows. Of course the one day you were finally going to make your move, your body decided to betray you in the most spectacular way possible.

The day is ruined before it even began.

“You okay in there?” Caleb’s voice comes again, softer this time, tinged with worry.

You press your back against the bathroom door, as if your slight frame could somehow prevent him from coming in if he really wanted to. Your palms are damp against the wood, your heart hammering so loudly you’re certain he can hear it through the thin barrier between you.

“I’m fine,” you insist, wiping hastily at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Just...you know. Girl stuff.”

The phrase sounds juvenile even to your ears, but what else are you supposed to say? ‘Sorry, can’t have sex with you today, my uterus is currently evacuating’?

There’s a pause, and you can imagine him out there. Arms crossed, head tilted, that little furrow between his brows that appears when he’s trying to figure you out. The thought makes your chest ache.

“Pips,” he says, his voice gentle. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you cry since you were twelve. Something’s up. Open the door?”

Your throat feels tight. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” you whisper, so quietly you’re not sure he can hear it.

The doorknob turns slightly beneath your back, testing. You tense, pushing harder against the wood. “Caleb, stop—“

“Look,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll make you a deal. You open the door, and I’ll make you those chocolate chip pancakes you like. The ones with the extra chips. And I won’t ask any questions you don’t want to answer.”

It’s a low blow. Those pancakes are your kryptonite. Your stomach, traitor that it is, growls softly at the thought.

“That’s not fair,” you mutter.

“I know,” he agrees cheerfully. “Is it working?”

You hesitate, then sigh in defeat. “Yes.”

“So you’ll open the door?”

You close your eyes, steeling yourself. “Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” you snap, finally pushing away from the door. You turn and grab the handle, yanking it open with more force than necessary. “Happy—“

But you don’t get to finish the sentence because suddenly Caleb is there, and his arms are around you, and your face is pressed against his chest, and you can’t breathe.

Not because he’s holding you too tightly, though he is, a little, but because he’s Caleb, and he’s holding you, and it’s everything you’ve wanted and nothing like how you imagined it would be.

“You’re crushing me,” you manage to mumble into his shirt.

He loosens his grip immediately but doesn’t let go. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the top of your head. “I just—when I heard you crying—“ He stops, his arms tightening around you again. “What’s going on, Pips? Talk to me.”

You shake your head against his chest, not trusting yourself to speak.

His shirt is soft beneath your cheek, and he smells like that soap he always uses. Your hands, which have been hanging awkwardly at your sides, slowly come up to clutch at the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m being stupid,” you finally say, your voice muffled.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you. “I highly doubt that,” he says, his eyes, those ridiculous purple eyes that have no business being on a human face, searching yours. “Try me.”

You swallow hard. “I just—I had this whole day planned, and now it’s ruined, and it’s all my body’s fault, and I know it’s stupid to be upset about it, but I am, and—“ The words are tumbling out now, tripping over each other in their rush to escape. “And now you probably think I’m a total freak, and—“

“Whoa, whoa,” Caleb interrupts, his hands coming up to frame your face. His thumbs brush away the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling again. “Slow down. What day? What are you talking about?”

You take a shuddering breath. “I was going to—I thought today I would finally—“ You stop, hiccuping embarrassingly. “I wanted you to fuck me,” you blurt out, the words hanging in the air between you.

Caleb goes perfectly still, his eyes widening slightly.

For one horrible moment, you think you’ve made a terrible mistake, that you’ve misread every look, every touch, every moment that made your heart race. That he’s going to push you away, disgust written all over his face.

But then his expression softens, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, Pips,” he says, his voice fond. “Is that why you’re crying? Because you got your period?”

You nod miserably. “I had it all planned,” you confess. “I cleaned everything, and I was going to sit on your lap while you were watching TV, and I wasn’t wearing any underwear under my shirt, and then I was going to—“ You stop, your face burning. “But then I went to the bathroom and—“ You gesture vaguely at yourself.

To your surprise, Caleb laughs. This bitch.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Do you know that?”

You blink at him. “I’m not adorable. I’m horny and hormonal and currently bleeding from my vagina.”

His laugh comes again, louder this time. “That too,” he agrees. His eyes, when they meet yours, have darkened slightly. “And you know what? I think we can work with that.”

Your breath catches. “What do you mean?”

His hand slides from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. “I mean,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that always makes your knees weak, “that you look so fucking cute when you cry, and if you want me to fuck you, I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

Your mouth goes dry. “But I’m—“

“I know,” he interrupts. “And that’s not going to stop me.” His other hand slides down to your waist, fingers splaying across the small of your back. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

You shake your head frantically. “No. God, no. Please—“

His smile turns predatory. “Then shut up and kiss me, Pips.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You surge forward, your lips meeting his with a desperation that would be embarrassing if he weren’t kissing you back just as hungrily. His mouth is hot against yours, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with yours as his hand tightens in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, then slide up to tangle in his hair. He breaks the kiss with a laugh, grabbing your waist and lifting you effortlessly.

You yelp in surprise, your legs automatically wrapping around his hips. “What are you—“

Caleb carries you straight to the kitchen, setting you down only to push you firmly against the counter. Your back hits the edge with a soft thud, and you gasp as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you with effortless strength until you’re perched on the cool granite surface.

His eyes never leave yours as he steps between your legs, spreading them wider with his hips.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want. “Do you know that? For months. Maybe years.”

You shake your head, unable to form words as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your shirt higher. His fingertips brush against the edge of your underwear—or where your underwear should be. Your breath catches as you remember your plan, the lack of barriers between you.

His eyes darken as he realizes it too. “Fuck, Pips,” he breathes. “You really weren’t wearing anything?”

You bite your lip, suddenly shy despite the way your body is screaming for his touch. “I told you. I had a plan.”

His laugh is low and hungry. “Well, your plan’s working.” One hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding you with unerring accuracy. “You’re so wet,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “Even with—“ He pauses, his expression shifting as his fingers brush against something.

The tampon string.

“Oh,” you say, your face burning. “I, uh—“

But Caleb is already grinning, that wicked smile that always gets you into trouble. “Let me see,” he says, tugging gently at the string.

You grab his wrist. “Wait—“

He freezes immediately. “Too much?”

You nod, embarrassment washing over you again. “It’s... sensitive. With the tampon in. I don’t—“ You stop, not sure how to explain the strange, oversensitive feeling without sounding completely insane.

But Caleb is already nodding, understanding dawning in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice gentle. “We’ll work around it.” His hand withdraws, but before you can feel disappointed, he’s reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants.

Your mouth goes dry as he pushes them down just enough to free his cock. It stands proudly against his stomach, thick and already leaking at the tip.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, watching your face carefully.

Then he spits into his palm, the crude gesture at odds with the tenderness in his eyes as he wraps his hand around himself. He strokes once, twice, spreading the saliva, before guiding himself to your entrance.

The head of his cock presses against you, hot and hard, and you gasp at the contact. “Okay?” he asks, his voice strained.

You nod frantically. “Yes, please—“

He pushes forward slightly, the tip of him catching on your folds, then sliding along your slit.

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself as he rocks against you. That fucking tampon string tickles his fingers with every thrust, a reminder of the messy reality, but fuck if it isn’t getting you even hotter, even needier.

“That’s it,” Caleb murmurs, his free hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. “You’re taking it so well. So fucking pretty for me.”

You whimper at his words, your hips moving of their own accord to meet his thrusts. The counter is cool beneath your heated skin, a counterpoint to the burning pleasure building between your legs. Caleb’s breath comes faster, his movements becoming less coordinated as he works himself against you.

“Fuck, Pips,” he groans, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder. “I’m not going to last if you keep—“

But you’re beyond words now, teetering on the edge of release. Your inner muscles clench around nothing, your body desperate for more. Caleb seems to sense it, his hand sliding between you to circle your clit with his thumb.

The touch is all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you with unexpected force, your back arching off the counter as you cry out.

Through the haze of pleasure, you feel Caleb stiffen, then groan as warmth spills across your lower belly—his orgasm triggered by yours.

For a moment, you both just breathe, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air. Then Caleb pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he takes in the sight of his cum on your skin.

“Fuck,” he says again, voice rough.

But you’re already moving, sliding off the counter on shaky legs. Your hand reaches between your legs, fingers brushing the tampon string to make sure it’s still in place, then moving lower to gather some of Caleb’s cum. Your heart is pounding, your mind oddly clear as you turn around and bend over the sink, using your free hand to spread your ass cheeks.

“Pips?” Caleb sounds confused, then, as you use your cum-covered finger to circle your asshole, shocked. “What are you—“

“I want more,” you say, your voice steadier than you expected. “I don’t care if it hurts.”

Caleb makes a strangled sound. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You look back at him over your shoulder, meeting his gaze steadily. “Yes, I do. I’ve thought about this. About you. About us.” You wiggle your ass slightly, watching his eyes track the movement. “Please, Caleb. I need you.”

He’s still for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he steps forward, one hand coming to rest on the small of your back. “I’m going to prep you first,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “If you can take two of my fingers without tapping out, we’ll talk.”

You nod, excitement and nervousness warring in your stomach. “Okay.”

His hand slides down, his finger, slick with a mixture of his cum and the saliva he spits into his palm, rubbing gentle circles around your hole.

“Breathe,” he instructs as he begins to push forward. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You bite your lip, focusing on the sensation of him working his finger inside you. It’s strange, not quite painful, but intense in a way you hadn’t expected.

Your body resists at first, then slowly gives way as Caleb crooks his finger, searching.

“There,” he says as you gasp at the new sensation.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Caleb laughs, the sound warm with affection. He adds a second finger beside the first, working them in carefully. “Still good?”

You nod, beyond words now as he scissors his fingers, stretching you. The slight burn is already fading, replaced by a needy, empty feeling that has you pushing back against his hand.

“I think,” Caleb says, his voice strained, “that you’re ready for more. But I need to hear you say it. I need to know you’re sure.”

You turn your head, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. “I’m sure,” you say, each word deliberate. “I want you. All of you. Now.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Desire, possession, maybe a hint of the same desperation you’re feeling.

“Then hold on,” he says, withdrawing his fingers. “Because I’m not going to be gentle.”

Caleb doesn’t give you time to reconsider.

One hand grips your hair, pulling just hard enough to make your scalp tingle as he forces your head down toward the sink. The other wraps around his cock, using it to scoop up the remaining cum on your ass, spreading it as a makeshift lubricant.

The head of him presses against your hole, the blunt pressure both foreign and thrilling as he begins to push forward.

“Breathe,” he reminds you, his voice tight with restraint. “Try to relax.”

You try, you really do, but your body resists the intrusion, the ring of muscle clenching tightly. Caleb pauses, his hand in your hair gentling to stroke soothingly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “We can stop—“

“No,” you interrupt, pushing back against him despite the burn. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He hesitates a moment longer, then nods. “On three,” he says. “One, two—“

On three, he pushes forward, the head of his cock popping past the tight ring of muscle.

The sensation is overwhelming, an intensity that steals your breath. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the smooth surface of the sink, your knees threatening to buckle.

“Fuck,” Caleb hisses above you, his hand tightening in your hair. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You can’t answer, your world narrowed to the point where your bodies are joined. It burns, yes, but there’s pleasure there too.

From Caleb’s perspective, only the tip is inside you—maybe an inch at most. Your body has accepted that much, but no more, the passage too tight, too unyielding for him to push deeper. He can feel every pulse of your heartbeat around him, every slight shift as you try to adjust to the intrusion.

“Pips,” he says, his voice strained. “I need you to relax. You’re clenching too hard—I can’t—“

But then your body does something unexpected. The burn suddenly transforms, pleasure racing up your spine as your ass is stimulated by Caleb’s presence. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, your inner muscles clamping down hard around the intrusion as you cum with a broken cry, untouched.

The sudden tightness around him makes Caleb groan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re going to make me—“

You’re beyond coherent thought, riding the waves of your unexpected climax. Your body is both tighter and somehow more yielding now, the ring of muscle around Caleb’s cock relaxing fractionally with each pulse of pleasure.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “Just like that. Let me in, Pips. Let me all the way in.”

Something about his words makes your body respond. Each time you unclench, he pushes forward another inch, the burn transforming gradually into a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your forehead pressed to the cool surface of the sink as you focus on relaxing, on taking him deeper.

“Halfway,” Caleb murmurs, his voice thick with want. “You’re doing so well. So good for me.”

His praise sends another thrill through you, your body responding by relaxing further. He slides in another inch, then another, until you can feel the base of his cock pressing against your ass, his hips flush with your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he says, the word barely audible. “You’ve taken all of me.”

The realization that Caleb is inside you completely sends a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

You’re stretched full, every movement sending sparks along your nerve endings. When Caleb shifts slightly, his cock dragging along your sensitive inner walls, you whimper at the sensation.

“I can’t—“ he starts, then stops, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “I’m going to—“

And then he’s cumming, his release triggering another, smaller orgasm for you. You feel each pulse of him inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you as your own muscles milk him for every drop.

“Okay?” he asks, his voice rough.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. The fullness is strange but not uncomfortable now, your body having adjusted to his presence.

Slowly, carefully, you lift one leg to rest your foot on the counter beside you. The new angle makes Caleb’s cock shift inside you, drawing a gasp from both of you.

“What are you—“ he starts, but you’re already moving, your hips rolling experimentally against his.

The movement sends a jolt of pleasure through you, the cum inside you making everything slicker, easier. You do it again, more confidently this time, watching Caleb’s eyes darken as you take control.

“Pips,” he warns, but there’s no real admonishment in his voice—just a strained desire. “If you keep doing that—“

You grin, rolling your hips again. “What? You’ll what?”

His answer is cut short as his cock suddenly slips free, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. Cum, both his and yours, dribbles down your thighs.

“Shit,” Caleb says, looking down at the mess. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

You pout, turning in his arms to face him fully. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the rapid thundering of his heart beneath your palms. It’s racing almost as fast as yours. You press closer, your still-sensitive body hyperaware of every point of contact between you.

“I wasn’t finished,” you murmur against his collarbone.

Caleb’s laugh rumbles through his chest. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “You were being very distracting.”

You smile, your fingers tracing patterns on his skin. “Good distracting or bad distracting?”

“Very, very good distracting,” he assures you, his hand coming up to cup your face. “But maybe we should clean up before—“

But you’re already moving, one hand sliding down his stomach to wrap around his cock.

He’s still half-hard, responsive to your touch as you give him a few experimental strokes. Your other hand continues its journey, sliding around to his lower back, then lower still, fingers brushing the curve of his ass.

Caleb goes very still. “Pips,” he says, a warning in his voice. “What are you—“

You cut him off with a kiss, your tongue sweeping into his mouth as your hand squeezes his ass. He makes a muffled sound of surprise, his own hands coming to rest uncertainly on your waist.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, “My turn,” against his lips before diving back in.

Your hand continues its exploration, one finger tracing the cleft of his ass, searching for—

There. The small, puckered hole that you’ve wondered about but never dared to touch. You circle it with your fingertip, feeling Caleb tense against you.

“Pips,” he says again, his voice strained. “I don’t think—“

But it’s too late. Your finger, slick with a mixture of your cum and his, pushes forward, the tip breaching the tight ring of muscle. Caleb makes a choked sound against your mouth, his body going rigid.

You pull back slightly, concerned. “Not comfortable?” you ask, ready to withdraw.

He shakes his head, his eyes dark. “No, it’s just—“ He stops, swallowing hard. “No one’s ever—“

Understanding dawns. This is new for him too, maybe even newer than it was for you.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you say, echoing his earlier words. Then, before he can respond, you push your finger in a little deeper, crooking it slightly to search for—

“Fuck!” The word tears from his throat as you brush against his prostate, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “What was—“

You do it again, more deliberately this time, watching his face as pleasure washes over it. “That’s your prostate,” you explain, unable to keep the smugness from your voice. “Feels good, right?”

He nods frantically, beyond words now as you continue to stroke that spot inside him. Your other hand works his cock in counterpoint, establishing a rhythm that has him panting, his forehead dropping to rest on your shoulder.

“That’s it,” you encourage, feeling powerful in a way you never have before. “Let go for me, Caleb. Cum for me.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “Can’t,” he manages. “Too soon, after—“

But his body betrays him, his cock hardening fully in your hand, precum leaking copiously as you continue your assault. You speed up your movements, watching in fascination as Caleb comes completely undone.

This man who’s always been so in control, now trembling in your arms.

“I’m going to—“ he starts, then cuts off with a groan as his release hits him. His cum spills over your hand, warm and plentiful, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop, not when he’s making those delicious broken sounds against your neck.

And then something changes. The warmth on your hand increases, becomes wetter, and you realize with a shock that Caleb is—

“Oh god,” he moans, mortification evident in his voice. “I’m sorry, I’m—“

But it’s too late. The pleasure has overwhelmed him completely, his body responding in the most basic way as he continues to urinate, the warm liquid running down your hand to drip onto the floor between you.

You’re dripping wet, and it’s not just from the mess he’s made. There’s something fucking hot about seeing him like this.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your movements gentling but not stopping. “It’s just your body. It’s just us.”

He makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh. “Just us,” he agrees, his voice rough. “Just you reducing me to—fuck—“

You carefully withdraw your finger, sensing he’s reached his limit.

Immediately, his arms tighten around you, holding you close as his breathing slowly returns to normal. You can feel the heat of his blush against your neck, the slight tremble in his muscles as the aftershocks of pleasure, and probably embarrassment, run through him.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, not quite meeting your eyes. “I should, um. We should probably—“

“Clean up?” you supply helpfully, unable to keep the smile from your voice.

He nods, finally looking at you. You lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I think,” you say when you pull back, “that a bath is in order. For both of us.”

“A bath,” he agrees, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Together?”

You nod, suddenly shy as if you weren’t quite literally in him just seconds ago. “Together.”

He smiles before bending to lift you into his arms. You yelp in surprise, your arms automatically winding around his neck.

“What are you doing?” you demand, though you’re already grinning.

“Taking you to the bathroom,” he says matter-of-factly, already carrying you down the hallway. “Since someone decided to make a mess of us both.”

You laugh, resting your head against his shoulder. “I seem to recall you participating quite enthusiastically.”

“That,” he agrees, pushing the bathroom door open with his foot, “I definitely did.” He sets you down carefully beside the tub, his hands lingering on your waist. “Ready for round two?”

Refer to Party RSVP

Comment to be tagged!

“—why don’t we ever do these in exam rooms?” You exhale, eyes dropping to the plain paperweight at the corner of his desk. Your face is suddenly hot with the shame of your cowardice. “You know, with the bed and the jars full of cotton balls and tongue depressors and stuff.”

“Would you prefer that?” he returns smoothly before clicking his pen. 

“No, it would probably feel too clinical,” you reply honestly before trying a short laugh. 

Zayne’s attention slips to the computer at his desk. 

“But, “ you break in again, a sudden wave of persistence hitting you before you have time to fully think it through, “I was just w-wondering, because we never take my blood pressure or anything like that…”

“The nurses take your blood pressure before I see you,” he explains. “They upload it to your record before you come in here.” He glances at you, the way your hands are tightly clasped in your lap. 

“Your blood pressure looks fine,” he says, reassuringly, “as does everything else. I would only recommend that you get more—”

“Sleep?” you snort and Zayne only gives you a slight nod. “That’s been kind of hard lately, but I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“Overworking yourself is also not recommended.”

“I actually, um,” you swallow. “I wanted to ask about my blood pressure because…because I wanted to ask if you could write me a prescription for birth control?” You squeeze your eyes shut, mentally beating yourself for ending the sentence all high and squeaky because you’ve now opened yourself up to the possibility of Zayne asking you to repeat yourself. 

Fortunately, this doesn’t happen. 

Instead, there is a pause that suspiciously feels like ten minutes, but is likely only five seconds. 

“Birth control?” Zayne repeats, like it’s the first time he’s ever heard those two words put together. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes darting up towards the upper molding of the windows in his office. “Not like the shot or an IUD or anything, I think…I think I just want to try taking the pills for now.”

Zayne takes off his glasses, not even bothering to fold them before placing them on his desk.

“You know what,” you say suddenly, the tension snapping you back into reality, “maybe I should just get it somewhere else. I didn’t mean to make it—”

“Do you know which one you want?” he interrupts, his voice tight. As terribly awkward as this is for you, you imagine it’s just as worse for Zayne. After years of never discussing anything more personal than book recommendations, this must be a sudden plunge into the deep end of your personal business. It’s not even like you wanted it to prevent pregnancy—your periods were always an overly painful ordeal and a recommendation from Tara (and hours of online research), you’d decided to at least ask about it at your next visit. It’s clear to you now that you should’ve just gone to a clinic. 

“Yeah, um…” you pull out your phone to find the drug name in your notes before handing it to him. 

“You understand that with the pill, you’ll have to take it every day at the same time, correct? And that you’ll have to throw out the pack and start a new one if you skip too many days?” 

“Yeah, I know,” you say. Part of you is annoyed at the implication behind that question, but another part of you is relieved that Zayne has somehow slipped back into his ‘nagging doctor’ persona.

“Not to mention the side effects, which can influence your mood—”

“I know,” you interject, not even bothering to hide your irritation now. You know that Zayne is just doing his job, but something about the blurred lines between your professional and personal relationships makes his nagging hit even closer to home than usual. Especially about something so personal. 

He sighs. “Can you at least be honest with me about any effects you might feel after starting the pill at our next visit? Or call me. Just…don’t keep things from me.” 

You glance up at him. Part of you wants to ask him to do the same, but you figure that the context in which he’s asking is probably quite different. After all, in the near two decades that you’ve known each other, he’s never been one to pry into your personal life, only delving into matters concerning your health and your heart. This instance may be the closest brush yet. 

“I promise,” you declare earnestly, giving him an easy smile. 

He blinks once, his shoulders slowly raising from a long, sustained breath. Even in the white artificial light of his office and even when you’re stressing him out for the nth time this month, you think he looks kind of cute like this. 

You’re not oblivious, you know that Zayne is attractive. Your friends have said it, Caleb has said it, hell, even random old ladies on the street have said it. But in this moment, when you’ve got him just slightly frazzled enough to break through his frosty demeanor, you think you finally see what everyone’s been talking about. 

“Fine,” he says, reaching for his script pad. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, mulling over this revelation. 

Oh well, you think, as he scratches out your prescription on the paper with his usual quiet nonchalance. 

It was nice seeing this side of him while it lasted.

-

Three days later, your phone rings at 10 am on the dot.

It’s your day off, so you’re still mostly asleep when the device starts vibrating with an intensity strong enough to startle you from unconsciousness. Your hands scrabble through the sheets, groggily searching for it before it sends whoever’s calling to voicemail. Once you manage to find it and flip it over, you’re surprised to see Zayne’s contact picture staring at you with its familiar indifference. 

“Hello?” you mumble blearily after managing to hit the ‘Accept call’ button. 

“Good morning,” the surgeon’s voice sounds from the speaker of your phone. It’s slightly muffled, like he’s wearing a mask, so you figure that he’s at work. This realization confuses you, seeing as Zayne almost never calls you in the middle of his work day. You figure it must be something significant enough to warrant interrupting his ever-packed schedule of surgeries, paperwork, and hospital board meetings. You rub away the sleep in your eyes and push yourself up to a sitting position on the bed. 

“Doctor Zayne,” you say, barely stifling a yawn. “Was there something wrong with my results from last time?” 

There’s a pause on the line and the sound of some not-so-distant conversation before you hear Zayne promising to follow-up with whoever it is. 

“Sorry,” he says to you this time. “I just wanted to ask if you’d started the pill.” 

Your eyes dart to the small foil packaging of pills on your nightstand. You’d set a reminder on your phone to take the pill around an hour before your usual bedtime so there were three empty pockets in the blister pack. 

“Yeah,” you say. “So far, so good.” 

He gives a short hmm. “Did you read the package insert?” 

“Well, yes…” you recall partially getting through the bath towel-sized sheet of paper printed with lines and lines of tiny font before giving up and haphazardly stuffing it back into the box. “Kind of.” 

“So you’ve been taking it at the same time everyday—”

“Yeah.”

“—and you know that you also need to take the placebo pills at the end of your pack—”

“Mhm.”

“—and that you shouldn’t be having unprotected sex until at least one week after consistently taking the pill.”

Your mouth pops open, surprised that Zayne had even said the word “sex”. In fact, you think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard it from him. 

“Uh,” you swallow, scratching at the collar of your pyjama top. The lack of…activity in your life wasn’t something that plagued your everyday thoughts, but it was still disheartening to receive the reminder that you hadn’t had anyone in recent memory. You wonder if Zayne was in the same boat, given his schedule. But before you can allow your mind to wander further down that path, you remember that you’ve yet to give him a substantial response.

“I don’t have—” You clear your throat. “I haven’t been having—”

“Okay,” Zayne says, much too quickly. “But you will still need to wait until a full week if…if you do—”

“I know,” you say, unusually flustered for this early in the morning. “I don’t, um, I don’t think I’m going to be doing that before the week is up.” 

“Understood.” Even when slightly muffled, Zayne’s voice sounds almost as tense as you feel. 

A few seconds pass and you’re about to suggest hanging up to let him get back to his day, but he speaks up before you can. 

“Do you have plans next week?” he asks, causing your heart to flutter in your chest. Your other hand grips at the soft cotton of your comforter as you try to contain this sudden bout of emotion. Why were you even more panicked than you were a minute ago? 

“Like, um, besides work?” 

You hear him give a short laugh before he replies. “Yes, besides work.” 

“I think so,” you reply, fiddling with a loose thread on your sheet. “I’m seeing a few high school friends for karaoke Saturday night, and then I told Tara I’d help her pick out some coats for the fall.”

“No I mean…” he sighs before you hear a slight rustling. “I wanted to ask,” he says, the sound of his voice now unobstructed by a surgical mask, “if you had a date. If you were seeing someone. Romantically.” 

You bring your hand to your cheek, pinching the soft skin there to confirm that this is real and that you’re fully awake. Once you register the slight bit of pain, your brain begins to move much too fast while also getting you nowhere. Why was Zayne asking you this? Why now? Did he like you? Did you like him? Your hummingbird heartbeat tells you that the answer to the last question is most likely yes, but it’s more than you can process on the morning of your day off when you’d been planning to roll out of bed at noon and complete all of one chore before dinner. 

“Are you asking me on a date, Doctor Zayne?” is what your brain ends up conjuring after several stilted moments of silence. 

“I—Yes,” he says, with a sense of finality that leaves you a little stunned. “I’m asking you on a date.” 

“Oh.”

He clears his throat. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, a little dazed. “I mean, yes. Yes I want to go on a date with you.” 

Zayne exhales. “Good. Good.”

“Great,” you say, unable to fight the sudden grin that’s formed on your lips. 

“Does next Friday night work for you?” 

“Yes,” you answer immediately. Even if you aren’t actually free that night, you’re sure that you can find a way to make it so that you are. 

“I’ll send you the details later,” he says, sounding a bit more like his usual, composed self. 

“Okay,” you breathe into the mic. 

“I have to scrub in now for a pacemaker insertion procedure.”

“Oh. Oh, okay, I can hang up now,” you chirp, too giddy to even be down about his absence. 

“Have a good rest of the day,” Zayne says gently before you both say goodbye.

When the call ends, you’re left to face your own shocked expression on the dark screen of your phone. It’s suddenly much too quiet in the airy expanse of your room, much too calm for the anxiety and anticipation boiling over in your chest like two angry chemical mixtures overflowing into one another. You need an output. 

You grab the closest throw pillow and shove your face into it, screaming into the plush fabric like it’ll ease the still-growing elation in your body.

How did you get from birth control to a date? 

How did you even get a date? Much less with Zayne, who you’ve known since you were kids, who was now your primary care physician, and—oh, god—

You snatch up the throw pillow again to unleash another soul-cleansing yell. 

What the hell have you done?

-

What the hell have I done? Zayne thinks for the four hundredth time in the past ten days. 

He hadn’t meant to ask you out on a date, he doesn’t even know how the conversation had veered so far from his intended destination. He’d only meant to ascertain whether you were seeing someone and, as a result, whether you needed the birth control for the purpose he’d suspected. 

Of course it was none of his business. He tries to keep all of his patient relationships strictly professional. However, he has somehow allowed you to cross all his lines. He isn’t sure whether it’s the fact that you’ve known each other before he could even remember the characters for ‘stethoscope’, or if it's something more unprofessional than he can come to terms with. 

But with the way your phone conversation had gone on that otherwise uneventful Monday morning, he’s able to admit it’s probably the latter. Falsely confirming that he was asking you out was an uncharacteristically impulsive move. Doubling down on it and then actually asking you out was an even greater out-of-body experience. It had felt simultaneously like floating above his own physical form and being violently throttled forward like the people in those science fiction space movies when the ship makes its jump to lightspeed. 

One second he is just your physician and maybe your friend, and the next, he’s sitting in a restaurant across from you, reeling from the whiplash of how fast the past week and a half has gone by and, frankly, from how pleased you look to be here. 

Even in the insufficient lighting of the dining room, he can see the reflection of your lip gloss, shimmering as you smile at him, as you take a sip of your cocktail, your pretty mouth wrapped around the short straw. He can’t look away. He wonders if it would be sticky, if it would taste like something dessert-like—perhaps cherry, or vanilla—because he knows that these kinds of cosmetics include that for some reason. Not that he’s thinking of trying on your lip gloss, even though there would be no way to taste it otherwise. Unless…

No, Zayne doesn’t kiss on the first date, not that he’s had many of those. But the thought grabs at him and digs in with its claws as he tries to shake it off throughout a conversation about prototype wrist guards being developed for the Hunter Association. 

“And how was your day?” you ask, your head tilting slightly. Something small glints several centimeters above the corner of your jaw and he realizes that he’s never seen you wear earrings before. Probably for obvious occupation-related reasons.

“It was fine,” he says after adjusting the placement of his salad fork. “It’s rare that I don’t get a call on one of my days off, so the silence was a welcome change.” 

In truth, he’d been restless the whole day, constantly double-checking the time of his reservation, the traffic conditions, and even the weather. At one point, he’d even wished for a call to come through, just so he could potentially postpone this odd eruption of dread and anxiety.

But then you smile again, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Zayne feels something warm and fuzzy bloom inside of him, washing away the remaining dredges of uncertainty still stuck in his system. 

“That’s great,” you gush, glowing as bright as your lips and your ears. “I’m so glad you had a relaxing day off, Doctor Zayne. You really deserve it.” 

His mouth dries and his stomach does something he knows to be physiologically impossible. 

He never should’ve asked you out. 

No.

He should’ve asked you out ages ago. 

-

These dissonant thoughts nag at him for the rest of the date—as he’s paying the bill, as he’s driving you home, as he crosses the threshold of your apartment because of course you’d invited him up, and of course he’d accepted—but now as you kick off your heels and disappear into your kitchen promising to return with two glasses of water, he really feels the devastating weight of his choices. 

You return with two mismatched mugs of water and set them down on the coffee table in front of him before sitting down on the couch. In the much improved lighting of your living room, Zayne notices the shine of your nylons as you fold your legs beneath you and the way even your whole being seems to glow from within. 

“I’m a little buzzed right now,” you admit, which solves the mystery of his last observation. He recalls you ordering at least two cocktails with dinner, and then getting mildly upset when he refused to let you put them on a separate bill for you to pay because Zayne had only had water to drink. However, he didn’t realize that you were this affected until the moment you’d said it. 

He hums, reaching for your glass of water to hand it to you. “Why’d you drink so much?”

You play with the chain around your neck and Zayne watches it glimmer between your nails. “I was nervous,” you pout, and the admission makes his grip on the cup tighten.

He never should’ve asked you out. 

“I didn’t understand—I don’t know why you would want to take me out on a date,” you say softly, eyes downcast.

He should’ve asked you out ages ago.

“What do you mean?” he says, giving up on his endeavour to get you to drink. Instead, he places his hand on yours in an attempt at comfort. 

“I mean,” you state, looking up to meet his gaze, “you’ve never really wanted to get to know me before. So I didn’t really understand why you wanted to take me out now.” 

Your eyes search for the truth within his own, but Zayne knows that his explanation of being a nosy, terrible friend, and an even nosier, more terrible physician is probably not the optimal approach. But he figure he at least owes you some parts of the truth.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, his thumb running across the apex of your knuckle. “I guess when I was thinking about why you might need the birth control…I thought about whether you wanted it because you were seeing someone else and the thought just made me a little…”

“Jealous?” you offer, suddenly looking up at him with an abashedly pleased expression. 

“Perhaps,” he admits. 

You make a small, delighted noise and Zayne almost flinches when your other hand comes to clasp his. Thankfully, he maintains his composure. 

“Doctor Zayne, will you kiss me?” you ask, your lashes fluttering against your cheek. The combination of his title and your request causes his heart to skip a beat. You look so alluring, with your eyes and your shiny, shiny lips, and the way you’re looking at him like you’ve also wanted this all along, even if you both hadn’t come to terms with it until now. He knows that he doesn’t kiss on the first date. But he also doesn’t come up to their first apartments or have their medical appointments highlighted in his calendar or prescribe their birth control. 

Zayne doesn’t kiss on the first date. 

But in this instance, and in a hundred other ones, you’re the exception. 

So he leans down and presses his mouth against yours, soft and careful as to not scare you off. However, in the next second, he realizes that he should have known you better than that, because you immediately wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in even deeper. You hum happily against his lips and he feels himself untense, allowing you to crawl over his thighs and onto his lap as you card your hands through his hair. 

He lowers his hands to rest upon your waist, steadying you as you continue to kiss him with a languid sort of sensuality that stokes a flame within his belly that he’s not even sure his Evol can extinguish. 

You open your mouth slightly and he can taste you—finally taste you—and it’s as sweet as he could have ever imagined. His hands scrabble across the silky fabric of your dress, aching to feel the heat of your skin underneath. Your breasts press against the front of his chest and he shivers as he feels the apex of your thighs brush oh-so-lightly against the growing rise of his crotch. 

Yet again he feels overly lightheaded and like he’s moving too fast all at once. How did he get here? Where is he going? 

He pulls back, gripping your jaw with one hand to break the kiss. 

Your eyes are heavily-lidded and dark with lust and he can practically feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks as you try to press in towards him again. 

“Wait,” he croaks, doing his best to fend off the terrible want within him. It’s the closest thing to torture that he’s felt since the initial check-up appointment that kicked off this whole series of events.

“Hmm?” you pout, your lips still shiny, but now with your mingled spit. 

“You’re drunk,” he gasps, his hand lowering to rest on a decidedly more-neutral location; your knee.

“I’m not,” you insist, but the force behind your words tells him otherwise. “I’m perfectly fine to continue, Doctor Zayne,” you say, rubbing the smooth plastic of his shirt buttons in between your fingers. 

“Plus—” you blurt, before faltering slightly, your gaze dropping to his collarbone. 

“”Plus”?” he prompts, tilting your chin up. You look about as flustered as he feels. 

“It’s been over a week, right?” you ask, blinking at him with such a pretty expression that it takes him all of five seconds to understand what you mean. “So technically I’m safe.”

His chest seizes and the world nearly goes dark as he begins to visualize it—the scent of your skin, the warmth of your body, wrapped around his, and the desperate, needy gasps from your throat as he—

“No,” he says, sounding much more wrecked than he’d intended. It’s all too much and while he can’t say he’s never thought about you like this, he can say that he imagined it would be softer and sweeter, at least for the first time. And he could have never anticipated that you would imply that he could— 

No, he’s already in over his head. 

You stroke at his cheek with a finger and give him your best pout, but he’s already managed to scrape his way back from the brink of no return. 

“Not tonight,” he insists, and you press your cheek against his shoulder. The sweet scent of your shampoo is like a siren call, but he persists. 

“I don’t want our first time to be like this,” he explains, almost faltering as he mentions it out loud. Oh god, how did he get here. “I want you to be sober, and—and I want to be prepared.” 

You lick your lips. Prepared is probably an overstatement. Zayne doesn’t think he’ll ever be prepared, especially if you’ll always be so shiny and pretty and eager for him. Especially if you’re leaning close and telling him how you’re safe. 

“Okay,” you agree reluctantly, your mouth tugging down. 

“Okay,” he repeats, attempting to mentally reassure himself that he’s made the right decision. He raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against the curve of your thumb. 

“I promise I won’t make you wait long.” he says, because he truly doesn’t plan to. He knows he can’t hold out on you—it feels as if you’ve now primed him to respond to your touch, or even just the possibility of it. Even with all of his practiced discipline and patience, he’s sure the next time you offer, he won’t be able to resist. 

And as he watches you bound to your room, citing the need to change into something more comfortable, he settles on the conclusion that he realizes was a long time coming: 

He should’ve asked you out ages ago. 

It slipped into a rhythm, quiet and unspoken, until it almost felt inevitable. Long days that ended in exhaustion, nights when liquor softened sharp edges — somehow, they always ended with you in his bed or him in yours. Sometimes it was his knock at your door, a crooked half-smile that never reached his eyes. Sometimes it was you finding his light still burning at midnight, stepping inside without needing to ask. You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t define it. You just let it happen.

And yet, sometimes, in the stillness after, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, aching in ways the sex didn’t fix. You missed the way it used to be — before that first kiss had redrawn the lines between you. Late night talks stretched across his couch until dawn, impromptu rounds of video games that ended in laughter and insults, knocking on each other’s doors just to share snacks or trade complaints about work. Back then, you never had to wonder where you stood with him. Back then, it had been easy.

Now, every time his hands closed around your waist or his mouth crushed yours, you couldn’t help but think about the morning after. About the way he’d roll out of bed, slip back into that guarded silence, and leave you with nothing more than the memory of how tightly he’d held you just hours before. It made you wonder if he was just lonely. If you were just convenient.

And worst of all was knowing you didn’t have the courage to ask. Because if you asked, he might answer. And if he answered, it might mean losing him entirely.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and paper toner, that sharp tang of recycled air clinging to the late afternoon. Your computer screen glowed with endless reports, but your attention kept sliding to the man sitting at the desk beside yours — James — the new recruit.

“Hey,” he said, leaning closer so his voice carried under the low hum of conversation. “You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes. Want me to read it out loud to you?”

You snorted despite yourself, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I’m fine, thanks. Just… zoning out.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning, and the easy confidence in his tone made it clear he wasn’t discouraged. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you entertained, then.”

He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t even try to be. The little asides, the jokes tossed your way when no one else was listening, the way he made sure to ask for help with tasks you already knew he knew how to do — it was obvious he liked the excuse to hover close. And maybe, in another life, you would’ve leaned into it without hesitation. He was handsome, charming, the kind of man who wore his intentions on his sleeve.

It was… nice. Nice to feel wanted openly instead of in shadows and silence.

But every time you laughed at something he said, your chest tightened with unease. You couldn’t stop thinking about Xavier. About what it would mean if you let this thing with the new recruit turn into something more. Would it cut the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on? Could you stop the midnight knocks, the heated nights tangled in his sheets, and still expect him to look at you the same way? Would he even care?

You didn’t know. And the not knowing gnawed at you.

Across the room, Xavier shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking as he leaned back, jaw tight. You didn’t notice the way his eyes tracked every glance you shared with the recruit, every quiet laugh. To him, it was unbearable.

He had put up with a lot. Your hesitance. Your silence. The way you carried on like what you had meant nothing when the sun was up. The way you never reached for him as he made his way out. But watching you lean close to another man, seeing someone else claim the easy smiles he’d fought for in private — his patience frayed by the hour.

By the time noon rolled around, Xavier couldn’t take it anymore. He strode over, casual on the surface but every movement wired tight. He leaned against your desk, folder in hand.

“I have a coupon for that hotpot place you mentioned,” he said, tone deceptively soft. “Do you want to go together?”

Your head snapped up. Heat rose to your cheeks, but before you could answer, James perked up beside you. You glanced between them, then smiled faintly. “I actually promised James I’d take him out for lunch today. Show him around.”

The pause stretched too long. Xavier’s jaw ticked before he forced a nonchalant shrug. “I see.”

You tried to soften the sting, tilting your head. “Maybe James could come with us?”

Xavier’s eyes slid to the recruit — sharp, cutting — then back to you. “I only have two coupons,” he said flatly. “Another time, then.”

You blinked at the edge in his voice, but before you could press further he pushed off your desk and walked away, folder snapping shut in his hand.

James cleared his throat. “Was that… your partner?”

You nodded, trying not to let your expression slip. “Yeah. Don’t mind him. He’s just… intense sometimes.”

James smiled like he didn’t mind at all.

Lunch passed in an easy haze — James kept you laughing, kept pointing out little shops and cafés as if cataloging future dates. But under the warmth of his attention, something nagged. You kept thinking of Xavier’s clipped tone, the way he hadn’t looked back when he left.

By the time training rolled around, James was already at your side, easygoing as ever, matching his stride to yours as you crossed the wide practice field. The late sun threw long shadows over the dummies and sparring rings, the air buzzing faintly with other recruits already mid-drill.

“Ready?” he asked, grinning, staff balanced against his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

You matched his smile, if only faintly. “Ready.”

But when you looked up, your usual place at the far edge of the grounds wasn’t empty. Xavier was already there, stretching, blade at his side, the sun catching against the damp skin at his temple. The sight made your chest hitch, like missing a step on the stairs. This was your rhythm — your spot. Him and you. Always.

Xavier’s gaze lifted, finding you instantly. Then it slid to James, and something in his expression hardened. He pushed up from his stretch and strode over, calm on the surface but sharp underneath, like the quiet before a storm.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said, his tone even but directed squarely at James. “She’s my partner.”

James blinked, thrown off. “Oh…uh. Captain Jenna asked her to train with me until I get an assignment.”

“She did,” you cut in quickly, brushing a stray hair back, suddenly aware Xavier hadn’t heard. “She asked me this morning. I thought she’d told you already.”

For a moment, Xavier just looked at you, unreadable. Then his shoulders eased a fraction, voice soft when he finally replied, “She must have forgotten.”

James gave an awkward half-shrug, shifting his grip on the staff. “Guess we’ll, uh… get started then?”

Xavier didn’t move, lingering a heartbeat longer before his mouth curved in a faint, too-casual smile. “Sure. No worries. I’ll see you when you get home.”

James blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—you two live together?”

Your laugh was quick, maybe too quick. “No! He’s just my neighbor. Same building.”

James’s shoulders loosened, though the flicker in Xavier’s eyes said that had been the point all along.

The silence between you and Xavier sharpened. His eyes darkened, lips parting like he might argue, might finally let the weight of his frustration loose—

But before he could, Tara jogged up, bright and oblivious. “Xavier! You’re with me today.”

He turned his head slowly, expression unreadable. “What?”

“Orders,” she chirped, tossing him a practice baton. “C’mon, don’t keep me waiting.”

For a second, Xavier didn’t move. His jaw clenched, muscles straining as though every instinct in his body screamed to refuse. Then, with a curt nod, he turned back to you. His gaze lingered — dark, cutting, and almost wounded — before he forced himself to step away.

You watched him go, stomach sinking as James nudged your arm with a grin, oblivious. “Looks like it’s just us, then.”

And just like that, the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on frayed further.

Xavier walked off stiffly, Tara jogging to keep pace beside him, but his eyes didn’t leave you. Even as you and James took up position on the far side of the training grounds, he tracked every movement, every exchange.

You adjusted James’s stance with a light touch at his elbow, guiding his arm until his aim straightened. The sight of your hand lingering on another man’s skin made Xavier’s chest seize. Then you stepped behind James, voice low as you demonstrated the motion yourself — your body aligning with his, movements seamless, easy in a way that should have been reserved for him.

It made him sick.

You were supposed to be by his side. Training with him. Trusting him to guard your blind spots, to fight shoulder to shoulder until there was no question where you belonged. Did James even know how to protect you? Would he know what to do if an S-class wanderer bore down on you, if the world cracked open under your feet? Xavier knew the answer — no. James was raw, green, too eager for his own good. He wasn’t ready. And yet there you were, laughing at some joke in between shots, your smile wide and easy.

Xavier’s knuckles whitened around the practice baton Tara had given him.

“You’re sooo jealous,” Tara drawled, snapping him out of his spiral.

His head whipped toward her, eyes flashing. “I’m not jealous. I’m concerned.”

Tara arched a brow, lips curling into a sly smile. “Uh-huh. Concerned. Sure. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

He glared at her, but she only laughed, twirling her own baton like she was playing a game.

“Xavier,” she said lightly, “maybe she’d notice how much you like her if you actually said something. You know, instead of acting like you don’t care in front of everyone else and then brooding like this when she so much as breathes near another guy.”

His chest tightened, but he kept his voice flat. “She doesn’t see me that way.”

“Please.” Tara’s laugh was sharp and knowing. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not watching. You two are impossible.” She sighed, rolling her eyes as though the weight of both your stubbornness sat on her shoulders. “What am I going to do with you?”

Xavier didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His gaze had already drifted back across the training field.

You corrected James’s grip again, stepping close, your voice carrying faintly with another laugh. James turned toward you with that grin he wore too easily, too openly, and Xavier’s chest burned.

The pressure inside him needed somewhere to go. He summoned the light blade with a flick, its energy flaring sharp in his grip. The nearest training dummy fell to pieces in two strikes, the air hissing with each cut. Then another. And another. His movements grew harsher, faster, until the crash of splintering dummies echoed across the grounds.

It didn’t help.

Because no matter how cleanly he carved through the targets, no matter how sharp his blade, it couldn’t slice through the sound of your laughter drifting from across the field. It followed him, relentless, every note cutting deeper.

By the time training ended, his jaw ached from clenching. He hadn’t spoken another word, not to Tara, not to anyone. He only stalked back to the lockers, peeled off his gloves, and left before he had to see you and James walk out together.

The sky outside had gone dusky purple by the time you finished up, the office windows glowing with the last scraps of daylight. You were too focused on wrapping up for the evening to notice him watching from across the room, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.

Your phone buzzed against the desk.

You glanced down.

xavi: Come to my place after work.

No explanation. No teasing. Just the clipped demand of a man who couldn’t stand another second of restraint.

James leaned over, catching the flicker of tension in your face as you typed a quick reply. “Good news?” he asked lightly.

“Something like that,” you said, locking your screen before he could read too much in your expression.

But the truth pressed sharp against your ribs as you gathered your things. You couldn’t keep pretending this fragile thing between you and Xavier could last forever — not when someone else was looking at you with clear intentions, not when your own heart was caught somewhere in between.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the flicker of a bulb overhead. You’d barely lifted your hand to knock when the door swung open.

Xavier stood there, dark eyes burning like he’d been pacing behind the door, waiting for you. Before you could even draw breath, his hand closed around your wrist and he hauled you inside. The door slammed shut with a sharp crack, and then his mouth was on yours — hot, urgent, devouring.

You staggered back against the wall, your protest swallowed in the force of his kiss. It was rough, frantic, all teeth and tongue, like he’d been starving for you all day and finally snapped. His palms framed your face, thumbs pressing into your cheeks before sliding down to grip your waist as though he could hold you there forever.

“I needed you,” he muttered against your mouth, voice gravelly, words punctuated with another searing kiss. “All day—fuck—I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Your back hit the wall harder when he pressed closer, one knee forcing between your thighs. His hand caught yours, dragging it down, pressing your palm to the thick strain in his jeans. The heat there, the hard throb beneath denim, made your head spin. His breath hitched sharply, forehead falling against yours.

“Feel that?” His voice was hoarse, almost a growl. “Ah—feel what you do to me, star?”

Heat surged through your veins, but panic cut through just as quickly. You twisted slightly, breaking his mouth from yours long enough to gasp for air.

“Xavier—” His name tore out of you, uneven, desperate for space. You turned your face away, chest heaving. “Maybe we shouldn’t… do this anymore.”

The shift was instant. His expression darkened, hunger sharpening into something colder, angrier. His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping as his eyes narrowed in on you.

“Do you like him?” The question landed like a slap.

Your lips parted, stunned. “What? Who—”

“The new recruit,” Xavier bit out, low and sharp. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours, presence heavy enough to crush the air from your lungs.

“James?” The name slipped from you before you could stop it.

The shift in him was instant. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing darker, and his fingers dug harder into your waist. “Don’t say his name,” he hissed, the words trembling with anger.

You froze, heart hammering. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” His mouth twisted in a humorless curve, a shadow of a smile that wasn’t one at all. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Didn’t mean it? You’re pulling away from me the second he shows up, and you think I’m too blind to notice?”

“I’m not…” you tried, but his hand slid up your side, rough and certain, cutting your words short as the heat of his palm burned through the fabric of your shirt.

He crowded you against the wall, lips grazing your jaw, then lower, the scrape of his teeth making your breath hitch. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, and though his voice was quiet, the weight of it pinned you harder than his body did.

Your thoughts scattered, tangled between confusion, panic, and the undeniable pull of him. “Xavier, this isn’t about—”

“One last time,” he interrupted, his mouth brushing your throat. The scrape of stubble and the hot press of his lips sent your knees weak. “Give me one more night.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast, words catching in your throat. “I—”

“You can tell me to let you go in the morning,” he cut in again, voice raw, almost pleading beneath the steel. His hands clamped tighter on your hips, dragging you flush against him so you could feel the hard line of his arousal. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his next words cracked open, something darker than just desire bleeding through. “Just be mine for the night.”

His eyes softened, but only barely — a flash of something raw behind the anger, the kind of desperation that made his next words rougher than they should’ve been. He leaned in until his lips brushed the hollow of your throat, his tongue tracing up the line of your neck.

“You want it too, don’t you, starlight?” he murmured, kissing and licking at your skin like he was trying to brand you there. His voice cracked, a low plea threaded through the demand. “Your body is so warm… I can feel how much you need me.”

His thigh pressed harder between yours, and without meaning to, your hips rolled against it. The friction made you gasp, the moan slipping out before you could stop it. His grip tightened on your waist, satisfaction flashing in his eyes as he felt you grind against him.

Breathless, you whispered, “One more time.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

The kiss that followed was hot and devouring, teeth catching your bottom lip before his tongue pushed past. He caught you under your thighs and lifted you with startling ease, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. The heat of him pressed hard against your core as he carried you through the apartment, his mouth never leaving yours.

By the time your back hit his bed, you were already dizzy from the taste of him, from the sheer force of his body caging you in. He didn’t give you a chance to settle before pinning your wrists above your head, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His gaze locked on yours, fierce, unyielding.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, voice low, ragged. His hips ground down, the solid line of his arousal dragging against you in a way that stole your breath.

“Xavier,” you gasped, arching into him. Your wrists strained against his hold as your hips lifted, desperate for more. “I want it.”

His stare pinned you where you lay, wrists still caught in his grip until, finally, he let go. He stepped back, the heat of his body leaving yours, but his presence filled the room like a storm about to break.

“Strip.”

The command landed heavy in the air. 

You sat up slowly, heart hammering, your body still tingling from the way he’d pinned you down. For a moment you hesitated, almost shy under the weight of his gaze — then something inside you shifted. If he wanted a show, you’d give him one.

He loomed beside the bed, tall and imposing, his arms tense at his sides until one hand dragged up to the bulge in his jeans. His palm pressed hard, a hiss escaping through his teeth as his eyes stayed locked on you.

Your fingers moved to the buttons of your shirt. One by one, you slipped them free, deliberately slow, the small pop of each fastening loud in the quiet room. You parted the fabric just enough to let his eyes glimpse bare skin beneath, then dragged it wider, letting the shirt fall open.

Xavier’s breath came heavier. He cupped himself harder, thumb rubbing along the thick line straining his jeans. “Fuck…” he muttered, almost to himself, voice low and jagged.

You slid the shirt from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms to the floor. Then your hands went to the clasp of your bra. You toyed with it, rolling the hooks between your fingers, before finally easing it open. The straps fell loose, and you let the bra slide down, baring yourself to him fully.

His jaw flexed, curses tumbling under his breath. He tugged roughly at the swell in his jeans, the sound of fabric straining as he shifted his palm over the outline of his cock. His eyes were glassy, furious, hungry all at once.

You rose from the bed, standing tall under his scrutiny. Your thumbs hooked into the waistband of your pants, easing them down your hips inch by inch. You turned as you did it, giving him your back, then glanced over your shoulder with a sly smile as the fabric slid lower. The sight of your bare skin revealed at that slow, deliberate pace made him groan, his head tipping back for a second like he was fighting for control.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, squeezing himself hard through denim, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Such a tease,”

The pants pooled at your ankles, and you stepped out of them carefully, dragging the tease to its limit. When you finally turned back to face him, you weren’t bare — your panties still clung low on your hips, soft fabric an intentional barrier. His gaze locked there, dark and searing, like he wanted to tear them off with his teeth.

His knuckles were white against his jeans, his other hand curling into a fist at his side. Every muttered curse that fell from his lips made the air between you thicker, the tension stretched taut enough to snap.

And still, he didn’t move. He only stood there, palming himself, eyes devouring you like he needed to memorize every second before he lost the last thread of restraint.

The mattress dipped as you shifted back onto it, propping yourself against your palms, knees parting just enough to leave a space between them. The hem of your panties tugged at your thighs when you spread, your body relaxed but your eyes locked on his.

“I thought I told you to strip,” Xavier said, voice low, clipped — like you’d broken a rule he hadn’t even explained.

A slow tilt of your head, lips curving faintly. “I just did.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then a sharp laugh — empty, humorless, rough. He moved in on you like a storm breaking, knees hitting the edge of the bed as he leaned down between your legs. His hand slid over the inside of your thigh, rough fingertips dragging until his thumb found the thin barrier of your panties. The slow drag of it over your folds was casual, testing, until he pressed harder — pausing at the wet heat that had already bled through the fabric.

The look he gave you then could’ve burned. His brows drew together, jaw tight, almost seething as though you’d betrayed him. “Is this really for me?”

The corners of your mouth twitched upward — you almost laughed, though his tone suggested he wasn’t joking. Your hand came up anyway, cupping his cheek with a softness that clashed with the storm in his eyes. “Xavier,” you murmured, thumb brushing his skin, “are you pretending to be mad?”

His eyes sharpened, gaze cutting through you. “I’ve only pretended not to be.”

Before you could breathe out a response, he buried himself against you. His face pressed into your thighs, mouth dragging over the soaked fabric, tongue pushing against the damp spot until heat flared sharp through your nerves. You arched back with a gasp, your spine curving into the mattress as he worked through the barrier, lips and tongue and breath all hot and messy against you.

The friction was maddening — just enough to make your hips writhe, not nearly enough to break you open. Your fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles whitening, until frustration curled into your voice. “Xavier—stop teasing.”

He pulled back barely enough to speak, his mouth still hovering over you, breath humid against the wet fabric. “Beg for me.”

There was no give in him tonight, no chance of slipping around his demands. His eyes had that flat, dangerous sheen that told you he wouldn’t be coaxed with anything less.

So you did — your voice breaking on his name, soft and shameless as you gave him what he wanted.

The sound of it must have satisfied him, because he hooked a finger under the edge of your panties and tugged them aside, baring the slick heat he’d been tormenting. Then his mouth was on you again — nothing measured, nothing slow. His tongue worked greedily, sloppily, like he meant to consume you whole. Each drag was rougher than the last, lips and tongue and teeth slipping through slickness, sucking until your thighs trembled around his head.

The rhythm of it was relentless, no space for breath, no tenderness to cling to — just heat and hunger and the sound of him devouring you. Your body seized against the bed, legs twitching, fingers twisting in the sheets as every nerve lit up under his mouth.

And still, he didn’t slow. He didn’t want slow. Not tonight.

The pace of his mouth grew frantic, sloppy, almost savage against you — tongue dragging, lips sucking, nose brushing the tenderest parts of your skin until sparks flared white-hot behind your eyes. Your thighs snapped around his head as your orgasm tore through you, muscles clenching so tight you could feel the tremble in your calves. A strangled cry left your throat, your whole body bowing up from the bed before crashing back down, chest heaving, nails clawing at the sheets.

Still, Xavier didn’t stop. He pushed deeper, tongue working messily as if he meant to wring every last shudder out of you. The overstimulation came sharp, searing — your hips jolted against his mouth in helpless, broken thrusts. “X–Xavier, please—” you whined, voice cracking as you tugged at his hair, pulling him up. “Too much… sensitive—”

Finally, he relented, lifting his head with his mouth slick, eyes red-rimmed and dark. He stripped quick, movements clipped and impatient, tossing clothes aside as if they offended him. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was crawling over you, heat and weight pressing down, the mattress sinking under the span of his body.

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing damp hair from your face, though your lips curved into a tease. “What happened to my bunny?” Your tone was light, playful, but there was a tremor beneath it. “You’re being so mean tonight.”

He didn’t crack. His face stayed hard, lines carved deep in his jaw as his mouth closed over your chest. Teeth grazed, tongue laved, lips pulling your nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. The sharp suck made your breath stutter, your back arch.

“I’m being mean?” he murmured around you, voice edged and bitter, vibrating against your skin. His teeth grazed again before he pulled back, a flush marking your chest where his mouth had been. “You’re the one who was smiling, laughing, with some other guy in front of me all day.”

The anger in his tone made your stomach twist — not fear, but something headier, darker. He shifted lower, and suddenly the blunt head of his cock was pressing at your folds, sliding through the slick mess he’d made of you. Just enough to tease, to smear himself in your wetness, not enough to push in. The contrast was unbearable: the stretch almost there, the intrusion denied.

“And now,” he went on, voice rough, as the head dragged up and down your entrance, catching on your clit in maddening passes, “you say you don’t want to do this anymore.” His gaze locked on yours, unwavering, his jaw tight as he rutted just shy of entering. “That’s all it took? One guy gives you a little bit of attention and now you want to get rid of me.”

Your lips parted, his name spilling out in a breath meant to soothe, meant to explain: “Xav—”

But it was cut off in an instant, strangled into a moan as he pushed forward. The head breached you, then the thick, stretching length of him slid in slow, heavy, unstoppable. The drag was exquisite and punishing, your walls straining around every inch as he seated himself deep, filling you so completely your eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck—” Xavier hissed through his teeth, the curse hot against your neck. His hips slammed forward, rough and sloppy, like he couldn’t control himself anymore. Every thrust was mean, desperate, dragging a moan out of you whether you wanted to give it or not.

“I don’t get it,” he rasped, jaw clenched as he drove into you harder. “What could he give you that I can’t? What’s so fucking special about him?”

You tried to catch your breath, to explain, to soothe, but the words fell apart the second he snapped his hips sharp and deep. Your voice cracked into a moan, eyes rolling back, nails sinking into his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

He dropped lower, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged, voice breaking between thrusts. “Tomorrow, when you’re looking at him,” his pace faltered, stuttered, “laughing with him,” another harsh thrust, your cry cutting through the air, “you’ll still feel me. I won’t let you forget me.”

Your chest heaved. Heat spiraled low in your belly, curling tighter with every punishing roll of his hips. “W-why are you so jealous?”

His rhythm staggered. For just a second, his eyes flicked open, wide, confused, before anger burned through again. He snapped his hips forward so hard the headboard rattled, and you cried out.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked, raw. His hand slid up your ribs, pinning your wrists harder against the sheets. “Why do I have to be your little secret? Why do I stay in the shadows while he gets your attention out in the open?”

Another sharp thrust. Your body arched, strangled moan spilling past your lips.

“Do you think this—” he shoved deep, gritting his teeth as his cock twitched inside you, “—is all I’m good for?”

Your walls clenched hard around him, wet and needy, each rough snap of his hips forcing another whimper from your throat. His breath was ragged, face twisted in something darker than lust — anger, jealousy, desperation — yet the way his cock dragged against your walls had you trembling on the edge anyway.

Your voice fractured around a moan, desperate to cut through the haze. “N-no, that’s not it—Xavier, it’s just—”

His pace faltered only to sharpen, each thrust slow and brutal. His mouth brushed your ear, voice low, dark. “Just what?” His teeth grazed your skin. “Because all I see is you spreading your legs and acting like this is the only place I exist. You only remember me when I’m buried inside you.”

A whimper tore out of you, back arching against the sheets. “That’s not…ah—Xavier, please—!”

“Please what?” His jaw was tight, his forehead pressing into yours as he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes open when your head tipped back in surrender. His gaze burned, red-hot and unflinching. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

The command sent another shudder through you, your walls fluttering around him. He held your wrists pinned above your head, grinding deep until your breath hitched, until you couldn’t think. His free hand slid down your trembling stomach, finding your clit with a cruel kind of precision.

Your cry was sharp, broken. “Xavier—fuck!”

He circled you harder, rolling his hips against yours, the drag of his cock syncing with the relentless press of his thumb. His voice stayed calm, deadly soft even as you writhed beneath him. “Tell me. Could anyone else make you cum like this? Hm?”

You shook your head, words spilling ragged between moans. “N-no, no one—fuck—Xavier, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” His lips ghosted yours, voice a low hiss. “You can take it, star. Cum on my cock, show me how good it feels,”

That final command tore you apart. Your body bowed against him, thighs trembling, walls seizing tight around his length as your orgasm crashed through you. You cried out, clenching hard, your slick dripping down his cock as he kept working your clit through it, dragging every last wave out of you until you were shuddering and breathless.

The way you clenched broke his composure. Xavier snarled under his breath, pulled out with a rough stroke of his hand, and came hot across your stomach. His head dropped, chest heaving, his release splattering your skin as his cock twitched in his grip.

For a moment he stayed like that — hovering over you, forehead still pressed to yours, breaths uneven, his dark eyes locked on you like he was daring you to look away.

The tremors in your body hadn’t yet stilled when your hand lifted, almost without thought, to cup his cheek. His skin was hot, damp from exertion, and beneath it his jaw flexed tight — anger and restraint wound together. For one breath he hesitated, but then he leaned into your palm, lashes lowering as if your touch was the only anchor he had left. The air between you thickened, and when you tugged him down the kiss came desperate, messy, all teeth and tongue and the taste of something too sharp to name. His hand, still wrapped around your wrist, loosened at last, letting you clutch at him like you’d fall without the hold.

Your chest was still heaving, the air hot and heavy between you when the kiss finally broke. His lips hovered, parted like he meant to say something but the words caught in his throat. His eyes searched yours — dark, fevered, desperate — and you realized he looked just as undone as you felt.

His body still hovered over yours, chest dragging against yours with every ragged breath, but when his lips didn’t find yours again, you realized he was trembling. A beat later, he collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His damp hair clung to your skin, sticky with sweat, and his breath scorched a path across your collarbone.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he rasped. The words were muffled, but you felt them more than you heard them, vibrating against your pulse. His voice cracked like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, like it slipped past a wall he’d been holding up for too long.

“Xavier…” Your hand moved without thinking, sliding into his hair, still damp from exertion. You combed your fingers through the strands, gentle, grounding, while your chest heaved beneath his weight. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I wanted to end this because…” Your throat tightened. You swallowed, the words breaking uneven. “Because I thought it’s all you wanted from me.”

He stilled. Completely. Then he lifted his head just enough to look at you, his face still so close you could feel the ghost of his breath on your lips. His eyes were raw, open in a way you’d never seen before — dark but vulnerable, glinting like something fractured inside him.

“Why,” he said hoarsely, disbelief roughening the edges of his tone, “would you ever think that?”

Your breath caught. You couldn’t look at him, not directly, so your gaze slid aside, landing on the line of his shoulder, slick with sweat. “Because… outside of this you just treat me as a friend,” you admitted. The truth burned, humiliating to say out loud. “So I assumed you didn’t want me. Not… like that.”

For a moment, he just stared. His eyes widened, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. And then the look on his face shattered something in you. He looked—devastated.

“Fuck,” he whispered. His voice broke, low and guttural, like it hurt him to force the word out. “I’m sorry. I…, star, I’m sorry.”

Your heart twisted as his forehead pressed to yours again, almost desperate, his hands bracing on either side of you like he needed to cage himself close or he’d lose you.

“I thought this was all you wanted,” he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “When it started, I thought… you regretted it. That you’d shut me out completely if I pushed for more. So I stayed quiet, I stayed careful. I thought I was doing the only thing that kept me from losing you.” His voice cracked, the faintest tremor running through it. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tender in a way that undid you more than the roughness had. “I wanted more. I’ve always wanted more. But I would’ve let you use me forever if it meant I could have you, even if it was just like this.”

Your breath caught sharp. The confession knocked the air from your chest, left you staring at him wide-eyed and speechless. His face, open and raw, cut through every assumption you’d built between you.

For a moment, the silence stretched thick, pulsing between you with everything unsaid. Then, because you didn’t know how else to keep from breaking apart completely, you flicked his forehead with your finger.

“Idiot…you should’ve said something,” you whispered, voice trembling despite the tiny gesture.

“Ow.” He actually winced, catching your wrist before you could pull your hand back. His lips ghosted against the inside of your palm, kissing it softly, lingering there. “Yeah,” he admitted against your skin. “I should’ve.”

He kissed lower, tracing the ridge of your wrist, the pulse that leapt there. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. His mouth followed a trail up your arm, slow and reverent, before finding your throat.

“Instead of telling you…” His voice was a low murmur against your skin, words half lost in the press of his lips. “…why don’t I show you how I really feel?”

His mouth moved higher, leaving tender, wet kisses along the line of your jaw, brushing at the corners of your lips until he finally claimed them. This kiss was nothing like the ones before — no anger, no frenzy, just raw, aching sweetness. He lingered there, slow and consuming, like he meant to pour every unsaid word into your mouth until you understood.

The kiss broke only because he shifted, bracing himself above you. His gaze searched yours once, as if for permission, before he guided himself back in with an agonizing slowness.

You gasped the moment he pressed deep, body arching instinctively against his. The stretch of him, the heat, the drag — it stole your breath, sent pleasure sparking up your spine before he even started moving.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he whispered, forehead brushing yours, his breath hot and shaky. “God, you feel so good.”

His hips rolled forward, slow, deliberate, his pelvis nudging against your clit each time he ground into you. The friction had your legs trembling, already coiling with tension. He set the rhythm like he meant to savor you, savor this, dragging it out until every tiny grind had you shivering.

Your hands slid up his back, clutching at his shoulders, your voice catching in a moan when he pushed just right.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Every time we do this, I imagine you asking me to stay,” he murmured, the words spilling soft and unguarded. “Making me yours.”

You whimpered, tilting your head as his mouth trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, worshipful and unhurried. His hands were everywhere — sliding over your hips, smoothing your thigh up higher around his waist, pressing firmly into your ribs like he needed every part of you beneath his palms.

“I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he whispered against your throat, pausing to kiss the hollow there. “I want so much more than this.” He shifted, catching your mouth again in a kiss that tasted of raw longing. His voice broke against your lips as he asked, “Do you want that too, star?”

“Yes, Xavier—ngh—yes,” you gasped, the answer torn from you on a moan when he ground especially deep, his pelvis circling against your clit.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice roughened but tender. “You’re so beautiful like this, falling apart for me.” His thumb found your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss the corner of your mouth, then lower, nipping at your throat in reverence.

The pleasure coiled hotter, tighter, until you couldn’t stop the choked moans spilling out, your body trembling beneath his as he moved with steady, unrelenting sweetness. He whispered through it all — how good you felt, how much he wanted you, how badly he needed you to know you were his.

When it broke, it was sharp and shattering, pleasure ripping through you so hard you cried out his name, clutching at him. He groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw, and drove in deep as your walls fluttered around him. The feeling pulled him under with you, his release spilling hot inside as he held himself flush, forehead pressed to yours.

He stayed there, breathing hard, kissing you softly between every word. “My star,” he murmured, voice shaking with more than just exertion. “You’re mine.”

The air between you hung heavy with warmth, both of you slick with sweat and still trembling faintly from the release. Xavier didn’t pull away, not yet. He stayed buried inside you, chest pressed to yours, arms tightening like he thought you might slip away if he let go. His lips found your hairline, a slow, lazy kiss.

“Stay here tonight,” he mumbled, voice low and rough with exhaustion.

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of his shoulder, the slope of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me something, then,” he said, his tone soft, almost boyish in its unguardedness. His lashes were already half-lowered, his breath warm against your temple. “Hotpot tomorrow. Just you and me.”

You couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out, light against the hush of the room. “Hotpot? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Yes,” he muttered, eyes closing, his mouth brushing your hair with the word. “Promise.”

“Fine,” you teased, combing your fingers gently through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. The pleased little sound he made had your heart stuttering. “I promise. Hotpot tomorrow.”

He shifted, hugging you tighter, nose brushing the hollow of your throat. “And promise me you’ll train with me tomorrow.” A pause. “And the day after that. And every other day.”

You laughed again, soft and breathless, scratching your nails lightly at the back of his head until he practically melted against you. “Okay. I promise.”

A quiet sigh shuddered out of him, pure contentment. He nestled closer, his lips ghosting against your throat like he couldn’t help kissing you again. “Walk home with me tomorrow, too.”

You grinned, tilting your head back enough to look at him. “You’re being so greedy, Xavier.”

His eyes opened just enough to meet yours, drowsy and heavy-lidded but shining with something raw. “You almost broke my heart today,” he said softly, the words clumsy but real. “Can’t I be a little greedy?”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a tender smile, cupping his jaw. “Just a little.”

He caught your mouth in one last kiss — slow, lingering, the kind that made time feel like it stopped for both of you. When it broke, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in.

Wrapped up together, his arms locked around you and his words finally stilled, you felt him drift first. Sleep tugged at you too, and the last thing you knew before dozing off was the weight of him warm against you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The morning light poured pale and golden through the blinds, casting stripes across the rumpled sheets. You stirred awake to the sound of movement — the quiet shuffle of clothes, the clink of a belt buckle. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you found Xavier leaning over the dresser, tugging on his jacket, his hair damp from a quick shower.

For a second, you just watched. Watched the line of his shoulders, the way the fabric stretched across his back, the casual efficiency in every motion. It struck you then how… natural this felt. How easy it had been to wake up tangled in his warmth, to move around each other without words as you both got ready. Something almost domestic, like slipping into a rhythm you didn’t know you’d been craving until it was there.

“You’re blushing,” he murmured without turning, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, tossed it back onto the bed, then leaned down to steal a quick kiss before lacing his boots.

By the time you both stepped into the association building, his hand found yours without hesitation. Warm. Solid. The small contact grounded you in a way you weren’t prepared for, and you didn’t pull away.

Your eyes flicked automatically to your section of desks — expecting to see James hunched over paperwork, flashing that usual easy grin. But his chair was empty. Your brows knit. “Weird. Where’s James?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened just slightly at the name, but when he spoke, his tone was soft, almost too casual. “He was reassigned.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Reassigned? Since when?”

“Since this morning,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, tugging you gently toward your desk. “I made a call to Captain Jenna. I thought he’d work well with someone on the Chansia team.”

You stopped mid-step, smacking his arm with your free hand. “You’re ridiculous!”

He only smirked, clearly unbothered by your scolding.

From her desk, Tara propped her chin on her hand, watching the exchange with no small amount of exasperation. “Finally,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes like she’d been waiting forever for this exact scene.

a/n: this took forever omg😭 i'm still figuring out how to write xavier so i kept getting stuck + life is so busy. but im so excited to finally have a standalone fic for him

Caleb swears he hears the hinges of your neck creak like a weathered casket when you turn, casting your haunted eyes onto him. 

“You just asked me—” your voice is hoarse. Bitter. “—to allow you to sleep with another woman. Me. Your girlfriend. For permission. To fuck another person. Do you hear yourself?” 

He winces. Can’t deny how right you are. 

“I know. I know. And, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

A blur of color and flesh, of lacy sleeves and scalding liquid splashes across his face. The cup of tea he made you for breakfast tumbles onto the carpeted floor, landing somewhere between his scuffed boots. 

Caleb doesn’t blink. Doesn’t let himself tear up, even when the burn settles into his skin. He just clenches his fingers. You’re breathing hard, standing above him. Trembling. He looks up into your twisted expression, muted shock, and heartbreak behind those impassive, amethyst eyes. 

Slowly, he runs his hand down his face. Wiping herbal oolong off his cheeks and chin, he flicks his wrist so the excess droplets splatter onto the couch. 

“Are you done?” He asks calmly. Barely phased. “Or, would throwing the kettle at me make you feel better?” 

It’s a challenge. One that you wouldn’t be falling for. 

You turn around, shoulders shaking. Holding back your tears. You’d rather a meteor fall from the sky and nuke your entire existence than to let him see you cry because of this. 

Scabbed knees, bleeding palms, broken teeth, and bruised gums. He’s seen them all. From playground to penthouse, playing pretend to playing house. Caleb’s seen all versions of you.

But never this.

Not the woman who couldn’t look him in the eye. Or, find it in herself to stay in his presence. He’s used to the chiding of your voice in his mind; from child to woman, every cadence, a cherished haven: 

Caleb, play with me!

Caleb, I like you! 

Caleb, you big dummy! 

Caleb, you’re so mean! 

Caleb, please! 

Oh, Caleb—there! Right there! I’m gonna—

The silhouette of your figure cuts a bleeding line in the smoldering darkness of yet another Skyhaven sunset. 

Your things are scattered around his space, warming the crevices with your touches. A throw pillow here. A blanket there. Plushies on the couch and on the drawers where blueprints and gun holsters once sat. 

His model shelf hangs mementos of badges from arcade machines. Paraphernalia you collected from Linkon to drape on the oak handles: dangling keychains, scented bottles, and paper lanterns. 

They all blend and blur into a huge mass of empty mementos that don’t mean a thing now that Caleb has done the unthinkable—betrayed you for the Fleet. 

Chose to soil his body and skin with the touch of another woman.

Her name is—

Fuck what her name is! Your cry shatters the evening peace. I don’t care what her name is! I don’t care what she does or where she eats, shits, or sleeps! I don’t care! 

He dodges another pillow thrown at him. 

“Please,” he dares to beg, looking at you like he’s about to drop to his knees in the next breath. “Please understand that I don’t want this, either. I don’t want this! But, I have to do it!” 

Bastard! You scream loud enough to rattle the dining room chandelier. You have a choice! You’re choosing to do this!

He just shakes his head and lets your tantrum sink into his bones. The hatred in your eyes. The malice in your snarls and thrown words. 

But your aim is good. You didn’t graduate top of your Hunter class with bad hand-eye coordination. 

The flower pot holding a succulent that the two of you were trying to grow together shatters against his broad chest, dirt and stone rolling down his Fleet uniform, staining his pants. Caleb opens his mouth, eyes flashing in warning when you launch on top of him, snarling, nails sinking into his shoulder and neck.

“You idiot! You—”

He lets you slap his chest; he watches as tears streak down your face. 

You don’t calm down as much as you lose steam, slumping on top of him, crying bitterly. He sits up, gathering you into his arms. His touch ignites resentment and disgust, but you’re too broken and exhausted to pull away. 

Caleb carries you back to bed, setting you down on the fluffy comforter. His white slacks are stained with dirt, and dark tea seeps into his undershirt and jacket, which he hadn’t buttoned up yet. The sway of his silver dog tags and apple charm catches the nightstand light like a cruel joke.

‘When U Come Home’ turns into a mocking punchline, because for the first time, you don’t want him to darken your doorstep.

How could he do this to you? 

How could he have agreed to his mission? 

He’s the Colonel. He’s your Caleb. 

He’s infallible. 

Couldn’t he have used his Evol to intimidate them? Tell them off? Why—?

Your chest squeezes, and something in your heart twinges. 

Why isn’t he fighting off their orders harder? 

What does the Fleet have on him that they can whore him out to a Protocore dealer’s daughter of all fucking people? 

He leans in, and though you know this mission is dangerous and he could die, you refuse his kiss—let his lips fall on your cheek.

Caleb doesn’t push. He sighs, warm breath fanning your cheek, and straightens. Eyeing your prone body on the bed, he deftly buttons up his soiled jacket, tucking the ends of his shirt into the dirtied pants. Only when he zips up his boots do you unthaw, looking at him with wild, broken eyes. 

He drops his gaze—shame and acceptance. 

The two of you have done this dance before, the night when Skyhaven went on a mandatory lockdown and he disappeared for three days, leaving you with the shards of your broken trust in him; the aftermath of your disagreement and betrayal humming painfully in your veins. 

And, now, he’s doing it again. 

Except he’s not taking into consideration your pain. Your anguish. 

He’s determined to meet with this woman—this unnamed, faceless threat—whose hands are going to be on him. Whose lips will taste what you taste every night. 

Jealousy burns, bubbles past your lips as a sob.

“Please.”

Broken. Helpless.

You’re begging him not for stolen moments together after birthdays, or to watch another episode of Tata the Pilot on Saturdays with you, but to stay. To choose you instead of this mission.  

To choose you always. 

His eyes bear the sorrow of a thousand betrayals, and he kneels beside you, like a penitent to a prayer pew, and takes your hand. Caleb rubs his thumb over your knuckles and reassures you, “I’ll be home in a few days, darling. I’ll come back.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. A soft, delicate thing, like this fragile moment between the two of you. A trust spun from webs of lives lived together and now about to be undone by a single choice—one that he refuses to back out from, no matter how much you beg and plead. 

“I’ll come home to you—only ever you.” 

You sit up, clutching your pillow to your chest. A lonesome figure swimming in blue sheets and drowning in the words you struggle to enunciate—the ones that would sway him to stay.

“I’ll leave you!” 

Your cry makes him pause mid-stand, and he straightens, shoulders drooping. He looks at you like a kicked puppy and, as if rubbing salt further into the wound, digs out his silver apple charm and presses it to his cheek while looking earnestly into your eyes.

“No matter what, you own me. You always have. I’ll come back—I promise I will. Promise on my dead body.” 

Then, he leaves.

Taking with him the last of sunshine and hope, leaving you behind in a freezing vacuum of silence. 

—

You let him go. 

You have to. 

When a bird wants to fly free, you don’t clip its wings—you let it soar.

From college to Deepspace, Caleb has always operated on his own desires and motives, most of them hidden from your knowledge, deep in the shadows of his own mechanics. 

You should trust him. You know you should.

But, that part of you—the starry-eyed girl who looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky—could only handle watching the broad of his back disappear one too many times. 

College and friends and duties and his desires were the horizons you let him fly off into.

But, deceit? Betrayal? 

It has migrated past the confines of your kindheartedness into an ether world below, where the roots of your understanding and patience have run completely dry. 

So, you pack your things. Pick up the flowers he left you and throw them into the garbage incinerator. Fold your clothes, lingerie, underwear, his old jacket, right into the lapels of a worn-out suitcase carrying a tag he made for you by hand. You rip off the metal tab and toss it onto his side of the bed. Anything sentimental is rejected. Tears run down your cheeks, sobs wrecking you apart like earthquakes shaking the cores of heaven and earth—tearing you down seam by seam. 

Before you cross out of his room and into the world beyond, you pause, looking right into his home feed with red-rimmed eyes. The camera shutter swirls, as if daring you to take that step. You decidedly flip it off. 

And with that bold rebellion, you hitch your backpack and drag your suitcase past his front door, locking it behind a vault of memories you would rather burn, and a life you now want nothing to do with anymore. 

—

Days later, a dark sedan pulls up at the front of his penthouse and drops him off. 

Caleb adjusts his Aviators and hesitates, the crunch of wheels disappearing into the distance after it takes a corner, the only sound besides the rustle of tree leaves above him. Summer is coming to a close, and the Asiatic trees sway in the breeze. He feels the chill in the air that has nothing to do with the silence of his penthouse. 

The door opens, security systems beeping in recognition of his bio-data. He orders the alarm to switch off and sets his duffel bag on the sofa, waiting, ears peeled. Tense. 

But there’s no sign of you. 

Usually, you’d bolt from the bedroom, kitchen, or even the bathroom to ambush him, crystalline giggles rebounding off the room as you jump on his back or into his embrace. 

This time, the silence descends. Thick and unyielding. 

He turns around, trying to find you, and the swift movement stirs Olivia’s perfume into the stale air, his nostrils flaring. Tuberose and the vile stench of eau de spoiled brat. 

Caleb makes a mental note to scrub her off his body, hoping the hot water will strip her touch from his pores. He wonders if you would let him touch you again. 

“Y/N?” 

His voice bounces off the monochrome walls; his feet stir the carpet, and he scans the living room, noting that your favorite airplane plushie is missing from the sofa. Dread clenches his throat, cold and viscous, and he rushes around the house, seeking the faintest hint of you.

Your clothes are missing from the shared drawer. 

Your pastel pink toothbrush is gone from the cup holder. 

Sneakers and heels were carving empty spaces on his once full cabinet. 

Even your favorite small pillow is gone, the side of your bed cold—indicating that you upped and left days ago. 

Caleb shifts into panic mode. 

“Shit—”

He skids down the hall, nearly colliding into the coffee table, throwing open the guest bathroom door, as if you would be hiding behind it, palm on your mouth to muffle your giggles, like you did when you were kids, playing hide-and-seek together in your old childhood home.

But you’re not here. 

He calls you. Mutters your name over and over till his throat runs hoarse.

Pipsqueak. My love. Darlin’. Y/N.

Every variation of your name, just hoping you would appear from the shadows.

When the shadows and corners of his home prove to be empty, he dials your number. 

The number you called cannot be reached—

The number you called cannot be reached—

The number you called cannot be reached—

“Fuck!” 

He slams his phone onto the marble counter. A grimy haze coats his senses, dulling them—similar to the time he woke up strapped to a table, wires protruding from every inch of his skin, alive and kept as a puppet for Ever. His eyes move around the Skyhaven penthouse again. And again. 

Yet, no matter how much he wills it, or how much he wants to erase everything that had happened in these past few days, he could never forget your wail of pain. Or, the way you pleaded for him to stay and not go on this mission. His chest burns, what’s left of his heart disintegrating into dust at the idea of you packing up and leaving, most likely sobbing while you do it. 

He replays the camera feed, watching you storm around the rooms like a mini tornado, propelled by the tears falling fast and your body-wracking sobs. Caleb’s entire world shatters when you flip off the camera before you walk out the door.

It’s not like you to ever lash out in pain. 

Even when bullies would hound you as a kid, you’d keep quiet and only retaliate when someone else was in danger. He knows it’s partly why you chose this life as a Hunter—protecting the innocent and safeguarding the weak. Just as he once had hopes of becoming a Deepspace Pilot for you, strapping himself with the armor of logic and competence to take you far away if the world should ever turn on its head. 

Now you’re out there all alone, and he’s pushed you away. Not from an explosion or the veil of death keeping you two apart. But by his own actions.

Caleb feels sick. 

The Toring Chip in his brain beeps once—a sharp warning. 

No fluctuations. No surging emotions.

He has to keep a level head.

“Where would she go?” 

He murmurs, running a hand through his dark hair. Violet eyes shift across the room, catching on divots and rafters in the ceiling, as if the answer would come down from above in the form of a pristine Fleet-issued fan falling on his head.

Down. 

Down. 

Linkon. 

Caleb struggles to keep his breathing calm, his heart rate in the safe zone as he tries your phone again. 

No luck. 

If the sky turned against man, man would run deep into the earth. 

That’s the law of nature. It governs the same principles as a broken heart. 

Caleb decides to return to Linkon to find you in your familiar haunts, your old apartment. You might be separated from him by the sky, but when it came down to it, he would scope the entire hemisphere for you, his steps like thunder, presence like a hailstorm. 

He takes the Coelum Express right into Linkon an hour later, hoodie up, shades on. No one else has to know he’s alive. He only needs to find you. 

The roads are clogged with cars, and the air is denser down here, the scent of Asiatic apple blooms and familiarity left far behind. Despite his complicated history with Skyhaven, it’s what he’s always known, and Linkon, though his birthplace, is a stepping stone towards finding the one person he could never live without. 

He sees your name everywhere—in the trees, the people rushing down the street, the towering skyscrapers. Traces of your voice linger in the breeze, drawing him back to the humble apartment complex you used to call home before splitting half of your time above the clouds.

Caleb tries your doorbell. 

Once, twice.

No answer.

He’s adept enough to dismantle the security lock and step inside your old space. Stale air greets him, dust moats drifting in the disturbance.

The space is as ghostly as his Skyhaven penthouse, you abandoned. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath.

He can tell when you’ve graced a room. Something about your aura touches everything and turns it into moonstone.

Here in this old apartment you rented out of convenience for work, it’s as silent as a grave. 

Caleb locks up and steps outside. 

His mind is racing a mile a minute. Stomach churning and heart sinking deeper into his chest like a fossilised apple rotting underground. 

I have to find her, he urges himself as his athletic legs pump harder, helping him speed walk out of your complex and back into Linkon’s sunshine. I must find her. I can’t let her be alone. 

He struggles to suck in a breath past the pain exploding in his chest and brain, his emotions surging, the chip warning him that Emotional Overload: capacity is soon approaching.

The AI voice chimes in his mind as he turns the corner and spots a surveillance camera above the streetlamp facing your apartment’s gate.

An idea overtakes him, and the quick-witted Colonel pulls a few strings. The city’s underbelly is a dirty drag of corruption and bribery. It doesn’t take him long to land himself in a civil council room, the guard given clearance to let him sweep through all the cameras installed around Linkon.

Caleb doesn’t know how long he’s stared at the screens.

It could be hours. Days. 

His eyes burn, 5 o’clock shadow grim on his cheeks and chin.

He looks like a man who has lost everything. 

Gaunter. Thinner. 

If the guards on duty hadn’t brought the Farspace Fleet Colonel a meal, he would’ve been content to wither away in this funky-smelling, cramped CCTV room for days, aching to just catch a glimpse of you.

Caleb is close to giving up when a flurry of familiar movement catches his eye. 

It’s you crossing the street.

His heart nearly explodes, and his neural paths constrict warningly with the first vibrations of the Toring Chip activating. 

He sucks in deep lungfuls of air and steadies his gaze on the screen. 

You’re in a floral-patterned dress, something he’s seen you wear probably a hundred times. Hair up, sandals slapping the pavement. He hones in on this particular feed and focuses on the surroundings. 

A large, shady oak tree drips its shadows across the asphalt. 

Suburban houses. Fancy cars. 

Wait—

His eyes narrow, breath tumbling out in a ragged exhale.

He knows this neighborhood.

Has seen it before when making his rounds in Linkon under the Farspace Fleet’s operation. 

It’s where rich, successful people like lawyers and doctors stay. Gated communities filled with snooty suburban moms and ivory university graduates whose lives are basically set in golden stone. The top 10% of the community calls this part of Linkon their home, secluded away in their cozy bubble from the middle and working class of Bloomshore District.

Where they don’t have to dirty their hands with graffiti on walls and rundown noodle shacks dotting the streets.

Where the purr of luxury engines is a far cry from children tearing down the road, screaming in play, as dogs punctuate the nonexistent peace with their incessant barking.

It’s where a certain dark-haired cardiac surgeon lives.

And, it’s where you turn the corner and disappear past a white picket fence.

Right into the arms of Dr. Zayne Li Shen. 

—

He’s warm, steadying your trembling shoulders.

Zayne embraces you, taking care not to ruffle your dress or mess up your hair. Steady, emerald eyes lock onto yours, and he steps back, putting a respectful distance between the two of you.

“I got your call.” His voice is a smooth, comforting baritone. A monotony that contrasts with the bright, overbearing chirp constantly filling your ear with reminders to eat, wake up on time, and drink enough water. 

Compared to Caleb, who is like the wind, Zayne is a fortress. Impenetrable at first, but when you get to know him better, his walls are lined with velvet, and his ceilings are a painted night sky that reflects the first fall of snow. 

Those fractal greens gaze at you, understanding in their depths. 

“If you need a place to stay—”

“Yeah,” you interject with a tight smile. “I know I look a mess, but you don’t have to offer me a room out of pity.”

The corner of Zayne’s lip curls into a crooked smile. “I was going to offer you the attic instead because I recall how much you prefer the nights over mornings. Perfect for when I have those late surgeries and you won’t keep me up all day with your stomping.”

You scoff and shoot him a grin. “Dr. Zayne, are you implying I have heavy footsteps?”

He exhales a breath of laughter out of his nose. “Ought I not to preserve my sanity? If I recall—” he raises a brow. “—someone is rather fond of 3 AM dance routines.” 

Your cheeks color, and you grumble, shifting your weight from foot to foot. 

Don’t have to embarrass me…

Zayne hears your complaints and shakes his head. “Alright now. Come on in. This fall weather is unseasonably chilly.” 

In the days of Caleb’s absence, you fill up the void by getting to know Zayne better. Jokes shared across black coffee and scrambled eggs, grocery trips that end in bickering debates over which type of sweetener is the best for teas. Nights sitting on the sofa watching trashy TV together when he isn’t bogged down by the demands of his patients.

On those hectic evenings when he arrives home late, he finds a plate of food waiting for him in the microwave. Some noodles. A grilled protein and a side of vegetables. When you feel more generous, you’ll give him a hard-boiled egg, too.

Zayne doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful. 

This little housemate situation feels strange, and yet, you live for the novelty.

It’s a soothing balm for the pain Caleb had put you through. Helps ease the ripping sting of what he had done.

You delude yourself into thinking he wouldn’t find you. Forgetting that this is the same man who could sense your heartbeat in the distance, know when your feet have entered a room just from breathing the air in.

He’s an aching stick in your ribs, right under your pounding heart. 

Sometimes, you swear you can smell him in the breeze. 

The scent of the shared laundry softener he customized just for the two of you to use. His citrus aftershave and cologne. 

At night, when you lie in bed, staring up at the attic ceiling, you think you can feel the brush of his long lashes fluttering against your cheek; the soft exhale of his breath on your neck, signalling that he’s fallen fast asleep in the safety of your arms.

You miss him. 

You miss Caleb.

But, saying it is traitorous—a treason akin to admitting a fatal weakness.

You would put up a front, not give in to the loneliness festering like an oozing scab over the open wound you call a heart.

Life, however, has a funny way of upturning these rocky feelings—exposing them into the acrid air.

It comes in the form of a force field falling from the sky. A meteor strike knocks on the front of Zayne’s door on a Sunday morning when you’re sitting next to the dark-haired surgeon, playing a crossword puzzle together.

Zayne glances at you. “Expecting company?”

You shake your head.

He frowns and stands, adjusting his cardigan, and walks to the front door. The second the barrier gives way, Caleb storms in, throwing your entire world off kilter.

His eyes blaze like the fury of a thousand suns, the veins in his temple and neck popping from the sheer force of his deceit, and he sees standing before him. 

Zayne’s home turns from a sanctuary to a war zone. Caleb rounds on him, lips twisted in a snarl as he spits out: “You should’ve told me where she was, Li Shen-ge.”

The other dark-haired man stands his ground, adjusting his glasses up his nose bridge. 

“Why should I do such a thing? She sought refuge here.”

The snub is obvious. Painful. 

Caleb flinches like he’s been slapped, and just like when the three of you were kids, he thrusts his hand out, an impatient guardian of time as he reminds you, “It’s late. We have to go home.”

But, unlike your younger self, you refuse to give in. Stubbornly unwilling to grab his hand.

“No.” 

Ice-cold. Certain. 

Caleb’s eyes widened.

“I don’t want to go with you.”

Even Zayne, who usually encourages you to speak your mind, is silent. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Caleb is fuming. 

His eyes hold that dark edge—the one you’ve seen him wear when he’s about to obliterate an opponent into a black hole. 

You never thought he’d use such a terrifying gaze on you, but then again, how much of Caleb did you actually know?

Apparently, a lifetime of living together and watching each other grow wasn’t enough.

There were still parts of him that you would never uncover—dark secrets and winding, moonless paths he would never let you get a glimpse at.

Whether out of protection or fear, Caleb keeps his skeletons buried sixteen feet under. 

He might even lead you astray with a fake tombstone, just like the one right beside the Linkon Cemetery gate that still holds his mock death hewn in marble.

You can’t trust him.

And, for the first time since he’s returned into your life, Caleb sees the extent of his damage he’s done.

The trust he has shattered.

He involuntarily takes a step back, eyeing your set jaw. Your stormy, pain-filled eyes. His day of reckoning has arrived, and for once, the sharp-witted young man has nothing to say. 

So, he begs. 

Taking your hand in his. 

“Please,” he whispers, and drags you closer, pressing your body to his, aching to feel your warmth. He’s all hard lines and desperation, while you’re carved from ice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You know I had to do it—”

“Why?” 

Your question, plain and simple, is the same one he can’t answer.

“Ask me anything else,” he mutters, anguished. “Ask me how dirty I felt. How I wanted to burn myself at the stake for letting her touch me. How much I wanted to come back home to you. Ask me that. Those, I can answer. But why? I can’t—I can’t answer that.”

You choke on the fumes of his insistence and lies.

“Caleb—”

“Please.” 

Ignoring Zayne, he draws you closer, cupping your cheek. Searching your face. “You can’t bring yourself to hate me. You know you can’t. We belong together—”

“No,” you shake your head. In the corner of your eye, Zayne steps out of the room, presumably to give you two some space. 

Caleb is honed in on you. Focused only on you. He traces your lower lip with his thumb, his voice low and urgent.

“Why? Why?”

“I can’t answer that,” you throw it back to him sardonically. He winces.

But, he’s not giving up. 

“Oh, hell—baby, please,” he moans, burying his face into your hair. “You’re killin’ me here. Is it fun to destroy me? Quit it with this heartless charade—”

“I slept with Zayne.” 

The half-truth slips out. You kissed him. Once. As a distraction technique, so you could win against him in chess. But Caleb doesn’t have to know that. He doesn’t deserve to know that. What he deserves is chaos because—

Oh. 

Oh—shit. 

Caleb freezes, like someone’s shot him with ice. His breathing stops, and his hands on your body go rigid. Rigor mortis, except it’s the trust between the two of you that has gone death-damp. 

He makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s half-moan, half-gasp.

Brutal purple eyes dig into your soul, and his nostrils flare. Suddenly, it’s like the sun has gone out. Replaced by a deadly black hole.

He looms over you, teeth gnashing, jaw twitching. The vein on his forehead throbs, and the lump in his throat trembles with a low, guttural growl.

“What. Did. You. Say?” 

The temperature drops. Ice shards form around the ceiling and windows, Zayne’s presence glaring in the corner of your eye. He didn’t hear what you had just said. But, in Caleb’s eyes, he’s implicit in everything. 

Your lover Caleb disappears, and in his place, the cold-hearted Colonel appears; brows dipped in fury, jaw clenched as he rounds to face Zayne, venom and malice dripping from his lips when he whispers:

“You fucked her?” 

Zayne’s gaze touches yours. They swirl with an unnamed emotion, his countenance ever unflappable. The situation is precarious—one wrong move and he’d be tiptoeing on thin ice.

“I offered her comfort when you broke her heart.”

It’s the truth. But, in Caleb’s mind, Zayne has done the unthinkable. He steps back from you, like your touch has scalded him, and buries his hands in his jeans pockets. Caleb is breathing hard, shoulders tight, expression wound up in fury. His dark brown bangs fall into those cryptic, amethyst eyes, and he struggles to say the next words: 

“Fine. It was my fault.” He turns to you, and something in you breaks at the sight of his lower lip trembling. “I messed up. I slept with another woman. I betrayed you first. But with Zayne? Zayne of all people?” 

God, why does your chest feel like it wants to cave in? 

It hurts to fight back against the instinct to pull him in. To soothe him. 

You’re warring with common sense, and Caleb isn’t making it any easier for you. 

His breathing trembles, and for the first time since he was a kid, when he and Gran had a huge fight which resulted in him thinking she would kick him out of the house, he starts to tear up. 

Back then, you were the one to come between them both. Giving Gran a cup of tea and Caleb a stool to sit down on, leveling their chaotic emotions for them to talk things out with each other.

But you could pull it off because you were younger, with twin pigtails and bows in your dress and hair. 

That little girl is long gone.

There’s no one to step in and mediate, not when tensions are at a breaking point.

Until a soft clearing of the throat breaks apart the frigid silence. 

The two of you turn to find Zayne standing by the door, tray of tea and biscuits in hand. He gestures to the couch.

“Sit down, please. The two of you need to talk.”

Caleb doesn’t argue with him. He takes the loveseat, shoulders hunched, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. You shakily take the couch. 

Zayne sets the cups of tea and chocolate-coated wafers down on the coffee table. Caleb picks up one love letter, twirls it between his fingers, and sets it back on the plate. You remain tight-lipped, hands folded on your lap. Staring at the grey carpet underneath your pink-painted toes. 

“I didn’t sleep with her.” 

Caleb’s head shoots up like a canine scenting fear.

“What?” 

Zayne shakes his head and keeps where he is—standing in the middle of the two of you like a sentinel watching two countries raging on a battlefield.

“Y/N and I didn’t sleep together. We kissed—once.” His frankness surprises you, and it’s your turn to raise your head and look at Zayne. Those emerald eyes don’t waver when he adds, “As a distraction technique to win against me in chess. We did nothing else.”

“So, you’re telling me—” Caleb chokes. Doesn’t finish his sentence.

Zayne altruistically picks up on his unasked question and nods. 

“We never… copulated. ‘Fucked’, as you said it.” 

Something about the rigid, self-contained Dr. Zayne saying the word ‘fuck’ makes the corners of your lips twitch. 

You can’t tell if Caleb is relieved or mortified.

“Which means, I—” he cuts himself off again. His anguished stare meets yours. A lavender haze of misery. “I’m sorry. Pip-squeak, I… I don’t know what to say—”

But you know what you need to say.

“Were you forced?” Your lower lip trembles when you ask the next part of your question. “Did the Fleet make you do it? Yes, or no?” 

Caleb’s left eye twitches.

“Careful,” Zayne breathes to you. He’s seen patients at their limit. He knows when a man is an inch from spiralling into his own mind and deceptive thoughts.

Your lover looks like he’s swallowing glass. A ragged, “Yes,” leaving his lips, like someone is holding his tongue back from saying the truth. While he looks pained, you’re on the verge of strangling him.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “I’ll kill them. Every last one of them. I’ll—“

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Strong arms pull you into his gravitational orbit, drawing you against his chest. Tears blur your vision, but you don’t fight him. Letting him hold you.

“I’m here,” Caleb soothes, rubbing his thumb over your hip. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

A soft, reverent kiss is placed on your temple. 

“I’m always yours. Always. You’re the only one I could ever want—I could ever need.”

He senses your walls melting, thawing to let him through again. Caleb tried his luck one more time.

“Let’s go home, okay?”

You don’t fight him. Zayne lingers at the doorway, watching the two of you sort of make up enough for Caleb to place his hand on your lower back, carrying your suitcase in the other. He glances back at the older man, nodding once. A terse acknowledgment; a tentative gesture of ‘thanks’. For taking care of you while he was gone. For not taking advantage of you in your fragile, emotional state. 

On the way back to the station, you freeze and take Caleb’s hand. 

“No… don’t want to go back to Skyhaven yet—“

He hears it. That hitch of fear in your tone. Caleb holds you close, pressing your face to his shoulder.

“You don’t want to go back? Then, we won’t go back. We’ll return to Bloomshore.”

A reroute and detour later, and the two of you are standing in front of your old childhood home. Half-built, still needing a fresh lacquer of paint. But, homey enough for a night away from the terrors lurking in the terradome above.

The house is quiet. A pattering of rain begins to splatter on the red, clay roof. Caleb brings you back to your old room, and as if punishing himself, he turns for the stairs straight to the attic.

But you stop him. “Please…” Your voice is small. Hesitant. “Stay with me tonight.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Caleb guides you into your old bedroom. Paisley pink sheets are a replica of the haven you stowed away during your pre-pubescent and adolescent years. 

“How—?”

He anticipates your curiosity, exhaling a gentle laugh. 

“The furniture store Gran got our things from is still alive and kicking. Vintage paisley sheets are, surprisingly, still high in demand.”

You take his explanation at face value. Not fight him when he starts to tug your cardigan off your shoulders. He folds it on the back of your old, vanity chair (also, a replica), and lets you decide if you want to strip in front of him.

Tension coats the room like a teasing flash of skin under forbidden skirts.

Your breathing hitches. The two of you have bathed together before. As kids. As lovers. So, why is it different this time?

“I won’t force you if you’re not ready.”

He reaches out and grabs your hand, his much larger palm dwarfing your smaller one. “I know you’re still pissed at me. I won’t push ya.”

You glance at him from your twin reflections in the mirror. Noting his dark circles, the downward curve of his mouth that was never there whenever he spoke to you. Caleb looks beaten down. Tired. 

Worn out from the demands of the Fleet, and something else.

“How did you find me?”

He sits on the edge of your bed and finds your gaze, holding it steady. “I have my ways.” His voice is deceptively light, but the darkening behind his eyes speaks volumes to the secrets he still wouldn’t tell you. Secrets he might never tell you. 

But you give in. Not wanting to fight anymore. 

The night is rife with unspoken words, tension thick enough to cut with a hot blade. You decide to test him—test his loyalty.

The dress is easy enough to remove. One strap down. Another. Your breasts were cradled lovingly by the lacy cups of this lingerie set Caleb had gotten for you for date night. He’s a visual man—what more could you say? Nothing gets him hotter than the sight of the muted yellow lace hugging your curves. 

A dirty thrill shoots through you when you look into his eyes in the mirror.

Hungry. Raw. Aching.

Caleb can’t hold back any longer. He grabs your hips, tugging you till you fold against his mouth, belly muscles clenching under his heated, devoted kisses. He looks up at you, a worshipper at your altar, his tongue dragging along the dip of your navel; amethyst eyes pleading for mercy.

“Please,” he whispers, leaving another hot, open-mouth kiss on your sternum. “May I suck them?”

He eyes your nipples pebbling under the silky, lacy cups with the hunger of a famished canine.

“Please?”

Your body tightens, clit twitching under the tight stretch of your lace panties, still hidden from his view under this sundress. Your hands that were gently running through his hair tighten on those dark chestnut locks, tugging his head up not-too-lightly, forcing his gaze to yours.

“Do you deserve to touch me?”

Shame and desire souse across his expression, the high points of his cheeks warming into a blush.

“N-No—“

“That’s right,” you murmur silkily. In control. “So, as your punishment—“ You remove your green apple charm hair tie and take his wrists, pinning them behind his back. It’s a flimsy restraint, but Caleb doesn’t complain when you snap the stretchy band around his hands, obediently letting you “tie” him up. “—you have to watch and not touch.”

His eyes lock on the sway of your hips as the dress shimmies down your belly and hips. Pooling at your ankles. You step out of them, just in your bra and panties now—the color complements your skin tone perfectly. You hate to admit it, but he does have a good eye for the best lingerie that fits you well.

Your gaze meets his past this haze of lust, and you slip your hand under the waistband of your panties. Caleb’s eyes widen, and his teeth sink into his lower lip.

“Fuck—you’re killing me here.”

“Good,” you bite back, gathering your wetness with a finger and spreading it over your clit, your breath hitching. “I want you to suffer.”

He moans when you play with your breasts, cupping them through the lace, squeezing them till your nipples are about to pop all hard and pretty past the flimsy material. You tease him by tugging down the cups, showing him what he’s missing—your sweet tits ready for his mouth, but he’s all the way there, tied up on your bed while you’re leaning against the vanity, putting on a show for him. 

Caleb’s gaze tracks your hand shifting underneath the taut silk with the ravenous focus of a bloodhound; his nostrils flaring, brows tightening into a tense furrow. His jaw is tight, and you throw in a moan, swaying your hips as sparks of pleasure shoot up your spine.

“You think this is funny?” He murmurs hoarsely. “Teasing me like this?”

“If you break free from those bonds without my permission,” you pant, arching your back when you circle your clit messily. “I will never forgive you.”

That shuts him up. 

It’s like you’re torturing him. He whines and bucks his hips; his large bulge straining against his jeans. Face flushed, licking his lips. Caleb looks like a dog denied a bone being dangled right in front of its nose.

“Please.” 

His mouth falls open, and he’s no longer the composed, indulgent man you’ve always known.

His self-control is hanging by a thread, and he groans at the sounds of your fingers sloshing wetly inside his favorite pussy.

“You want a taste?” 

Caleb perks up, nodding, his broad chest heaving. You retract your fingers from the depths of your treacly cunt and amble over to him, pressing your slick digits lightly against his lips.

You don’t have to order him twice. 

He sucks and laps at your fingers like they’re the best treat of his life, hollowing his cheeks, long lashes casting shadows over his face as he hums and suckles every drop of nectar you’re willing to give him.

It’s not enough.

It will never be enough when it comes to you.

Caleb has never allowed himself to be greedy when it comes to you, but the way you stand over him, eyes swirling with a mixture of contempt and desire, he finds that the compulsion to flay himself alive and also get on his knees to worship every inch of you is muting whatever is left of his dignity.

He pitches his head forward, pressing his cheek to the warm stretch of your belly.

“Please,” he begs, and nuzzles your sternum, gazing up at you like a sinner would to a deity he has offended. 

“Please. Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how sorry I am. I swear. I am so, so sorry. I never wanted to touch her. Every time I kissed her, I thought about you. Only you.”

He moans, licking the underside of your left breast, sunset eyes glazing over with heartache and need.

“I swear, I will never do that to you again. I’ll cut my other arm off before I touch another woman. I’ll—I’ll make you braised chicken wings every day of your life. Just please. Please. Let me make it up to you.”

“Which hand of yours touched her?” 

Your questions take him by surprise.

Caleb swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. He gestures to his right hand—the mechanical one.

“And, you never pleased her with your left one?”

He dutifully shakes his head. 

“All my feelings, all my senses,” he kisses your other breast reverently. “Has always been for you. I want to feel you with every inch of myself that I can. Anyone else? They don't deserve all of me. It’s always been you.”

Those eyes. Those puppy-like eyes. He’s staring up at you all wounded and honest, and you’re finding it hard to stay mad at him. 

But, you still try—scoffing and nudging his cheek, trying to put some distance between your skin and his face.

Caleb pouts. Whines again and nips your fingers. 

“At least let me eat you out,” he pants heavily, nuzzling your cleavage with his nose and chin. “Put my tongue to good use and make my pretty girl come, yeah? You want that? Want me to apologize with my mouth on that pretty, sweet pussy?” 

An involuntary groan spills from your lips, and you’re hard-pressed to deny him when he drives a good bargain. 

Caleb eyes you greedily, watching with rapt attention as you lie back on the bed. Spreading your knees apart, your thighs are the perfect perching place for his head. He shifts his upper torso expertly, “bound” hands behind his back like a good boy, and digs his teeth into the tight stretch of your panties covering your sweet entrance, drawing it down your hips with his mouth.

The smell of you hits his nose, and he salivates, unable to stop himself from pressing hungry kisses to your pelvic bone. 

Right down to your inner thigh. Lips skimming over your trembling clit. 

He nuzzles your plush flesh and moans again, ravenous.

You help him tug your underwear down, and the moment you’re free, it’s open season for him.

Caleb digs right in, a man on a mission, hungrily slurping you up like a man who’s been given water after months in a desert.

He presses his tongue flat against your clit, working it up and down, while you tremble and shake around him.

“That’s it,” he moans into your sticky folds, tongue spearing your tight heat like it was made to be. “Make those pretty little sounds for me, baby.”

You mewl, fingers tightening in his dark locks, anchoring yourself. Guiding him through your messy layers. 

Devotion drips from every word coming out of his sinful mouth.

You taste like heaven.

Come on, baby. Mess up my tongue.

I know you can give me more.

Shit—don’t stop gushing, baby girl.

“Caleb,” you grit, pushing his face back into your cunt, much to his amusement. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re hotter when you shut up and eat me out?” 

He laughs low; pussydrunk. Lips glistening with your essence.

“As you command, Colonel Pip-squeak.”

He focuses on your pleasure, stimulating you with his tongue, lips, and even the gentlest graze of his teeth. 

“Caleb!” Your dulcet moan makes his cock twitch underneath his taut jeans. He’s humping the bed like a virginal loser, driving his hips into the soft blankets like a rutting beast. 

Fuck, fuck—

He resurfaces, gasping for breath. You know that look on his face. The one crossed between pleasure and pain.

Sure enough, one glance at the front of his now completely soaked pants makes your eyes widen, jaw hanging open in surprise.

Your boyfriend has just come in his pants completely untouched.

Caleb groans, trying to hide his flaming cheeks against your thighs, but you’re not having it. 

“Did you just—?”

“Shut up,” he moans, ducking his head, dark bangs falling into his face. “Don’t—”

You burst into a fit of giggles. 

Caleb eyes you up the length of your body, scowling. “Ha. Ha. Not funny,” he grumbles, and moans when you tug on his hair again, steering him back to your pussy.

“You had yours,” you huff, rolling your eyes, muffling his complaints with a mouthful of your folds. 

“Now, it’s my turn.”

He doesn’t disappoint. Months of teaching him how to eat you out right; molding him to your preferred tastes; the right pressure, the right tongue technique, has your legs shaking and pussy pulsing around his tongue, your first orgasm of the night.

Caleb can’t take it anymore. 

Seeing you like this—undone, flushed warm with the heat of your come—has him feral.

He slips off your hair tie from his wrists with ease, ignores your rebuking chirps, and presses you into the mattress.

The sight of you, flushed, indignant, looking up at him like you want to tear him apart, has Caleb harder than steel. 

“Come on, sweets,” he rumbles in a low, husky tone. “You want to show me your tough girl act? Wear the pants here? Then, take what I give you.”

He unbuttons his jeans and draws the zipper down—the sharp, short grinding swoosh punctuating the silence like a crass joke. 

Caleb slides down the thick fabric, past his bubble butt, down his muscular thighs, and tosses the jeans behind his shoulder. You help him with his shirt, eyes glassy, touch hot and needy against his now bare pecs. 

With a deftness learned from weeks of endless bed romping, and locking each other away from the world, Caleb unhooks your bra, tosses the damning item onto the floor, and begins to ravage your tits.

“Fuck,” he groans with a mouthful of your flesh, blissed out. “Taste s’good—”

He laps and sucks at your nipples, leaving them puckered and spit-slicked. Moving his attention down your body, he marks a hot path to your pelvis with his relentless kisses and plants a hot, open-mouth smack onto your quivering clit. 

He doesn’t eat you out again—preferring to slip two fingers past the loose ring of muscle, hooking his fingers to hit a spot inside of you that makes your back arch, and hips writhe.

“God—!”

“Yeah, there she is,” he murmurs, curling his fingers, making sure to hold your hips down. So, you can never escape him again. “There she is—making a mess all over my fingers.”

He works you through the second edge. Using his left hand to feel all your glory squeezing down on him. 

Pretty baby, he croons. Your thighs jerk, and he throws them over his shoulders. 

Practically folding you in half.

Caleb leans in, the hot head of his leaky cock nudging past your slick folds. Teasing your outer rim. He holds you down, working you with tight, jerky circles of his hips, giving you just the tip; not enough for you to be satisfied, but enough for you to want more.

Your nails pierce his shoulders, breaking skin when you drag them down, trying to push up against him.

But, he’s relentless. 

You’ve had your revenge.

Now? 

It’s his turn. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts, large hands capturing your hips and holding them down, much to your indignant whines. “I’m controlling the pace here. Not you.” 

He doesn’t even need to use his Evol to hold you down. 

Caleb’s much bigger body cages you into the mattress, and he grins down at you, boyishly charming and devastating all at once.

“You’re not escaping me that easily again.”

In one swift move, he’s sheathed inside of you. Thrusting at a pace that has you crying out to the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut, and bed springs creaking.

God, he groans into the crook of your neck. You’re killing me. 

“Caleb,” you sob, and grab fistfuls of his ass, begging him to drive himself deeper. To absolutely ruin you. “Caleb, please—”

His hand drifts between where you two are connected, thumb gently running circles over your puffy clit. 

“Ssh,” he reassures, catching your moan in his mouth. Biting down on your lower lip. “I will. Just relax for me.”

Looking into his tender gaze, softened by his yearning need for you, you think you could free-fall down the blissful edge of his orbit.

There are no sounds in the room besides the wet sloshes of your bodies connecting, meeting in a frenzy of degenerate need. You bite his shoulder, hard enough to taste blood. He hisses—returns the favor by leaving his teeth imprints in the juncture where your shoulder and neck meet.

While he completely ruins you, you can’t help but imagine that faceless, nameless woman under him. Just like this. 

Your fists ram into his sternum, temporarily knocking the wind from his chest. 

“What the—?”

“You had her like this, too!” Your cry is edged with fury, hiding the pain behind this realization. “Didn’t you?”

His hips stutter, and his eyes widen incrementally. 

Caleb sputters: “What the hell are you on about?” 

But you’re not hearing him. You slap his chest, bite down on his shoulder and neck hard enough that it makes him yelp. 

“You bastard—!”

He groans, shuddering like a wild beast. Caleb drags your wrists, pinning them above his head. 

“Listen,” he hisses. “What I did was for my job—”

You shudder, the pain overwhelming every rational thought you might have left. “If I see her on the street, I’ll kill her.”

He doesn’t doubt your threat. Doesn’t doubt that you’d aim your gun right at her and shoot at the earring dangling ostentatiously from her lobe if you had the chance to make a statement.

Because it’s what he would’ve done if the roles were reversed.

He had nearly obliterated Zayne into nothingness from the faintest idea of the cardiac surgeon sleeping with you. 

Would catch multiple felonies if he could prevent you from slipping out of his grasp. 

Yet, he’d done it to you. 

Slept with someone else. Let her hands touch his skin—let her tongue into his mouth to claim his (fake) moans. 

He has no one to blame for himself when you start to cry in his arms.

Loud, wracking sobs and tears that coat your cheeks are the proof of his casual cruelty. 

Caleb’s thrusts falter, and he grinds his hips into yours, trying to make up for all the pain he had caused you. That he was forced to cause you.

“I’m so sorry.” A wounded animal-like sound escapes his lips when he presses his face into the crook of your neck; misery lining every crevice of his expression. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Please, believe me. I hated every second. Every time she touched me, all I could think about was you—”

Your piercing wail cuts him off. Grating his ears with the pained lovelessness of it all. 

He winces when your hand rears back to collide with his cheek. 

Caleb takes your slaps without a word of protest. Content to hold you, fuck into you slowly as you break down in his arms, spiralling further into your grief and resentment.

I hate you! 

I hate you, Caleb! 

I hate you so—ahh! You moan, walls fluttering dangerously around his cock. 

And, every time you cry out how much you don’t want him, don’t need him, or won’t love him again, he whispers a litany of apologies. 

I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. I love you. I’m so sorry.

He kisses your ankles perched on his shoulders; the sight of your creamy mess coating the base of his cock has him choking up with both misery and awe. 

Even after putting you through hell, your body still can’t let go of him—every sweet clench of your pussy around his stiff, rutting pole is a Morse-code love letter just for his cock alone.

His chest puffs with pure adoration for you, and when you run out of crass words to call him or strength to hit him, your rage fizzles into teary hiccups. 

He’s there in an instant to coddle you. Coo at you. Tell you how proud he is that you’re standing up for yourself, and to never let anyone bully you.

Not even him. 

As Caleb kisses your tears away, you whisper: 

“If you really love me, make me a mommy.”

He freezes, every nerve in his body going taut. 

You’re looking up at him like he’s holding the pinnacle of your every desire in the palm of his hands. 

If you love me—truly love me—and never want to take on these missions where you have to be with another woman, you’ll make me a mommy. Make me yours. The Fleet would never mess with you again—never mess with a family man. 

His throat tightens. He can’t believe what you’re asking for.

“Love—”

“If you want me back—want me to trust you,” your chin juts out bravely, trying to stare him down even when he’s the one above you. The one who has you folded in half. “Then, prove it.”

It would be easy to tell you ‘no’. To break your heart all over again.

But Caleb doesn't want to. His mind is filled to the brim with images of frilly bonnets, soft blankets, tiny baby shoes, and you. 

You, looking radiant and glowing. Rounded and healthy with his baby growing in your belly. 

You’d be his forever. No one else can doubt your connection to each other; doubt how important you are to him, and he to you. 

Caleb has no choice but to start moving. His thrusts growing wilder, untamed. Hands release your wrists and move to your hips, holding you in place, pressing your back into a tighter arch so when he spills, it’ll be right into your womb. 

Your face twists in pleasure, cries pushed past swollen, kiss-puffy lips.

“C-Caleb—nghhh!” 

Your heels dig into his shoulders, back arching off the mattress till only the crown of your head remains tethered.

He’s panting hard, sweat dripping down his chest and face. Cheeks wine red from how drunkenly you’re making his resolve sway.

He knows what doing this would cost—your health, your safety, risking the Fleet finding out about his family. 

There are so many things he can’t tell you yet; the dangers that lurk behind Skyhaven, plotting to take him down. 

In this split second of pretend, where the two of you can make believe that everything is fine and safe, Caleb gives you what you want.

His thumb rubs loving circles on your puffy clit, and he captures the first cry of your release with his tongue. You whine and buck, giving yourself fully over to him in that sweet, surrendering way only you can. 

His mouth slides down your neck, teeth grazing your skin.

“Let me take you—let me ruin you.”

Caleb is a man who keeps his promises. 

A groan rips from his throat as he spills inside of you, and just for one, brief, delicate moment, he lets his walls fall.

Let's himself believe that he could keep you safe from the Fleet if the gift he’s left throbbing hotly inside of you would take root. 

That his Evol, his strength, his determination would be enough to protect his family.

That when it came down to survival and choice, he would always choose death by a thousand cuts rather than to see even a single scratch on you.

Your legs fall from his shoulders, and he rolls you onto his chest, pressing the softest kiss to your hair.

“Rest,” he orders softly, one hand pressed to your hip, the other caressing your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You hum, nuzzling his neck. Basking in his touch. 

The silence stretches, twists into a familiar afterglow.

“Am I forgiven?” He asks, just as your eyes flutter close in exhaustion. A tired hum vibrates against his chest. “Or, do I have to give you another forgiveness coupon that’s valid for 100 years?” 

Pfft. You snort and tighten your grip on him. 

One beat passes.

Then, two.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s like the clouds have parted, his world coming back to life. 

He’s given you what you want—you can feel it. You know his promise of forever is already growing deep inside of you. You’ve made sure of it: prenatal pills, nutrient-dense foods. Deftly hidden from his sight and knowledge. 

This is the final step to your plan. 

“Yes,” you repeat, because even sinners deserve to be pardoned twice. 

Caleb murmurs, “thank goodness,” under his breath, kissing your head, your cheek, your chin. 

A gesture of pure supplication and relief.

And, because you know he needs to hear you say it, you whisper into the darkening room, legs tangled with his, heartbeats syncing as one: 

“I forgive you.”

— comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

Smiling, you intertwine your fingers with his. "That sounds impossible."

"It technically is, depending on who you ask. But there's always more to know, right?" Caleb pulls your joined hands to his lips to plant a kiss upon yours; his lips overly wet, his warm gaze never parting from you. Palms together in a warm embrace, you tightly squeeze.

"Of course." You adjust your legs, thigh slightly grazing over his member. His breath hitches. A wry smile accompanies you as you move to straddle him – again.

With you atop him, time seems to pause. Caleb slides a hand down your waist slowly, gingerly; as if you could disappear at any moment. A bit of saliva dribbles down his lower lip. You lean forward to catch it, and he seems to make a decision, brows furrowing. He grasps your hips with large calloused hands, flipping you onto the bed below him, cradling your head with one hand so as not to allow the impact to hurt you. “Then… have you heard of the uncertainty principle?”

Startled by the sudden movement, you blink dumbly up at him. You shake your head.

Caleb’s smug, the corner of his mouth slightly raised. “Well…” He lifts a finger to your chin, lilac eyes locked on yours. Leaning further in, pressing you down into the mattress, he whispers in your ear: “There’s a limit to the precision of calculating some pairs of physical properties: for example, both the position-” He parts your thighs for the fourth time tonight, moving to align your core to him. “And momentum-” Slow as molasses, his body rolls atop yours, and you shiver with the friction of his cock rubbing against your folds. “Of a particle, simultaneously.”

“You’re pushing your luck, you know,” you sigh, mockingly forlorn.

“Always.” Caleb smirks. The coolness of his dangling necklace grazes your left breast, causing you to gasp. His lips catch yours; tongue and teeth, eager and wanting. Saliva trails from his mouth as you part, falling onto your chest in small strings.

Fingers sliding down your folds, he toys with your thrice-filled entrance. “Wanna hear about the double slit experiment?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh?” Caleb quirks a brow. “You wanna hear about quantum tunneling, then.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully, unable to mask your smile. Leaning in to press your bodies together as one, he lines his member up with your entrance, the tip grazing your slit. Wrapping your legs around him loosely, you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes; batting your eyelashes slowly, the way he likes.

As he enters you, you’re fully relaxed, taking his large girth in with no qualms; only a deep breath escaping your lips. “Fuck. Took me so easily. Guess you secretly like learning from me, huh?”

Sighing with contentment as he begins to rock into you, you wrap your arms around his neck, leaving more claw-marks upon his skin along the way. “May I remind you: this is the fourth time tonight.”

“And?” Caleb pulls away from you slightly, planting a kiss upon your forehead. He runs his hand over your hair. “How ‘bout we make it five?”

“Focus.” You smack his arm lightly with a foxlike smile.

“Ahhhh. I see, I see. Six, then.”

Pulling him down to you, his ear meets your lips. “Seven,” you whisper, lips grazing its shell. His body shudders. As he begins sliding in and out with a harsh quickness, you grab onto his back with soft fingers, clinging for dear life. “Caleb!” You gasp, overwhelmed by the sudden pleasure. His moans are guttural and hoarse, throat still raw.

Gripping your hips with a vicious need, he pounds into you with reckless abandon. Your eyes roll back as you give in to your lust-addled daze, allowing it to envelop your mind entirely and overpower any contrarian thought. Slowing down, he sneaks his hand to your clit, circling the sensitive bud with rough fingers.

“I c-can’t,” you whine, raspy voice reverberating throughout the bedroom. “I need you.”

Caleb snorts fondly. “Need you more, baby.” He groans as you clench around him, causing a hiccup in his movement. “Fuck, I know. Gonna give you everything you want. I promise.”

He curves up into just the right area.

Mouth agape, you moan wantonly into his ear, the sound spurring Caleb on further. “There, fuck. Told you I would find it again, yeah?” Slowing down to savor every moment after reaching your sweet spot, he’s sure to tap harshly at the end of each thrust, causing you to whine far too loudly. Overstimulated, you bite down onto his neck, and he groans huskily, picking up the pace again. “Gonna… gonna have to make it at least eight.” He pushes into you without missing a beat. “Nine.” You scratch at his back with a vengeance as he counts. “Ten.”

You recall the image you had burned into your mind earlier – Caleb’s tongue lapping circles around your clit, his fingers pistoning into you, curling perfectly. His hair slightly dampened from sweat, his cheeks partially coated in your slick. You clench around him at the thought, and he releases a melody of moans in response.

Chasing his release, Caleb pushes your legs up further. The slight sting of overexertion is a welcome friction alongside the buttery movement inside you, your slick coating his cock. “M’gonna inside, okay?” You wrap your legs tightly around him, constricting, clenching as you feel an anticipating heat pool into your lower stomach. “Fuck.” 

As he comes undone, his spend paints your walls and fills you with a warmth that makes you feel whole. Removing himself from you reluctantly, he admires the way it escapes your cunt in a small river of white drips, his primal urge to claim you overpowering his senses.

Softly gasping for air, you turn to tousle Caleb’s hair as he flops down on the bed next to you. With dexterous fingers you soothe him, rubbing his head and neck. Sighing dreamily, he grasps your hand in his to kiss your fingers, one by one. You smile wryly. “So, what was that about… um, tangle-ment?” 

“Zayne, everyone will be on the roads now. Maybe you should stay here.” He hauls himself up, dusting off his hands on his pants. He gives her a small smile.

“If the roads are dangerous, I promise to turn around. But if the hospital loses power, they’ll need me there.” 

She hums, brows furrowed. 

“Let me come with you then. Maybe I can help out. The metaflux index is also predicted to rise during the storm. With everything going on, wanderers might even creep into civilian zones.”

Zayne hesitates, carefully choosing his next words. 

“I… don’t want you out in the storm.”

She places a hand on her hip. “Me neither.”

Zayne’s resolve dissolves into gentle laughter, shoulders shaking as he pushes his glasses up. 

“I should’ve known you’d resort to such childish methods. Fine. I’ll stay, if it keeps you inside.” She laughs with him, inching closer until she’s close enough to tip his chin up with her index finger. Their knees brush together and she balances on her tippy-toes.

“It’s childish to protect the city, now?” He steadies her hips with his hands. “Suddenly it’s childish to want to protect Akso’s chief surgeon from a potential wanderer attack?”

Zayne’s eyes dance over her face. The stretch of her smile causing his own lips to tug. He basks in the silence, moving a hand to cradle her jaw. Before she can back away he nips at her nose, placing a gentle, fleeting kiss. Then his eyes divert down to the lack of space between them. 

Suddenly a murmur fills the air. A sudden breeze ruffling her curtains.It’s already started to rain.

The storm is here. 

Her doorbell rings. She pauses, still searching Zayne’s expression before pulling herself away and settling back down onto her heels. She lets a hand slide down his shirt while doing so, lips quirking with the way his breath deepens. 

The doorbell rings again. A neighbour most likely. Maybe they needed help sealing up their apartment as well. But as she pulls open the door, Caleb pants out in front of her, holding countless of overfilled bags in his arms. 

“Caleb!?” 

He steps into her apartment, still out of breath.

“I got off work as soon as I could. Picked you up some stuff when I heard about the storm warning. Got you a few power banks in case you lose power; some canned stuff too. Oh, and, I didn’t know if you had a generator so I brought mine over--”

She gapes up at him. He’s really lugging all that around!? Hands flying out to alleviate the weight, she takes a few bags from him and sets them down. He’s still in his fleet uniform minus the cap and jacket, and the material of his shirt is damp with sweat. He shoots her a grin before checking out the place.

“Wow, you really sealed this place up--” As his eyes wander over the interior, they land on a certain someone, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Caleb swallows, blinking almost immediately like his body needs to reboot. 

“Caleb.” Zayne is the first one to speak, giving him a polite nod. “How are you doing?”

Caleb almost laughs. “Doc! What are you doing here?”

Pulling the rest of the bags from him, she awkwardly places them in a corner.

“Zayne came over to help me prepare,” she says. “Really, if it wasn’t for him, I’d be a lost cause.”

Zayne rubs at his neck. The silence is uncomfortable.

“I have to get back to the hospital now.” Offering a smile to her, he takes a step toward the door. “You’re kidding,” Caleb interjects. “The storm’s about to hit. Why don’t you stay here until it passes?”

Zayne looks between them. And she offers a purse-lipped smile. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying. Please, Zayne, it’s so dangerous for you to be driving right now.”

“I really don’t want to intrude--”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving her hands. She recognises the slip in his demeanour as Caleb watches him, the subtle rigidity coming to light. “I mean…we’re all friends here.”

“Yeah, it’ll be just like old times!” The sneer in Caleb’s voice flies right by her, and Zayne can only nod in defeat. Would it be better to die on the side of the road or suffer through this? He can’t say. 

As they settle in for the night, the thick of the storm quickly approaches. 

“We should turn off the lights if you’re not using them,” Caleb says, going around and flicking off the lights to her kitchen, and bathroom. He leaves the living room light on, pulling her down onto the couch. “Come on, Doc. Or are you gonna sit in the dark by yourself?”

Zayne enters the living room slowly. One of his hands is stuffed awkwardly in his pocket while the other fidgets with the fabric of his pants. Caleb’s got his back to them as he digs through her cabinets. Zayne’s gaze flicks between them. How he operates so seamlessly into her apartment. And how she pays him no mind. But he stifles the thought as quickly as it arrives as she slides up from the couch and approaches him, tugging him further into the room. 

“Relax,” she whispers despite her own rigid shoulders. 

“So what have you been up to, Doc?”

“Nothing really. Work keeps me busy. Recently, I’ve been getting assigned to Skyhaven’s central hospital.”

“Saving lives, that’s not nothing.” Caleb’s back is still turned, and the clatter of objects fills the room. “I’ll know just where to go if I put my back out, hey?”

She rolls her eyes, cheeks heating as she listens to Caleb’s attempt at conversation. 

“Caleb, what are you looking for?”

“Aha.” He turns around, wagging a deck of cards in his hands. “Here’s something for us to do.”

“I didn’t even realise I had that.”

He takes a seat on the carpet, resting his back against the foot of the couch. 

“It’s quite the trip from Akso Hospital to here, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d argue the trip from Skyhaven is quite a bit longer,” Zayne replies. Caleb shrugs.

“I’m used to it by now.” He toys with the cards in his hands, letting them slide out and cascade back into his other hand. He smiles to himself, nodding his head in his mindless fiddling.

The girl sighs, settling down on the carpet as well. She hugs her knees to her chest watching over the two of them carefully. Even in their childhood, there was always this underlying animosity between them. Something that only became apparent when they had grown out of having playdates. And it’d be a struggle to get Zayne to even agree to come play. Most of the time, it was just her and Caleb, pretending to be secret agents as they hid around the park. And then she’d whine and complain, adamant that they needed a third person--needed Zayne to complete their theatrics.

Caleb speaks through his laughter, apparently reminiscing as well. “It was so hard to get you to loosen up as a kid. What did you do for fun?”

Zayne matches his laughter. “I was a bit of a shut-in. I remember having fun with the two of you, though.”

“But?”

“I read a lot. I admit my parents would’ve liked me to go out with the two of you more often. Maybe I was a little shy.” The two of you were always so close. 

Even now he stands awkwardly in front of them. 

Caleb sighs, flicking the cards between his hands theatrically. 

“So what should we play?”

“How about Go Fish?” She suggests.

“Grow up.” Caleb flings a card at her and it hits her shoulder, eliciting a yelp. 

“What, you want us to play poker or something?”

Caleb grins. “Aren’t you the gambler?”

She mirrors his smile with a snort.

“Maybe we’ll bleed Akso’s chief dry!”

“Fuck, I don’t have any cash on me right now,” Caleb says with faux disappointment. He rifles through his pockets pointedly before smiling. “Guess we’ll have to bet with something else.”

Zayne keeps his gaze fixed on him, eyes narrowing as he feels the faintest twist in his stomach. 

“We can play without money. Card games are fun anyway,” she offers, settling down on the carpet and patting the spot beside her for Zayne to sit. He moves slowly, choosing a spot that’s equal distance from both of them. 

“Yeah,” Caleb says lazily. “Yeah, or we could play strip poker.”

Her eyes widen. “I don’t--”

“It’ll be just like when we were younger. You know how to play, right, Zayne?” He nods towards him, face still even. 

The girl chokes on her words, feeling a sudden heat at her cheeks. Her gaze shoots towards Zayne, and he’s looking right back at her. A glint of curiosity in them. There’s no way Caleb just said that in front of him. 

“Don’t say it like that,” she scolds, fighting off the shake in her voice. “And you know it was just us folding every round. It’s not like we--”

“I know how to play,” comes Zayne’s cool reply. His expression mirrors Caleb’s, the corner of his lips curling ever so slightly. 

“Alrighty then.” Caleb smooths the cards before resuming his impressive shuffling. The sound of the cards flicking over each other neatly only sets her anxiety on a downwards spiral. As she looks at Zayne’s relaxed slant, she can’t help but chew on her lip. Has he really played strip poker before? With who? His colleagues at the hospital? She can’t stop the frown from forming on her face. 

But the second Zayne’s narrow gaze meets hers, she dips her head.

Two cards are placed in front of her and it snaps her out of her disgruntled state. Carefully, she lifts them up, holding them close to her chest. An eight of spades, and a Queen of clubs. Okay, this could work. 

“Just so we’re on the same page. We’ll start with a bet of one clothing item. Player with the lowest hand strips.” Caleb smiles innocently at her. “And since you brought it up, no folding.” She gapes. There’s absolutely no way she’s going to lose. 

Caleb unveils the top three cards on the shuffled deck and sets them out. Two of hearts, Queen of hearts, and eight of hearts. 

Okay, fuck yeah, she had two pairs. She fights the smile off her face. She was always so bad at hiding her emotions during card games. If she wins this first round, though, that’ll put the two of them in their places. 

“Check,” says Zayne. Then he looks at her again. 

She taps her fingers at her lips. “Hmm, I’ll raise. Make that two items of clothing.” 

Caleb laughs. “Someone’s trying to fast track this. Who do you think has the stronger hand?”

“Who do you want to have the weaker hand?” Zayne speaks up, leaning his cheek against his knuckles. 

“May Lady Luck bless neither of you,” she quips. She turns to Caleb, giving him a nod.

“Call, then.”

Rolling his eyes, he sets out the last two cards from the stack. Four of hearts and ten of clubs. Each of them check.

“Alright, flip ‘em.” 

She throws down her hand. She has two pairs. Surely she’s winning this round. 

“I win. Flush” Her head twists towards Zayne’s cards where a ten of hearts sits proudly on top. That’s five heart cards. Her jaw almost hits the floor. What the fuck! Then she turns to Caleb’s. Nine of diamonds and…seven of hearts. 

Holy fuck. Did she just fucking lose?

Caleb snickers at her. “You said it yourself. That’s two items of clothing.” A glare embeds itself on her face. She looks down at herself, mentally counting out how many pieces of clothes she’s got on. Cardigan, t-shirt, pants, socks--surely socks count as two items--and her bra and panties. Okay, so she can manage a few more losses. Thank god it was cold out. 

“Yeah, I know,” she sneers. She pulls both her socks off, looking up to see if either of them will contest her. 

“Is that cheating?” Comes Caleb’s teasing question.

Zayne answers him. “I don’t think we need to be worried, seeing how poor she is at the game.”

Her next two cards are a Jack of spades and a Jack of clubs. Okay, she’s not going to fall for this again. Even if Jacks rank pretty high. 

Caleb reveals the top three cards again: five of hearts, three of hearts, and two of clubs. 

No one raises.

She sighs out in relief. The final two cards are revealed: King of spades and Ace of spades.

“Anyone want to raise?” Caleb probes. He shoots her a knowing look and she frowns back. But when the cards are flipped she almost jumps. Her hands wins from her pair of Jacks. The others both have High Cards, but Caleb’s is weaker. Damn, maybe she should have raised.

She turns to him in delight, wagging a finger at him. 

“Strip, you loser!”

“I hear you, I hear you.” Caleb unbuttons his shirt, discarding it on the floor. When he settles back down, she notices how he leans slightly back, bracing against the carpet with his palm. His biceps are flexed as they support his weight, and his abs are on full display. 

She pulls her gaze away from, taking the initiative to reshuffle and hand out the new cards.

Before the three community cards are revealed Caleb raises.

“Loser removes three items.”

“Caleb, what if that backfires on you?” she probes, prodding at his bare arm. He only leans towards her, casting an arrogant look at Zayne.

“Say, Zayne has yet to lose a round. Why don’t we team up?”

“That’s hardly fair.” She speaks into her cards before turning them to show Caleb. They huddle across from him and the scene is reminiscent of their dynamic from when they were younger: Zayne sitting awkwardly across from them as they muck around doing their homework. 

“Oh we have pretty good cards,” she says teasingly.

“Think we’ll win?”

Zayne lets out a small laugh. 

“Teaming up doesn’t change anything. One of you could still have a weaker hand than me. Then what? Will the penalty apply to both of you?”

“Loosen up Doc,” Caleb replies. 

She draws out the community cards. And after an illegal swapping of cards between them, they’ve ensured that she has two pairs and Caleb has a straight. 

“Let’s see then.”

They lay out their cards proudly. Only for Zayne to throw down an Ace and King against the community Queen, Jack, and ten, all from the same suit. Royal Flush. 

He cocks his head at them, his sinister smile finally breaking loose. The girl pales. Is this game rigged? 

Suddenly she feels the fabric of her cardigan being tugged. Caleb can barely hold his laugh, clutching at his bare stomach as his eyes crinkle. 

“Fuck, babe, he got you good.” Heat burns at her cheek as she swats his hand away. She casts her gaze over to Zayne to gauge his reaction. His eyes are half-lidded, a small smile playing at his lips as he stares back at her. 

Sliding her arms out of the cardigan’s sleeves, she can’t help but break their shared gaze. Even when her fingers tremble at the hem of her shirt, his eyes stay trained on hers. 

Caleb’s eyes dull as he looks between them, his brows drawing close as he chews his lip. For some reason his heart rate picks up, thumping harshly in his ribcage as he stares at the two of them. From the way her ears tinge when she looks up at Zayne, pulling her shirt off and setting it down beside her. To the way he shamelessly stares back, letting his gaze linger over her bra-clad breasts, expression even. 

“Holy shit, “ Caleb breathes out a long breath. “You’re fucking your doctor?”

Her breath hitches and she looks back at Caleb, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. 

“I…” The words falter at the tip of her tongue. Her brows crease as she scrutinises every inch of his face. His eyes aren’t narrowed, rather crinkled at the corners. And instead of knitted brows, they arch slightly upwards. Her brain files through about a million possibilities of what he was feeling before it finally clicks with the sharp curl of his lips. He’s amused. 

“I had a feeling. I just didn’t know how far you were willing to go.”

Her brows knit together guiltily. She feels like she’s being suspended between them by a fraying rope.

“You know Zayne,” she offers.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees with a nod. “Good old Zayne.” He sits forward, plastering a tight smile on his lips. “So when exactly did this happen? Before or after you breached doctor-patient ethics?”

“Caleb…”

Her hands freeze at the buttons on her shorts, shaking as she blindly fumbles to undo them. Suddenly warmth encases her hands, as Zayne aids her in unbuttoning her shorts. Her gaze is brought back down to him where he’s offering her a smile. Their breaths mingle as she kneels above him. The buttons loosen with a pop before he drags the zipper down. 

“You’re burning up.” Zayne brings the back of his hand against her cheek. But his face shows anything but concern. “Are you afraid I don’t know how to share?”

“I’m afraid you’ll think differently of me.”

He offers a small smile. “Why? Because you’ve been stringing along your friend? I think it’s too late for that.”

Caleb scoffs, reaching out to grip her waist. He pulls her out of Zayne’s hold so he can get a clear look at him. 

“What do you mean stringing me along? Doc, I didn’t know you had this side to you. You’ve changed. You’re all grown up now.”

Zayne almost laughs, clearly enjoying how easily he riles Caleb up. 

“I’m older than you. Apparently you still haven’t learnt how to tell when you're a side piece.”

“Stop it,” the girl interjects. “You’re at each other’s throats. And I thought we were all getting along a second ago.”

The fabric of her shorts hits the ground as Zayne traces his knuckles over her knee. His touch is warm. Calculated and slow as he peers up at her. He offers his other hand to her, and tentatively, she takes it. Sliding her shorts down her shins, he helps her out of them completely, before stroking his palms up the flesh of her thighs. 

“I was never good at making friends. I guess you’ll have to mediate this feud between us.”

“I can do that,” she replies, leaning into his touch. She looks over at Caleb, his arm still tight around her waist. His expression is hard, and he looks like a little boy throwing a tantrum beside Zayne.

She sighs, hooking her finger into the waistband of Caleb’s pants and dragging him closer. A gasp leaves his mouth as he stumbles forwards on his knees, towering over the two of them in his upright position.

“Caleb, you lost as well,” she says, curling her finger tighter.

She watches him swallow.

“Surely the belt counts as one item,” he breathes into her. She shakes her head, fingers unbuckling the leather and unlooping it. Caleb’s breaths are shaky, the prominent hard-on he’s sporting beneath his boxers bulging proudly against her knuckles. He’s only got his boxers and socks on left. 

“I guess we have a loser,” comes Zayne’s voice against her shoulder. After the penalty of three items of clothing was dealt, he’d be stripped bare. Zayne’s breath tickles her nape and she shivers into his chest. She feels his fingers glide over her throat before turning her head gently to face him. There, he kisses her as Caleb stares up at them, cock throbbing against fabric. He grits his teeth, clenching his fists, but the ache in his boxers only worsens. 

Zayne’s breaths are so heavy as he deepens the kiss, hand cupping her jaw. His eyes roll back as her hands slide over his shirt. She begins pulling the unbuttons, breaking the kiss. 

“Is this okay?” She asks.

Zayne pulls back, taking his glasses of messily before chasing her lips again. She indulges him before breaking away again. 

“I don’t want to rush this. Or put you in a situation where you’re…”

“It’s okay. I want this.”

She nods, resuming her hands on his shirt until it’s off. As she begins working on Zayne’s belt she feels a pair of warm arms wrap around her waist. Caleb presses his chest against her back, smothering her in heat. He nips at her neck, eyes covered by his hair.

“What about me? You gonna ask if I’m okay with this?”

She gasps as he unclasps her bra, arms sliding back around to her breasts. He lets the bra fall into Zayne’s lap, decorating the tent in his pants as he sits beneath them. 

“Aren’t you afraid I won’t want to share you?” He looks at Zayne from over her shoulder, still pressing wet kisses into the juncture of her neck. 

Zayne answers for her. “You’re still so childish. The only way to remedy this is if you give in to the feeling.”

“Yeah?” Caleb redirects his gaze at her. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes half-lidded with the way he’s groping at her breasts. Massaging the flesh and dragging the pads of his fingers against the buds. Putting on a show for Zayne. “Then what about you? Do you really think you can take both of us?”

She feels her head lull into mush, the effects of being sandwiched between them dizzying. Giving a weak hum in affirmation, she lets her eyes close as heat buzzes at her cheeks. 

“Keep going,” Caleb commands her, nudging her hands towards Zayne’s belt. He grinds his cock against her panty-clad cunt, watching as her hands shake to unbuckle the leather. Smoothing her hands over the bulge in Zayne’s briefs, she lets her fingers glide over the elastic waistband. She gives a tentative pull.

“Zayne…”

“Take it off,” he encourages, hands sliding up and down her forearms. 

Pulling his cock out, she shimmies his briefs and pants down enough so that they sit comfortably at his thighs. Caleb hums into her skin, peering over her shoulder. 

“Wanna taste,” she mumbles, settling comfortably on her shins as she leans down. Zayne reaches up and guides her head slowly, brushing the loose strands of her hair over her ear. Caleb glides a hand over the arch of her back, maneuvering himself far back enough so that he can thumb at her cunt. The fabric is soaked through, and when he pulls at it teasingly, a trail of sticky release strains between it. 

Taking Zayne’s cock into her mouth, her ears crinkle at his shaky breaths. The way he shudders and presses down harshly to keep her going. The taste of his pre-cum is sweet as it trickles out of his tip, dribbling against the plush of her lips. She wraps a hand around the base of his cock, using the other to brace against his thigh. Her ears are ember, sighing as Caleb strokes her sex.

He’s got her panties pulled to the side and his fingers barely dipping into her leaking cunt. 

“You’re so fucking wet already, baby,” he teases with a harsh nudge at her clit. She jerks forward, Zayne’s cock sliding further into her mouth. The chain reaction causes him to throw his head back, fingers digging into her jaw as he groans through clenched teeth.

“You’ve got Doc all wound up,” Caleb says. But he’s already pulling down his boxers, stroking his cock in time with the gentle bobs of her head. 

He taps the head of his cock against her cunt and she whines. Sliding it experimentally over her sex, he makes sure to nudge her clit just right with each stroke. And it leaves her writhing, her moans sending tremors up Zayne’s cock. When he finally pushes in, the stretch has her gasping for air, bracing both hands on Zayne’s thighs. A string of saliva connects her swollen lips to his red tip. 

Caleb groans as he hangs his lead low. His grip on her waist is bruising, pulling her to meet his slow thrusts. She can’t even swallow her gasps before Zayne is guiding her back down onto his cock. She suckles on the smooth stretch of skin, using her hand to stroke the bottom half. 

“Mmph!” She shudders, eyes closing as she’s jerked forward by the sheer force of Caleb’s thrust. His hands press so harshly into her ass, flesh spills out between his fingers.

Zayne’s cock twitches at the sight, but his voice remains cool.

“Try to be gentle, will you?”

Caleb laughs through his moans. “Say that to me again when you’re not fucking her throat like that, will you?”

Tears spill down her cheeks as she looks up at Zayne. His throat tightens. The sight of her with his cock in her mouth causes him to buck harshly, forcing a gag as she lurches back. But the movement only lodges Caleb further into her. She whines, tears and spit dribbling down at the tip of her jaw. There’s nowhere to go. 

Zayne strokes away her tears. He wants to coo and coddle her. Tell her how well she’s taking them both; but it’s all a front. No, he really just wants to thrust his hips harder. See if she’d rather lean forward and gag on his cock or back away and fuck herself deeper on Caleb. 

“Are we being too rough?” He strokes her jaw, collecting the globes of hot tears and smearing them down her neck. The sensation makes her writhe.

Through laboured breaths, she manages to shake her head. 

“‘s okay,” she mumbles into him. She swirls her tongue under the head of his cock, catching each ridge and vein in a delicious drag. Her eyes clench as she focuses on channeling air through her nose, just like told her to. 

“Look at me,” Zayne breathes, a cast of red over his cheeks. His eyes are half-lidded and his mouth is agape as he pinches her jaw. 

She keeps her eyes trained on him as she moves her head slowly, sucking in her cheeks. She experiments with the movements of her tongue, pointing it and tracing harsh lines around his slit. Relishing in the way his composure cracks ever so slightly. But she’s not there yet. Not pushing his buttons hard enough to see him really come undone. 

“You look so beautiful,” he says, a smile wiping the discomposure clean off his face. Instead he looks smug. 

His breaths are airy compared to Caleb’s, who’s grunting into her ear. His efforts to match his thrusts to her head are long gone, and instead he’s pushing steadily into her. Dragging her hips to meet the piston of his cock so she doesn’t lurch too far forward on Zayne’s cock. It’s a kind act, she realises, as he’s using her. 

Suddenly his arms slide up and wrap around her chest, squeezing her tits against his forearms. He leans down until his tongue is close enough to kiss at her ear. 

“What about me, huh?” he whines. “I wanna see your face too.” His hands slide further up to her neck, moulding against each gulp as she swallows down a mix of her own spit and Zayne’s pre-cum. 

She gasps as he bottoms out completely and stays there, grinding his cockhead against her walls. 

“What do you say,” he teases. “Wanna show me that pretty face, now?” 

Zayne scoffs. “You’ve always been impatient,” he goads; but he slips his cock out of her mouth nonetheless. It’s red and dripping with their mixed fluids, staining the fabric of his pants. 

“You know me so well,” Caleb almost sneers back. “If you want something you can’t hold back.”

He pulls her up onto her knees again, pulling out slowly with a moan. Caleb rubs his palms down her hips and ass before turning her towards him.

He captures her lips in a kiss, and wastes no time before sliding his tongue in. She can barely breath as he attacks her swollen tongue, coaxing her jaw wider and sucking harshly. The taste is salty and almost bitter, and Zayne can’t stop the run of his tongue along his lips as witnesses Caleb’s frenzied state. The frantic flex of his jaw and he angles his face to consume her entirely.  A pair of hands settle on her lower back and guide her onto her hands and knees. When Caleb grants her a moment to breathe, she looks back at Zayne. He’s taken his shirt off but his pants and briefs still pool at his knees as he positions himself behind her. She feels the slap of his thick cock against her sex. 

“Hah, you’re keeping your cool better than me,” Caleb says breathily, the churn of embarrassment and jealousy evident on his face. 

She breathes shakily, lips grazing over his length as she watches him. His chest is rising frantically, as he leans back on his elbows. 

“How many times have you done this?” A trickle of sweat slides down Caleb’s temple. “How long has this been--” 

His words are stolen from his as she envelops him in her mouth harshly. 

“Caleb, relax.” Zayne comforts him, eyes no longer narrowed. And Caleb nods, mouth agape as he stifles his groans. 

The stretch of Zayne’s cock has her crying out as she gasps up from Caleb. But Caleb’s hand comes around her head harshly, holding her down. 

“Don’t close your eyes.” He loops the stray hairs over her ears, cupping her face fully between his hands. “I wanna see everything.”

He thumbs at her tears, eyes almost hazing over as she rocks into him at the force of Zayne’s thrusts. Then his gaze pans up to Zayne in disbelief. Fucking into her with practiced force and rhythm. His hands act on their own, pushing her back down onto his cock, guiding the back of her head in time with the lewd image before him.

Heat burns at her cheeks at the stimulation. At the taste of herself on Caleb’s cock. Spit dribbles out of the corner of her mouth as Caleb works his way deeper. His palm cups her jaw gently as the pads of his fingers rub over the shell of her ear. 

“Breathe through your nose, sweetheart,” Zayne says, smoothing her hair as he rocks into her. His other hand brushes over the bruises Caleb has left, tracing the swell of faint rose into an intense red. 

His gaze flicks up to Caleb, cocking his head to the side. But his expression is only met with an arrogant twitch of Caleb’s lips. 

“Don’t strain yourself.” Zayne leans forward, the angle almost setting off sparks of white in her vision as his fat cock wedges itself against the spongy muscle. His chest blazes against hers and his arms slide over hers, down towards Caleb’s cock.

Caleb gasps, eyes shaking as he can only lean back and watch. 

“There are other ways to pleasure him. Don’t put all the work on your throat.” He pushes his body further over hers, wrapping his hands over hers as he guides them slowly to cup one of Caleb’s balls. She tries to lift her head only to be blocked by Zayne’s chin, keeping her lowered and suckling at the tip. 

He can feel her inexperience in her hand, but he only guides her fingers to wrap around the flesh more tightly.

“Fuck--” Caleb throws his head back, cheeks an embarrassing shade of red. 

Zayne only smirks into her hair. 

“Do it gently,” he guides her, pushing her fingers to squeeze. The whimper Caleb lets out is resounding, gasps shaky. “Or harshly. Seems like he likes it when you tense up.” 

Zayne guides her other hand to continue stroking Caleb’s length, knuckles hitting her sticky lips as his precum forces its way past her lips.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises with a roll of his hips.

Everything is too much. The pressure in her core, egged on by Zayne’s cruel thrusts, pushing so deep into her. 

“Fuck-- I’m gonna--Fuck.” Caleb’s words are almost incoherent as he bucks weakly into her. The pressure Zayne forces her to use on his balls, squeezing his length harshly and she drags it up and down then up again. 

She groans down into his cock, words and thoughts muffled by the overwhelming pleasure.

“What do you want to say?” Zayne asks her, not letting her up from Caleb’s cock. “You want to tell him he’s doing a good job? That he’s being a good little mutt for us?”

Caleb fights to produce a scoff but his words are snatched from him as their grip tightens. 

“Come on, come for her,” Zayne goads, kissing her ear. 

“Hah- F-Fuck you, Doc.”

Where their hands are entwined, Caleb’s sticky precum dribbles in between their fingers. Strings of the fluid stretching between their flesh each time Zayne loosens his grip. Up and down. Up and down. She’s breathless, watching as Caleb comes undone in front of her, elbows shaking as they struggle to support his body. His thighs shake beside her head, threatening to knock her away. 

Then Zayne curls over her more, forcing a hand on Caleb’s thigh to still him. The position lodges him so far inside her she comes on the spot, white dots forming over her vision as her brain dissolves into an overwhelming buzz of sound and light. 

She cries out, barely hearing the own moan that leaves her trembling lips. Then thick ropes of come fill her mouth as Caleb crumbles beneath her. His eyes are weakly trained on hers, eyelids threatening to seal shut. 

Then finally, Zayne lets her gasp up in respite. 

Fresh air floods her mouth as she slumps forward into Caleb’s arms. He’s breathless beneath her, hands coming around to stroke her ribs. That searing blush almost brandished into his cheeks as his eyes trace over her flushed state.

“Did you swallow?” He asks weakly.

Instead of answering, she opens her mouth, dragging her clean tongue over her bottom lip with a tired wink.

Caleb gives a groan-infused laugh, throwing his head back against the carpet. As he rolls his head slightly to cast his gaze back up, he focuses on Zayne.

“What? No happy ending back there?”

Zayne scoffs, pulling out gently and massaging her hips. As she looks over her shoulder, true to his word, Zayne is still hard. Tip a flushed and swollen red as it slaps against his abdomen.  

“How’s it fair that the two losers get off first?” He laughs. 

She pushes up on Caleb’s toned chest, reaching behind her to bring Zayne closer.

“Awh Zayne, don’t be bitter.” But her words quickly come to bite her in the ass when he maneuvers her up onto her knees. 

“Surely you aren’t going to fold after the first round.”

Caleb laughs, the bite of competition stirring in his stomach. He pulls her down into a kiss, but it’s all teeth and tongue as he swipes up the remnants of his release from her.

“Caleb,” she gasps before grinning into him.

Caleb clicks his tongue, fisting his cock before pulling her hips over him. 

“I’m all in, Doc.”

He tips her jaw up, leaving wet kisses down the juncture of her neck. 

“How are you feeling? You wanna keep going?”

She groans against him, nodding in her breathlessness. Zayne runs his hands along the small of her back, lips ghosting her ear again.

“Are you sensitive?”

Her cheeks warm at the attention. 

“I don’t want to stop.” She opens her eyes, the corners crinkling as she grinds down against them both. Sure, she was tired from her first orgasm. But the thrill of having them on either side of her, hands grabbing at everything their hands could hold had her cunt pulsing. The proximity, the blend of their scents--of fading cologne and sweat and come--was dizzying. She could feel her own come leaking down her thighs. The excitement turning her stomach into a tangle of live wires.  

“Wanna be inside you,” Caleb murmurs against her lips, taking the flesh between his teeth. 

He slides in with ease, arms wrapping around her torso. 

“Hah--feels so good.” She braces herself against him, fondling his abs. 

“Yeah?” Caleb rocks her gently, focusing on depth rather than speed. The squelch of their mixed release is foul as it resounds against the backdrop of rain and thunder. She feels her slick dribble down onto his thighs, creating a sticky mess each time he lowers her back down. 

Caleb cocks his head to the side, amused as Zayne rests on his knees, engrossed. His eyes lower, watching as Zayne’s cock twitches with his every thrust. But he makes no move to touch himself. His hands are relaxed at his side and his mouth is agape, like he’s drowning in his thoughts. 

“You gonna just watch, Doc?”

Zayne looks up from her pussy, almost like he’s been caught red-handed. Then his hands come up, slowly, to grasp at her waist. They traverse there for a moment, tracing the lines of flared flesh of their shared roughhousing. He lets out a shaky breath, cock throbbing painfully. 

She shudders under his touch. Each time she tries to focus on the way his fingers drag over her the sheer force of Caleb’s cock slamming into her pulls her back to the boy in front of her. And it’s this inevitable game of push and pull for her attention that has her mind reeling. 

“What is he going to do?” She thinks, unable to turn her head. She can feel his warm breath fan her shoulders. Then the tip of his cock prod the flesh of her ass. Then--fuck--Caleb’s grip on her tightens as he grounds her down into him. 

“Think you can take the both of us?” Zayne’s soft voice drifts over her. 

What is he going to do?

She hums, unable to voice her affirmation. Eyes fighting to stay open as Caleb is unrelenting below her. The harsh thrusts has her ass bouncing within Zayne’s hands. But true to his profession, his hands remain steady as they slide down to where Caleb is fucking up into her. He swipes up their mixed slick on his finger.

“Is this okay?” 

Then he drags his fingers back towards her asshole. 

She flinches, a shudder escaping her lips. Suddenly she’s awake. Shaking and ears ablaze as the flesh of her ass tingles at Zayne’s experimental prod. But his gaze flicks up at her reaction.

“Maybe another time.”

Relief floods over her as his finger slides away. The possibility of them taking both of her holes was exciting, no doubt. But in their frenzied state? She’d barely make it out alive. He watches her noticeably relax before gripping his cock and using the sample of slick to stroke himself. 

“How about…”

He hums as he lines his cock with Caleb’s, eliciting a gape from him as he momentarily slows his rut in shock. He wouldn’t. But Zayne presses the fat tip on the swollen plush of her pussy, grinding against Caleb’s length that is shuddering as it comes to a complete stop. He would. 

Then he pushes forward.

“Oh fuck--Zayne!”

The stretch is palpable. Searing as she feels her cunt stretch to lengths unimaginable to accommodate them both. 

“Calling out another man’s name while you’re looking at me…” But Caleb’s teeth are bared, fighting the delicious groan at the tip of his tongue. The pressure of Zayne’s cock slotted flush against his is both insane and beyond anything he’s ever experienced. He bucks harshly, pulling her more upright so that her breasts are pressed against his cheek. 

“Hah--holy fuck,” Caleb grunts. 

They settle into a slow and steady rhythm, not wanting to push her past her limits. At first, Caleb remains still as Zayne takes the lead, sliding his dick in and out. He presses soft kisses into her soft breast, like he’s telling her everything’s okay. Fuck everything is so intense. The heat of her flesh almost blurs her vision.

Then Caleb starts to move. Slow. Slower than Zayne. Barely lifting his hips as Zayne pulls back. Then lowering down as Zayne pushes in. 

Her pupils shake as she looks to Caleb in support. But his gaze flies right past her. He’s watching Zayne. Teeth gritted and brows furrowed as he groans.

“Look at you,” comes Zayne’s raspy voice. “Always the king of the playground. I’ve never seen you so…” 

Caleb tries to stifle his groans, gritting his teeth. 

“You--! Shut up.” Caleb tries to fight back by thrusting harder, the squeeze of his cock against Zayne’s almost searing as tears slide down her cheek. 

Zayne’s hands come around her face, taking the loose strands of hair and holding them out of her eyes. 

“Look, now you’ve made her cry.” But his own thrusts match Caleb’s. And it’s no longer a steady pattern of in and out. It’s only in and in and in. As Caleb retreats, she’s offered no respite before Zayne’s pushing in further than before. She can’t even clench, can’t even ground herself as she’s being held by the two while they take out their feud on her. 

“You like this?” Caleb sneers up at her, clouds of pleasure fogging his brain. He can’t stop his hips, wanting to push faster, no deeper than the bastard in front of him. 

“Whose cock are you thinking more about?” Comes Zayne’s teasing voice.

He’s goading him. Leaving a trail of crumbs for him to leap on to. 

And Caleb takes the bait. 

Gravity shifts around them and she’s lurched impossibly deeper on them as Zayne’s body is forcibly pulled down towards Caleb. She’s sandwiched so tight between them, breasts squished in the juncture of Caleb’s sweaty neck. Four arms binding her in place.

They’ve stopped thrusting now, cocks pressed against each other as deep as they can go in her. The stretch is overwhelming. Like if she even so much as sucks in a deeper breath, she’ll shatter. 

“Always so fucking cocky. I couldn’t even stand being around you back then.”

She gasps, half in pleasure and half at Caleb’s words. In their youth, it had always been more of a one-sided feud on Caleb’s side. But as they had flourished into adults, the cracks in their friendship only propagated. Sure their mutual animosity towards each other was something she’d grown to live with. But did they really have to duke it out right now?

Caleb’s never used his evol on Zayne before. The force like a boot shoving him forward with no escape. But for her, it’s a delicious reminder of every night they’ve shared. A familiar and welcomed restraint. 

Zayne’s brows relax then his mouth spreads into an open mouthed grin. And he laughs. A deep laugh from the depths of his stomach as his face is held mere inches from Caleb’s. 

“You’re still caught up on tha--”

Caleb kisses him, the confines of his evol tugging him impossibly closer. She orgasms on the spot, the stretch of them both balls deep in her along with the sight of their fury-infused intimacy leaving no room for anything else. Her cries are soft against the loud smacks of Caleb’s lips as he bites harshly into Zayne’s. And Zayne’s got his hands roughly cupping his cheek, keeping Caleb’s face craned painfully upright, not letting him pull away. 

She can hear the clash of teeth as the push and pull of their kiss leaves them both gasping for air. Then Caleb’s resolve dissolves into a dissatisfied whine as Zayne’s hips pick up the pace again. 

They breathe over each other, eyes fixed on one another as they rut their way to orgasm. 

Everything’s a blur. She can’t feel her arms anymore, fully slumped on Caleb’s chest as they slam into her, the force causing her oversensitive clit to press against Caleb’s abdomen. She can feel everything and nothing at the same time, mind on the precipice of unconsciousness. Grunts surround her--Caleb’s gruff while Zayne’s are airy. 

Their pace stutters and then suddenly warmth fills her. But it’s too much. So, so much sticky, warm come lining her walls and squirting out onto the floor at the sheer pressure. She whines, eyes sealed shut. 

When she comes to, she’s cradled in Zayne’s lap, cheek against his flushed chest. Her throat is dry and her hips are sore. He strokes her temple, smoothing the sweaty strands of hair away. 

Caleb is seated behind her, mouth slightly parted as he sucks in deep breaths.

“I don’t--how long was I…”

“Just a second,” Zayne responds. He gives her a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

Her eyelids feel like barbells.

“I could go for a nap.” 

Zayne laughs. She tries to pull herself up but the stretch sends a shot of pain in her hips and thighs. 

“Don’t strain yourself,” comes Caleb’s voice. 

She nods, nuzzling deeper into Zayne’s chest.

“How about you?” Zayne says. 

It’s met with silence.

“Caleb.”

Caleb’s pulled away from his thoughts, cheeks flushed slightly. 

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. 

She hums, a smile itching at her lips. Despite the pain, her heart felt incredibly full. 

“Are you thirsty?” Zayne’s looking back at her now. He takes her strained swallow as a yes, looking up at Caleb with an expectant cock of his brow. He’s got her slumped over him. There’s no way he’s moving.

Caleb’s laugh is short as he pushes to his feet. He comes back with two glasses of water, arms a little shaky, and holds them out.

“Thank you,” comes her quiet voice as she takes a gulp.

The second glass is still being held out by Caleb, the gesture met with silence.

“Zayne.” He almost deadpans, not allowing his gesture to be untaken. It’s laughable, their awkward fumbling.

“...Thank you.” Zayne’s voice is muted. 

The tension in the room is even more embarrassing than the position they had her in. Her laugh cracks between the silence like thunder and the both of them jump. 

She hooks an arm around Caleb’s neck, tugging him to lie down with her despite his weak protests.

“Pips--” 

“You guys are ridiculous.” She takes another small sip from the glass before bringing it to Caleb’s lips, tipping it slightly while her fingers played at his nape. He’s flushed and his neck is warm against her knuckles. 

Zayne is no different, chest rising and falling against her shoulder as his eyelids flutter. 

“Too bad we can’t open a window,” Caleb sighs, a trail of sweat sliding down his temple. She hums in agreement before Zayne’s arms come around her again, just shy of her breasts. He takes her wrist, angling an open palm beside his. Then a gentle chill echoes over her chest as a sheer glaze of frost hardens over his flesh. It crackles into a bundle of fluffy snow. 

And so, as she sprinkles the instant snow over hers and Caleb’s chest, the storm brews on. Their shared laughter is no match for the roars of thunder or the intermittent shakes of her thin apartment walls. 

Southeast Linkon floods that night, the destruction almost sweeping away both Zayne’s and Caleb’s parked cars. And so it’s the ferocious force of nature that keeps them captive in her apartment. Ensnared by their barely resolved enmity and bound by her shaking limbs and quiet gasps. 

Okay funnily enough, I simulated an online poker game for this. And the cards just worked so perfectly. I don't really know how to play poker so this is sooo embarassing if the rules are wrong. But i had SO much fun writing this !!!