⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

the same toji who still has your contact saved under 'mama' with a heart he refuses to delete even after the papers got signed. the same toji who answers your calls at 3 a.m. when megumi has the flu, who shows up with bags full of groceries and your favorite flowers with a cup of your go-to drink from the cafe you love when you text him “we’re out of milk” like it’s nothing.

yeah. that toji.

you thumb through your contacts, heart doing a stupid little skip when his name pops up—big dumb photo of him shirtless holding megumi as a baby, smirking at the camera with that look that makes you melt every time. he knows exactly what he does to you even back then.

you hit call before you chicken out.

megumi hits record on his phone.

it rings twice.

“hey mama,” his voice rolls through the speaker, low and raspy from sleep, that rough edge that always scrapes down your spine in the best way.

you hear sheets rustling, like he just rolled over in bed. “it’s been a while. everything good?”

your mouth goes dry. megumi’s eyes go wide like he didn’t expect his dad to pick up. yuji slaps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

you clear your throat. “mhm, just calling to say goodnight.”

silence for a beat, then that deep, sleepy laugh that makes your thighs clench on instinct. “oh really? just goodnight?”

“yep,” you say, popping the word like gum, “is that a problem?”

“nah, baby. just curious is all. it’s the middle of the night, i know you’re not hitting my line for a bedtime story.” you hear the grin in his voice, the way he drags out the pet name like he tastes it again after years. “missed hearing from you.”

yuji fake gags and megumi elbows him, trying to keep the angle right.

you decide to fuck with him. “um, well…i just got my feelings, you know? wanted to call you.”

the line goes quiet again, then his voice drops softer, all gravely and worried. “yeah? talk to me, baby. what’s going on?”

that’s when megumi makes the loudest retching noise known to man, “i’m gonna vomit,” and bolts, yuji cackling behind him as they both sprint down the hall. the phone shakes from your laugh, megumi yelling “turn it off, itadori!” before his door slams.

toji laughs too, low and warm. “our kid set you up, huh?”

“you have no idea,” you say, flopping back against the couch cushions, legs stretching out. “they wanted to film me calling someone to say goodnight. some dumb tik-tok trend. i dunno...but of course, i thought of calling my dear ex-husband.” you say teasingly.

“ex-husband,” he repeats, tasting the word like it’s sour. “still hate that shit.”

you bite your lip, voice a little sad. “yeah, well, the papers say what they say.”

“well, the papers don’t say that i stopped wanting you,” he retorts, voice rougher now like he hadn’t meant to let that slip.

your heart does something embarrassing. you hear him shift again, mattress creaking. you gulp down any emotions creeping up as you change the subject. “you answer the phone fast for somebody who was asleep.”

“ringer’s always on for you. you know that.” he yawns, big and lazy, the kind that ends in a growl.

you smile at that, always appreciating the fact that no matter what happened between you two, he’s always there for you and megumi. just a call away.

then he speaks again, you can hear his shit-eating grin through the phone. “what’re you wearing right now, baby? somethin' real pretty, i bet.”

you roll your eyes, of course he'd ask something like that. you chuckle a bit as you glance down at yourself. hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, the hem riding up your thighs.

“your hoodie.”

“mmm…i thought so. that’s cute. real cute.” you hear the soft smile in his voice. the one he always gives you. he pauses, you hear him gulp a little like he's at war with his own thoughts.

“well…alright, baby. goodnight then, yeah?”

“wait—” you blurt before you stop yourself. “don’t hang up yet.”

he goes quiet just long enough for you to panic, then he says, “alright. don’t worry, i’m here. not going anywhere.”

you let out a little sigh of relief and he hears it, his heart doing flips and tricks, what a traitorous thing.

he shifts a little in bed, putting his phone on speaker, resting it on his chest almost as if it’s you laying your head down on him like you once did. he surprises you a bit, breaking the silence.

“so…what’s the real reason you called, hm? ‘cause i know you didn’t wake me up at—” a pause, checking the time, “eleven-thirty just to say goodnight. surely you could’ve called someone else.”

you drag a hand through your hair, heart thudding stupid loud. “honestly? i don’t know…it’s been a minute since we talked just us. it’s nice hearing you.”

he exhales slow, like he’s been holding his breath for years. “come over tomorrow.”

you blink. “what?”

“you heard me. megumi’s got that baseball thing, right? drop him off at yuji’s after, then come here. i’ll cook for us. like old times. dinner and a movie. whatever. just—come over. it’s been too fucking long.”

your thighs press together under the blanket, imagining yourself curled up at his side, his big arms wrapped around you, making you feel so safe. “toji—”

“i still think about you.” he blurts out. “i keep our pictures around at my place. shit, i still wear my wedding band, you know that? god, baby. i’m so in love with you, i never stopped. it’s fucking pathetic, i know—”

you laugh, wet and surprised. “you’re insane, toji.”

“yeah. for you? always was.” he pauses. “come on. say yes, mama.”

you swallow hard, pulse in your throat. “okay, tomorrow. after i drop the gremlin off.”

“good,” he breathes, sounding way too satisfied. and of course, being the nasty dog he always is, wanting to tease you a little, “and wear that lingerie set i like. i know you still got it.”

you shake your head with a smile and roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “i’ll think about it.”

he laughs. “you do that. night, gorgeous.”

you hang up before you say something stupid like 'i never stopped loving you too' and toss the phone on the couch, screaming into a throw pillow like a goddamn teenager who just got asked out to the junior prom.

meanwhile megumi yells from his room, “you’re both disgusting! i’m moving out!”

KAMOSWRLD 2025 ©

masterlist!

eli's notes: saw a cute video of this trend on tiktok and it was giving toji for sure, so i had to write it!

Hiromi, too pissed off to accept being rendered so base, still didn't notice you reaching over him to the bedside drawer as you suckled on his chest, flicking your tongue over his nipples and leaving petals to bloom.

You rose above him, straddling his pyjama'd lap, and hitching your oversized t-shirt up only enough for him to glimpse the edges of your bare sex. Hiromi dropped the arm from his eyes fully, his jaw slack, his sight fixed on the promise of your pussy. He swallowed hard, his throat sore, his spit hot, his head throbbing.

"...rule...rule number one..." Hiromi continued, only half committed. He faltered, his head arching back and shuddering himself to a full erection when you waggled a vibrator idly before you.

"Rule number one," you parroted, shifting his pyjamas down just enough for his cock, roastingly hot, and filled with fire and blood, to bounce, heavy, onto his belly, "nobody gets off while the other does not."

"Oh...f-fuck--" Hiromi whimpered, his arm back over his eyes the moment your hand encircled his cock. You pumped him, stroking slowly, and gently, until veins traced his length like the River Styx. "Please--please, please...want you to..." Hiromi broke off, swallowing his guilt for such needy demands.

You pre-empted him, shifting to wetten his cock head between your folds, stroking back, and forth, stealing his gasps with a pussyjob that made his toes curl. He whimpered again, bucking up into your hand, begging into the night.

"Shhh," you whispered, raising just enough to notch him at your entrance, and lower yourself down with agonising tenderness, "just...let me."

Hiromi moaned his pleas for every inch that he penetrated you.

"--unnnnghhh fuck-- haaah...that...that...should be illegal, I..."

Hiromi's mind had gone blank. In his feverdrunk daze, all he could feel was the slick, tight grip of your pussy, moulding around his cock until he could feel every ridge of you; the way your core licked his foreskin down until the most sensitive parts of his cock were pleasured. He bucked just once, weak and mewling your name.

Too lost in ecstasy, and certain he'd fill you with his seed in a pathetically short time, Hiromi felt the buzz of a vibrator laid on the patch of black hair above his cock. Arching and panting, Hiromi jerked his head forwards, staring at where you were joined, and felt you sink until your clit fell flush with the vibrator.

He melted back onto his pillows, looking up at you in worship, to hear you moan.

"Oh m-my god...if you think I'm getting nothing out of this, Hiro, I swear to god..."

"...most gorgeous...so gorgeous...good girl..."

Riding him like this, with every last millimetre of his cock inside you, stuffed you all the way to your belly. Seeing how Hiromi panted, half pleasure and half fever, you knew he felt the kiss of his cockhead against your cervix just as much as you did. His tip squelched deep, in a tight little vacuum, sucking the pleasure from him.

With the thick, insistent buzz of the vibrator against your clit, you hand to plant your hands on ribs just to stop your knees from shaking.

Hiromi's murmured pleas were half-baked, addled and aching for release; you caught only jumbled words-- tight. Come. Please. Sorry. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Love you. Thank you.

You didn't ride Hiromi, as much as grind him deeply within you. Too greedy for fullness, and knowing that all he needed to orgasm was to feel you milking him, you barely rose off his cock. The rhythmic sucking noises, hushed by the night, sounded belly-deep and sinful. The vibrator barely broke the silence, either, so muffled was it by your pussy.

Hiromi's arms ached to the bone. With one draped above his head, the other lifted only enough to pleasure himself with squishing the plush of your thigh, where it embraced his hips. He stroked you, tender, and hoping he could convey his gratefulness through that touch alone.

When you whined his name, fucking down harder and pressing your nails into his skin, Hiromi felt the hook behind his navel, and the beginning of the end.

Hiromi bit the back of his arm, muffling his own pitiful moans. Pleasure dragged through him, unbidden, the ache in his back and balls dreadful and desperate for release. He couldn't stop his impending orgasm if he tried; he could have spilled over his own belly, just from the grip of your hand.

"--f-fuck...my love, I'm...so sorry-- I'm..."

"...s'okay...close...I'm close-- Hiro--"

---u-ungh...c-coming...fuck...fuck-- best drug, s'the best...so good..."

Hiromi jerked within you, filling you with hot, sticky spurts of cum, thickened by dehydration. He moaned in time with the convulsions, inky black commas of hair across his forehead, and his head plunging back into his pillow.

He couldn't remember the last time an orgasm had wracked through every fibre of his body like this, rendering him electric, alive with crackles and sparks.

His face contorted in bliss, the depth of him inside you, and the lazy spurts of seed, sent you over the edge with him. Your knees splayed out sideways, impaling you onto him completely; combined with the vibrator, you came hard enough to make him whimper, as your pussy twitched the last few drops of cum from him.

Sighing, and trembling, your hands fumbled to turn the vibrator off in the dark. You let your head fall back in peaceful reverence, stroking patterns on his tummy. Eventually, you whispered in the dark, with his still hot cock plugged inside you.

"...feel any better?"

A pause...and a soft little snore.

With his arm over his eyes again, pale and exhausted, Hiromi slept. You smiled, languid. You snuggled down, nestling him and his release within you and covering him with your body.

the party finally dies down, geto leaving last. he claps gojo on the back, offering a half joking, “don’t stay up too late, birthday boy.”

the moment the words land the the door clicks shut behind him, your nerves spike and you hesitate where you stand.

gojo exhales dramatically, stretching, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of toned skin.

“finally,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “thought they’d never leave.”

his voice is playful but the second he turns his head toward you, the grin slips off his face.

“okay,” he says slowly. “what’s wrong?”

you blink. caught completely off guard. “what—? nothing’s—”

“sweetheart.”

he steps toward you, closing the distance with those long strides that have always made escape impossible. now he’s standing right in front of you, tall and warm and impossible to meet in the eyes.

“you’ve been nervous the whole day.” it’s not an accusation—just stating a fact.

you look away, heat creeping up your neck.

he bends down so he can see your face, tilting his head, searching your expression like he’s flipping through a book he’s read a hundred times but suddenly found a new page.

“did i do something?”

the sincerity in his voice is unbearable.

it makes your stomach twist because the thing you’ve been planning suddenly feels huge—like a wave you shouldn’t be standing in front of.

“no! of course not…” you mumble, embarrassed, barely audible, fingers twisting in your sleeves.

he watches you fidget—really watches—and something settles in his expression, knowing and fond.

“then what’s got you nervous like this?” he asks softly, reaching out to touch your wrist. his fingers barely brush your skin, but you jolt anyway. “talk to me, baby.”

you try again, “i— it’s not… it’s nothing, really—”

“you don’t look like nothing.” he steps closer, and lifts your chin with two fingers so you can’t hide from him. “you look like you’re about to pass out.”

your face burns so hot it hurts, heart thudding loud enough you’re sure he hears it.

“satoru—”

“mm?” he hums, thumb stroking your jaw, patient in that devastating way he only is with you.

you swallow hard, mouth going dry, nerves spiking so sharp you feel dizzy. you open your lips—then shut them again.

his gaze flickers over your face, lingering on the way your lashes flutter and your body leans toward him even as you try to shy away. the silence stretches until your lungs feel too tight to hold any more air.

you force yourself to breathe.

you force yourself to try again.

“i… i wanted…”

the words scrape up your throat like they’re too big, too wrong, too embarrassing to say out loud. his brows pinch, gentle concern knitting between them as he lowers his hand to cradle your cheek.

“baby,” he murmurs, “whatever it is, you can tell me.”

you shake your head weakly, fingers bunching in the front of his shirt like you need something to hold on to before you collapse.

you hate the the heaviness in your chest and the way your tongue trips over itself…but god, do you wanna make him feel good on his special day. you want to make him happy tonight—really happy. the thought of backing out now makes your stomach twist.

you squeeze your eyes shut, inhale sharply, and somehow force your mouth to move.

“um… i wanted…” your voice cracks. you swallow and try again.“…to give you something else for your birthday.”

he softens instantly, thumb sweeping across your cheekbone.

“oh?” he lets out in a whisper. “something you didn’t want the others seeing?”

“yes… i mean— n-no— it’s not— it’s not that kind of— well—”

you squeeze your eyes shut again, mortified.

why can’t you just say it?

why does your tongue stop working the second his blue eyes get soft like that?

you feel his fingers touch your chin—barely there, just enough pressure to keep you from retreating.

“hey,” he murmurs. “look at me.”

you do, reluctant and helpless.

he tilts his head, brows pulling together in a concern so earnest it makes your chest ache again.

“sweetheart,” he says softly, “you can always tell me whatever want to. i promise i won’t laugh.”

your throat tightens. “you’re… you’re gonna think it’s stupid that i’m getting like this over it—”

“i won’t.” he says it instantly, without hesitation. “i swear.”

you swallow hard. your palms are sweating. your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

“it’s just…” you drag in a shaky breath. “i… um…wanted to… try something. with you.”

his eyes soften further if that was even possible, focused entirely on you. “okay. i’m listening.”

you squeeze your eyes shut for half a second—then shove the words out before you can lose another ounce of courage.

“i wanna go down on you.”

it comes out too fast, tripping over itself, like you’re afraid the sentence will burn your tongue if it stays there too long.

you’re met with silence.

you rush on, panicked, “i-it’s your birthday and it’s stupid and i didn’t know how to initiate it and i got all nervous and weird but i really— i really wanna…do it…”

your words spill out too fast, too raw, and you squeeze your lips shut like you’re afraid more will escape. your eyes drop, heart pounding.

and gojo just… stops.

like someone pulled the plug on him.

his breath stutters—actually stutters—shoulders lifting with the sharp inhale he tries and fails to hide.

“wait.” his voice cracks. “wait—baby—hey, look at me.”

you don’t. can’t.

so he steps even closer, hand slipping under your chin once more, lifting gently, almost trembling.

“you…” he swallows hard, throat working. “you wanna do that for me? really?”

his eyes are blown wide like you just told him the sweetest, filthiest secret in the universe.

you nod. just barely.

that’s all it takes.

his jaw goes slack. his breath leaves him in a rough, broken laugh, disbelief and something molten all tangled together.

“oh my god.” he presses his forehead to yours, voice low, ruined. “you’ve been nervous all day because you’ve been thinking about giving me a blowjob?”

the way he says it—unfiltered and blunt hits you so hard your knees nearly buckle. your breath catches in your throat, a tiny, humiliating squeak slipping out before you can stop it. your whole body goes hot, prickling from your ears to your fingertips.

“d-don’t say it so…crudely,” you whine, voice breaking, hands flying up to hide your face.

but he catches your wrists before you can cover yourself, gently tugging them down, forcing you to face him. he lets out another strangled laugh.

“like what?” he coos, and he’s too close, too warm, too wrecked. “like it’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me?”

your pulse jumps so violently you swear he can feel it through your skin. your mouth opens helplessly, but nothing comes out—just a shaky breath.

“that’s not— satoru!” you whine accusingly.

your eyes drop to his chest, anywhere but his face, because you can’t handle the look he’s giving you—soft, stunned, and hungry all at once.

“i… i wasn’t trying to make it a big thing,” you manage, voice weak. “i just— wanted to… and then you kept getting closer, and i got more nervous, and—”

your words dissolve into a mortified whimper.

his thumb brushes your cheek, slow, soothing, but his voice is rough when he answers, “sweetheart, you have no idea what you do to me.”

his hand settles at your waist again, warm and unsure, and he swallows like he’s trying to steady himself.

“c’mon,” he murmurs, voice low, breath uneven. “let’s…sit. just for a second.”

you nod, letting him guide you, both of you tense in different ways. he’s trying so hard to be gentle, but his fingers keep tightening on your hips like he’s terrified you’ll change your mind.

the couch touches the backs of your legs and you sit automatically.

he drops down beside you a heartbeat later, elbows on his knees, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

for a moment he just looks at you.

then, “hey,” he says quietly. “look at me?”

you do, shy and trembling.

he wets his lips, throat bobbing. “do you… still wanna? you don’t have to. i need you to tell me you really—”

you don’t let him finish. the second the question hits the air, something clicks inside you—like your body decides for you.

you slide off the couch, onto your knees. between his legs.

his breath stops. actually stops.

“oh—” the sound he makes isn’t even a word, just a broken gasp punched out of him. his thighs tense under your hands, his head dropping back against the couch like you knocked the strength out of him. “baby… you—”

you look up at him, flushed and shaky but determined.

“i want to,” you whisper. “i want you.”

whatever fragile control he had left shatters right there.

his hand flies to his mouth like he needs to physically hold himself together, eyes blown and desperate as he looks down at you kneeling for him.

“holy shit,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “sweetheart. you’re gonna kill me.”

you meant to focus. but the moment you look up at him—really look—you forget how to breathe. his cheeks are pink, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, lips parted and glossy.

but his eyes? god. his blue eyes are wide and glassy, pupils blown like he’s drunk on you.

you’ve seen him confident, smug, teasing. but this? this trembling version of him just from a suggestion? you’re immediately obsessed with it. more than you should be. more than you can ever admit out loud.

your breath catches, and his does too because he feels you staring.

“don’t—” he tries, voice breaking, “don’t look at me like that…”

but you can’t stop.

your gaze drops, almost on instinct, and—oh. he’s hard. already. he’s straining against his bottoms, so obvious it makes your face burn and your thighs clench.

you swallow, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.

your fingers twitch on his knees, suddenly unsure where to touch, what to do first.

he sees the moment you notice. his jaw clenches, a shaky breath escaping him.

“i told you,” he groans, ruined even though you haven’t even touched him. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

you look up at him from the floor, flustered and overwhelmed. the sight of him—beautiful, breathless, trying so hard not to fall apart—makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with nerves.

you love him, love how he looks like this. and you love that you did this to him. he can see every bit of it in your eyes. you sit there between his knees, staring, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s shaking your whole body.

finally, you whisper, “how should i start?”

his head drops back against the couch for a second, like he needs a whole moment just to survive that question. when he looks at you again, his eyes are molten.

“c’mere,” he murmurs. “we’ll go slow.”

you nod, but your hands won’t stop trembling.

still, you carefully reach for him an he lifts his hips automatically when your fingers curl into his waistband. he’s trying to stay calm for you, but the tension in his thighs gives him away.

you pull his jeans down first.

then his boxers.

you’ve seen him before—you’ve had him inside you for goodness sake—but you’ve never seen him like this. never this close. never with him hard, flushed, thick, and heavy within hands reach.

your heart lurches.

seeing him like this is different. overwhelming. your eyes drag up from the base to the tip before you can stop yourself, taking in every vein and curve.

you go still, heat flooding your cheeks. he’s a lot. more than you remembered and even more than you’ve mentally prepared yourself for. your lips part on a tiny, strangled inhale you wish you could take back.

satoru’s entire body freezes.

his abs flex, breath catching.

and then his eyes flick down, following your gaze to where his cock stands against his stomach—hard, leaking, and flushed an angry red—and back up to your stunned expression.

he swallows hard.

“baby?” his voice is soft, but strained. “what’s that look for?”

you can’t answer. not right away.

you’re too busy trying not to panic, too busy wondering how you’re supposed to fit that in your mouth.

“i-it’s just… i didn’t… i mean, i’ve seen it before but…” your face burns hotter. “not like this.”

his breath leaves him in a shaky exhale.

“fuck.”

he drags a hand through his hair, head tipping back for a second like he needs to physically reset himself.

when he looks at you again, he’s flushed—pink all the way to the tips of his ears—eyes blown wide in a way you’ve never seen.

“baby,” he murmurs, voice absolutely wrecked, “you’re gonna kill me saying things like that.”

your stomach flips violently.

you try to look away, but he reaches out, thumb brushing your cheek, drawing your gaze back to him.

“hey,” he breathes, “come back to me.” you do, slowly. still staring at him like you can’t believe what you’re about to try.“you don’t have to force yourself to do anything.”

“okay…” you whisper, barely audible. “i mean— i don’t know if it’ll even fit in my mouth… but i want to…try…”

the second the words leave you, his entire body jerks. his hand on your cheek falters, fingers curling like he’s fighting for control.

“you can’t just— say things like that…” he chokes out, head dropping forward for a moment.

your face burns, but you keep looking at him, wide eyed and wanting.

he sits up a little straighter, legs falling open just a bit more, like he’s inviting you in even if he’s about to lose his mind. his voice comes out low and uneven, “…look at me.”

you do.

“you don’t have to take all of me,” he murmurs. “just what you’re comfortable with. i promise, that’s more than enough.”

you swallow, the reassurance making your chest warm—and your pulse throb harder. you shift a little closer between his knees, hand brushing his thigh, and he inhales so sharply it punches through the air.

your gaze drops again, lingering on him—twitching just from how close your breath is.

“okay… um… show me how to start?”

he makes a sound you’ve never heard from him—half groan, half plea. “yeah,” he breathes, eyes dark, chest rising fast. “yeah, baby… i’ll show you.”

he reaches for your wrist, guiding your hand to the base of him.

your fingers curl instinctively, and he exhales—hard—head tipping back for a second before he forces himself to look at you again.

“start here,” he whispers, wrapping your hand around him with slow, deliberate patience. “not too tight… just enough to feel me.”

you nod, swallowing hard, adjusting your grip until you feel his cock twitch against your palm.

“yeah… just like that,” he says, voice barely holding together. “fuck, sweetheart…”

your hand moves a little, uncertain, and he covers it with his own, guiding the motion—slow, steady, enough to make his thighs tense beneath you.

“up… and down,” he breathes. “nice and slow.”

you follow his pace, cheeks burning, heart pounding.

his chest rises sharply, a quiet, broken sound slipping from him.

“god—baby, that’s perfect.”

you look up at him—because you can’t help it—and the sight nearly knocks the breath out of your lungs.

the satoru you know is gone.

his head tipped back against the couch, throat exposed, lashes fluttering like he’s fighting to keep his eyes on you. his chest rises and falls too fast, his abs tightening every time your hand moves.

and you haven’t even used your mouth yet like you want to.

your hand falters for a second, overwhelmedaayou can just barely close your fingers around the width of him—his hands are there immediately, steadying yours, guiding.

his voice is low. “don’t stop please.”

you bite your lip, nodding, and try again—slow, careful strokes, exactly like he showed you.

his reaction is instant. his breath catches, hips twitching just barely, like he’s trying so hard not to thrust into your hand. his eyes finally open, meeting yours—and the look he gives you is devastating.

“sweetheart,” he whispers, voice cracking, “you’re… fuck… doin’ so good.”

you swear your heart stops at the praise.

your thighs press together instinctively, and he notices—of course he does—but he’s too far gone to tease, too busy breathing like he’s forgetting how.

his fingers slide down your wrist again, gentler this time, like he’s savoring the feel of your hand on him. your pulse is hammering, chest tight, but you lean closer anyway, letting instinct take over.

without saying another word, you part your lips and lick his aching tip. he catches a sharp breath immediately, fingers tightening in your wrist, eyes rolling shut for a second.

the first taste of him is shocking, sweet and salty and completely alive. your tongue flicks over the mushroom tip, hesitant—too aware of how new this is, how intimate, how utterly personal.

and then you take the tip of him into your mouth. the sound he makes—soft, broken, almost a plea—sends a shiver straight through you.

you start slow, tentative, feeling how he reacts to the warmth of your mouth, the careful pressure of your lips.

“fuuck… oh god… baby… just like that…” his voice cracks, a mix of disbelief and need.

you glance up at him once, just for a moment, and the way he looks at you—flushed, pupils blown, eyelids half lidded, chest rising fast—makes your knees weaken.

you take a tiny inch more, lips sliding down slightly, the heat of him brushing against your tongue sending shivers up your spine. his fingers tangle in your hair, holding your head gently, and the way he looks at you makes your heart thrum painfully.

his taste is sharp, musky, with that faint hint of sweat and arousal, completely him. it makes your senses reel, every nerve in your body alive.

you try again, sliding carefully, more of him now in your mouth, tasting him fully, exploring slowly, as if memorizing every inch.

his hips twitch, just slightly, and he bites back a groan. his eyes flutter closed, chest rising and falling fast, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“baby… you’re… holy fuck…” he murmurs, voice breaking, voice so broken and undone it sends heat crawling down your spine. “you— you feel so— oh god…”

your hands tremble, gripping his base lightly to steady yourself, and you let your lips do the rest, discovering the way he reacts to the warmth of your mouth, the gentle pressure of your tongue, the careful movements you’re learning as you go.

it’s new. it’s overwhelming. it’s everything you knew you wanted—even more now that you have it.

every sound he makes—the broken groans, the sharp hitches of breath, the soft, pleading murmurs—drives you further, makes you want to take him deeper, savor every reaction, every shred of need he shows for you.

slowly, carefully, you take a little more, letting him slide deeper into your mouth. your throat stretches, the newness of it making your eyes water.

he groans sharply, hips twitching, fingers tangling more firmly in your hair. “oh… baby— baby—” his voice is ragged, trembling with need.

you try to go a little further, and your gag reflex hits sharp and sudden. you pull off of him instinctively, eyes watering.

“shit— it’s okay,” he rasps, voice breaking. “you good? just go slow, yeah?”

“uh huh…” you let out, cheeks flaming as you lower your mouth back around him to hide your embarrassment.

you take him back in, slower this time, letting your lips adjust, tongue tracing carefully along the underside. the gag hits again, half way down, small and sudden, but you fight through it, forcing yourself to keep going because you want to see him like this.

he groans sharply, hips twitching involuntarily, fingers tightening in your hair. “fuck— sorry— ugh… just like that…” his voice cracks, ragged and desperate.

you pause for just a second, catching your breath, then inch forward again, deeper, letting him guide you with subtle shifts of his hips. his reactions are addictive—every broken moan, every hitch of his breath, every trembling shiver makes your chest heat, makes your fingers and lips feel alive in ways you’ve never felt.

“holy… shit… baby… yes…” he rasps, head tipped back, flushed pink, pupils blown wide. “you’re… so good… so fucking good…”

the gag hits you again, but this time you don’t pull back. your lips clamp around his cock, adjusting as best you can. he exhales through his nose, eyes dark.

he swallows hard, breath hitching, chest rising unevenly. “shit… you’re really doing this…”

you move slowly, lips and tongue exploring, throat stretching.

“god, you… you have no idea how good that feels,” he rasps suddenly, tilting his head back. “i… i didn’t think… i’d—”

another shudder rolls through him, fingers gripping your hair but guiding you gently. “don’t stop…” his words come out as a whine that sends heat pooling deep in your core.

tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, overwhelmed, but you keep going, wanting to see him like this, wanting to feel him fully.

you pull back up just slightly, letting your lips slide up and down slowly, trying to find a rhythm. even as you move, the gag keeps hitting in little jolts, sudden, making your throat tighten—but you push through it, determined, letting him feel every inch.

he whines, a soft, broken sound that makes your heat curl low in your stomach.

he can’t even talk anymore, words reduced to breathy curses and praise, “fuck— oh… god…baby…” his voice is ragged, strained, a low moan catching in his throat. “shiiit… that’s… fuck, yeah…”

your tears mix with the sweat and your own flushed heat, streaking down your cheeks, but you keep going, lips and tongue adjusting, swallowing past the gag each time, tasting him, memorizing every shiver, every pulse.

he trembles under your lips, hips twitching erratically, fingers clutching your hair, holding you close yet guiding gently.

“you’re so fucking pretty— fuck— i can’t—”

his breath hitches sharply, hips tilting, a strangled whine leaving him, and your hands grip his thighs tighter, holding on as the gags pull at your throat again—you refuse to pull back.

suddenly, he thrusts up into your mouth, harder than before, and your throat stretches around him, gagging sharply. your eyes water immediately, but instinctively you keep going.

“shit— baby—wait! oh god— i’m sorry!” he groans, voice cracking, fingers tugging at your hair as he tries to pull you off. his hips jerk erratically, desperate, ashamed even as he rides the sensation.

you hum around him, refusing to pull back. your eyes meet his briefly, teary and flushed, and the sound sends a shiver straight through him.

“fuck… i— shit… i can’t—” he repeats, leaning back, chest heaving, though his hands are tightening in your hair as he instinctively tilts his hips up again. he can’t stop himself.

you just hum again, lips working around him, tongue following his subtle movements, feeling every inch, every pulse. your hands grip his thighs to steady yourself, heart hammering, body trembling, and the gag hits in little jolts—but you swallow past it, determined to stay with him.

“oh… god… baby— you’re… fuck… i’m so fucked…” he groans, eyes half lidded, pupils wide, jaw slack, hips rocking into your mouth despite his attempts to stop.

each desperate, broken thrust, each ragged moan slipping past his lips makes you rub your thighs together, core throbbing. even as your throat protests, you hum again, breathing through your nose, letting him ride the pleasure you’re giving him.

he shudders violently, every thrust sloppy and desperate, hips jerking hard into your mouth. his cock stretches your throat, slick coating your lips and tongue, and every gasp and whine that rips past him makes your core clench, thighs twitching around nothing.

his fingers curl into your hair, tugging just enough to keep you in place, and his hips keep fucking up into you, unrelenting, sloppy, utterly wrecked. each pulse, each shallow, erratic thrust sends a jolt straight to your stomach, chest tightening with the burning heat pooling low between your thighs.

“fuuckk you take me so well.” he moans, guttural, the sound breaking over every thrust.

your lips glide along him, swallowing, tasting, taking every inch as he shudders harder, thighs trembling. his body quivers with need, breath hitching, jaw slack, chest heaving, utterly undone under your mouth.

he’s lost, trembling, every thrust hitting harder, jerking into your throat with no control, and the sounds—his broken, filthy moans, the way he whines your name—make your heat coil tighter, your hands gripping his thighs as your own body hums with the dizzying thrill of making him this undone.

his brows are furrowed so cutely, face pink, as he whines, “i- i can’t hold it anymore baby— oh— fuck!”

finally, with a broken cry, his hips stutter, cum spilling down your throat, the taste overwhelming. his body going rigid for a moment before collapsing into the couch.

he pulls back slightly, staring at you, panic flickering across his flushed face. “shit… baby… you—you didn’t have to— fuck— you didn’t have to swallow it…” his voice cracks, embarrassed and breathless, fingers fisting the couch cushions.

you slowly blink up at him, pulling off his cock with a pop, lips slick, cheeks flushed, jaw slightly aching.

you hum softly, shaking your head. “i wanted to.”

his head falls back against the couch, as if those words break him all over again, chest rising and falling as he tries to get his breathing under control.

a long moment passes—long enough that you worry you did something wrong—before he finally drags a hand down his face and lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“jesus…” he whispers, voice still wrecked. “if i didn’t know any better…” he swallows hard, eyes flicking back down to you, “…i’d never guess that was your first time doing that.”

your face goes hot instantly, heat blooming under your skin. you look away, pouting even though your lips are still swollen. “you’re teasing me.”

he gasps, scandalized.

“teasing you?” he repeats incredulous, eyebrows raised. “you think i’m joking?”

you shrug a little, flustered but not embarrassed in the same way as earlier. “i don’t know… maybe…”

“oh my god.” he drops his head back again with a dramatic groan. “baby, don’t you get it? i’ve never came this quickly. you know that.”

a beat passes before he breathily adds, “that was the best birthday gift i could’ve gotten.”

your stomach flips. you can’t help the small, pleased grin tugging at your mouth. “...really?”

“mhm…” he breathes. “now come here. i’m not letting you sit on your knees any longer.”

his hands slide to your waist, firm and sure, and he pulls you up like you weigh nothing—guiding you straight onto his lap. your breath stutters when you settle over him, still bare, his cock half hard again under you, heat radiating against your inner thighs as his fingers tighten on your hips.

he looks at you like he’s starving.

“now…” he breathes, leaning in, voice dropping into something hungry, “it’s my turn. birthday boy wants some more dessert.”

i love him so much. happy birthday to my most favorite boy😣

“Aaaand he’s looking at you again.” Simone snapped you out of your thoughts, making your fingers stop their frantic movements over the keyboard. The two of you were sitting at the campus café, desperate to finish your assignments as quickly as you possibly could, thinking that each other’s company and your favorite sweet drinks might make the work at least a little bit more enjoyable.

And it actually worked—you were almost done with your essay, and judging by your friend’s relaxed posture and the fact that she had time to observe her surroundings, she must’ve finished hers too.

“Hmm? Who?” You asked with a small smile, noticing how the cream from her coffee sat above her upper lip, creating the illusion of a thin mustache and making her look like a cute little detective. You pulled out a napkin from the holder and brought it to her lips, muffling her next words in the process.

“Xavier, that punk guy who—oh, thank you, baby, it always makes me look like Freddie Mercury—who studies some kind of engineering.” You laughed softly at her added comment and placed the dirty napkin on your small, empty plate. “Girl, you heard what I said? Xavier. That Xavier has literally been drilling a hole in your head for the past hour or so, with those sexy—like, dangerously sexy—eyes of his. And that—that piercing—and, and, you know what? You don’t seem concerned in the slightest, what if he’s like, mad at you or something? He always looks kinda scary. Sexy-scary, but still.” The last sentence said in a whisper, and you snorted, picking up your iced drink and taking a slow sip.

“Oookay, I think I’ve heard enough.” You laughed and shook your head, one hand returning to the keyboard to save your file. “He’s not mad at me. I know him. If he’s looking our way, he probably recognized me, but is too shy to say hi.” You finished your drink with not-so-quiet slurp, your lips immediately letting go of the straw as you looked around bashfully, hoping no one had noticed.

“Too shy? Have you lost your mind? Or are there more scary-looking Xaviers around campus that I don’t know about?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, and you closed your laptop with a sigh. You didn’t like that she called him scary, you always thought his usual pout, scowl or mask of indifference made him look kinda cute.

You checked the time on your phone and noticed that one of your electives was starting in 20 minutes—if you wanted to be there on time, you’d have to leave in a second.

“Besides, you know him? Since when?”

“Remember that one poetry elective I had to take last semester? We had a group project as the final assignment, and he was part of my group.” You watched with amusement as her mouth opened in shock, her brows furrowing. “And he’s actually really sweet. And smart, too, just not that much of a talker.” You shrugged, your eyes dropping as you remembered how the other group members had acted toward him back then.

How they talked behind his back, assuming he wouldn’t do his part of the project. How they doubted his abilities and overall academic competence as a conversation starter when he was sometimes late to meetings—and how quiet and reserved they became when he finally joined you.

You quickly got angry on his behalf, knowing that he had never been rude or disrespectful to any of you, and every single task he was assigned was sent to the group chat just a couple hours later. The fact that they treated him that way because of some rumor about him being a troublemaker, and his eye-catching, rough appearance, was what made you finally speak up.

“—He’s kind of a lost cause. He wouldn’t finish it anyway. What a guy like him can know about poetry? I’m surprised he can read at all.” One of the guys from the group commented again, taking advantage of Xavier’s absence. The meeting had just started, and you were sure he would come—just a tad bit later. You always assumed he had a class beforehand, but he never said anything when he realized that this particular hour suited the rest of you best.

He was always like this, you’d noticed it some time ago. He never wanted to cause any issues, always silently accepting and diligently working on whatever task was assigned to him. And yet, at nearly every meeting, he was dragged under the bus before he even had a chance to show up.

Their reactions surprised you a lot. You didn’t know Xavier personally before, but you knew of him, it was hard not to. He had a reputation as a reserved troublemaker and was extremely popular among girls, who seemed to try asking him out— or at least getting a good make-out session—probably every day, always without success. Ironically, that only made him a more intriguing target. He had the face of an angel, a body decorated like a fallen one, and the physique of an athlete, all on top of being seemingly unobtainable. Girls were totally head over heels for him, which actually made you pity him, knowing how much unwanted attention it probably brought.

And although he was pretty introverted and a little rough around the edges, people generally seemed to like him. He was intimidating, and he spoke his mind surely, but he didn’t seem like someone who went around looking for a fight. Within your project group, he was usually quiet and cooperative, which is why you couldn’t understand why they were suddenly being so harsh toward him.

That’s why on that day, you finally snapped.

“Oh, shut up, Matt. What do you know about poetry anyway? Most of us are here just because it fit our schedules.” You stood up from the table in the park, your designated meeting place, your hands pressing firmly against the polished wood. You couldn’t listen to Xavier being dragged anymore, judged solely on his appearance, when you knew he was actually quite engaged in the project. “And yes, maybe he’s a little late sometimes but he always shows up, and does the work perfectly. Besides, he’s never been rude to any of you, so I don’t understand why you’re always so awful to him.” Your face, and the slightly harsher edge to your voice, betrayed your annoyance, but you had finally lost the patience to care about their opinion of you.

Some of the girls who had been too afraid to speak up smiled at you encouragingly, while the main bully just shrugged, looking up at you nonchalantly with one arm draped over the back of the chair beside him.

“He looks like bad news. And gets on my nerves.” He answered simply, and if you weren’t red from anger before, you sure were now. “And he probably sells drugs or some—”

“And you look like a complete asshole right now.” You snapped, already frantically stuffing your notes into your bag. You refused to hear any more of this, not about a boy who had literally done nothing wrong to deserve such harsh words every time you met. “And you shouldn’t fucking care what he looks like. From what we know, he’s hard-working and smart, and he definitely has feelings, too. He deserves basic human respect, don’t you think?” You slung your bag over your shoulder and shot the guy another glare, completely ignoring their stares—which were definitely no longer aimed at you—and the quiet shadow that had appeared behind you some time ago. “I’ll send you the file by the end of the week. I won’t sit around, wasting time with someone who’d rather talk shit than do actual work. Now, if you’ll excuse m—”

Bump.

Your body bounced off a hard chest clad in a leather jacked, and by the time strong, tattooed hands gently grabbed your shoulders to steady you, you were already blushing.

Because Xavier was right there behind you. For God knows how long.

You snapped your head up, your panicked eyes meeting his deep blues—calm, gentle and understanding— as he continued to hold your shoulders, even though he must’ve know you had already gained your balance. You studied him for a moment: his longish hair, a mullet peeking out from the leather collar of his jacket, and ears adorned with various piercings. Your gaze drifted to his lips, drawn absentmindedly to the small silver ring on the side of his bottom lip, which he was now biting slightly.

Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God—

“S—Sorry, I was just—leaving—” You said quickly, your eyes suddenly finding the grass fascinating. You could still feel the warmth of his hands lingering on your shoulders, along with the fresh, calming scent of a fabric softener mixed with something so uniquely comforting—

“I’ll walk you home, then.” His hands traveled slowly down your arms before he let go, your cheeks burning as you avoided his gaze at all costs. It was probably the first time he had spoken to you directly, spoken to any of you directly, really. His soft voice was usually directed at no one in particular, offering sparse but meaningful comments during your brainstorming sessions.

How much had he heard? Was he angry? He didn’t look angry. Why did he want to walk you home? He never walked any of you home.

“No! I mean, no—no, thank you, that’s so nice of you, Xavier, really, but I live pretty close by. You shouldn’t bother.” He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and you noticed him turning his head toward the others.

“I could never be bothered by—Did you just fucking roll your eyes at her?” His calm voice suddenly turned cold, the tone not raised, but much sharper. Your head turned to the person he was now staring at, and you saw Matt’s eyes widen. “I asked you a fucking question. Did you roll your eyes at her?”

“And if I did then what are you going to do? Beat me up?”

“Wow, really Matt? You’re such a child.” You turned to him fully, but an arm blocked your way, an intricate tattoo depicting the moon cycle peeking from one rolled up sleeve.

“Apologize to her and you won’t have to find out.” You looked up at Xavier and almost smiled, noticing how the role of protector had flipped. But the intense stare he used to size up the annoying colleague made the hairs on the back of your nape stand on end. He sure looked intimidating when he wanted to. “I said, apologize.”

And when the silence began to stretch, and Xavier took a deliberate step forward, you grabbed his bicep, surprisingly firm and muscular, oh wow, and started to lead him away, afraid the conversation would turn sour in a matter of seconds.

Letting him walk you home wasn’t such a bad idea after all, you decided, feeling the sweat nearly drip from your temple.

“Wait, he didn’t apologize to you yet, and I won’t let him get away until he does.” You heard Xavier’s voice a step behind you but decided to continue your path, until you reached a safer distance.

“It’s okay. I’m not accepting apologies from ignorant jerks, anyway.” You heard a soft huff of laughter from him, and your lips curved into a small smile. Your steps slowed a moment later, and you took a deep breath, watching the clouds drift slowly across the sky while the gentle wind eased the burn of your cheeks. “Were you really planning to fight him?”

He was walking beside you now, your hand no longer holding his arm, and when you finally looked his way, you were startled to find him already watching you.

You could understand why people were wary of him—when he was right there beside you, his overall size was pretty intimidating. He towered over you an impressive amount of inches, and his body type, which you used to think was rather lanky, turned out to be more on the athletic side. With his lip and ear piercings, and now, clearly, an eyebrow piercing too, two small dots on either side of his eyebrow, paired with several tattoos on his hands and his rather muted wardrobe choice, he could raise some concerns.

Could, but didn’t have to. Not when his eyes were so gentle and kind, looking at you as if you had hung all the stars in the sky. To you, he looked like a prince: gentle features, silky-soft hair and a graceful stance that made him, ironically, the least intimidating person you’d met. It actually struck you how handsome he was, too. Much more handsome up close than from the distance, your heart fluttered nervously.

“Hmm. He disrespected you so, yes. Probably. It’s better to let him think I would. I usually don’t start fights.” Was his answer, his steps matching your pace, heavy, black combat boots stepping silently beside your white sneakers. You felt a tug at your arm, and before you could protest, he started carrying your handbag along his. All your protests died in your throat the moment he looked at you and shook his head. Message received. “I only end them.” Xavier added like an afterthought, and it didn’t sound like bragging but more like stating a fact. You laughed quietly and nodded, unsure what to say as your mind drifted back to the events from moments ago.

“I’m sorry for—”

“Thank you—”

You both started to speak at the same time and quickly stopped, a nervous laugh escaping from you. You looked at him again and noticed that his eyes were crinkled at the corners too. He adjusted his handbag on his shoulder and cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, but I’ll start. Because you have nothing to apologize for.” A sigh left your lips, and you started playing with your fingers, his answer easing your worries. He looked straight ahead when he spoke again. “I heard what you said to them. How you protected me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I did. It wasn’t the first time they said such things and I should’ve spoken my mind much, much sooner.” You started speaking, annoyed again, the nearly forgotten rage rising inside you once more. “You were nothing short of helpful and kind to us and it was a pleasure to work with you! I just couldn’t listen to him spouting nonsense anymore.”

And when you tried to meet his eyes again, you noticed the tips of his ears were red.

“It was a pleasure to work with you, too.” His voice like a balm to your irritation, every single second spent in his presence confirming your beliefs about him being a secret sweetheart. “But I’m used to people taking shit about me, actually. And I really don’t care what they think.”

“Well, it’s good. You shouldn’t.” His lip piercing caught your eye again, and you decided it suit him very well. You also noticed that you had slowed down, but this time you were matching the pace he set. “But it doesn’t make it fine. So next time, stand up for yourself too, okay? You were quick to do that for me, so it shouldn’t be much of a problem to treat yourself with the same kindness, right?”

Xavier’s eyes suddenly met yours, his mouth opening and closing slightly as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. The tips of his ears were red, and he put a hand behind his back, stroking at the skin lightly, nervously.

“Mhm. Right.” His eyes drifted to your face, studying it intently. You found his gaze extremely intense, peeking from behind his silver strands, but you didn’t mind. His presence was actually very calming, both his voice and body language relaxed and almost dreamy-like.

Xavier stopped suddenly, making you wonder if he had forgotten something, or if your conversation was over, and he was about to return your bag and head his own way. Instead, he leaned toward you, took your hand in his—his touch feather-light, your fingers cradled gently in his—and he brought it up to his lips.

A kiss. Gentle one, but lingering, pressed just below your knuckles. You felt the warmth of his lips and the cool touch of the metal ring against your skin, and you swallowed hard the moment he opened his eyes and looked straight at you.

And it was a look you would reminisce about for weeks to come, because of how seen you felt right in that very moment. The clouds continued their never-ending journey across the sky, and the birds chirped a melody to which you were usually unaware. A look resembling a full conversation. A look holding meaning, one that you weren’t sure you were able to grasp yet.

“Thank you, my sweet little knight.” He whispered against your skin, and you gulped, your heart racing, mind blanking for a short while. “It seems I gained my own guardian angel today.” And when you saw how genuine he was, your body melted into his touch completely, your chest swelling with the quiet pride of knowing you did something good today.

“Anytime, princess.”

And when your ears caught his sudden, bubbly laugh, short canines on full display, that seemed to surprise even him, you didn’t let it become forgotten for the months to come, keeping the sound close to your heart.

You remembered the first day you actually talked to each other other and smiled softly; the walk home filled with interesting stories and shared laughter, the intimidating bubble he’d once seemed trapped in popped the moment you spent real time with him, leaving only the image of a sweet gentleman behind.

It wasn’t the only time you talked either, although after the elective course had ended your ways parted completely: your interactions scarce and happening usually when you were in a rush, or already late, to your classes.

A smile on your lips, followed by a happy wave of your hand met with the surprised, gentle spark in his eyes, and you were already gone.

There were only a handful of times you’d managed to exchange a word or two—usually while waiting in line at the coffee machine, with him asking about your major and interests, or when you were passing by him in the library, where you’d quickly complimented his new tattoo: a constellation on his forearm, still covered by a piece of second skin.

Quick, fleeting interactions; nothing more.

However, you found yourself thinking about him sometimes. About his melodic voice, a gentleness serving a sharp contrast to how rough he could’ve seemed to others. His soft hair, how you wondered what it would feel like to bury your fingers in it and stroke the strands gently. His lean but muscular build, his strong arms adorned with ink—art so majestic you found it hard to look away sometimes, your mind wandering, wondering if he had more tattoos on other parts of his body, and if so, where would they be hidden? And what would they depict?

His lips, soft pink hue, decorated with a silver ring, the coolness of which you already felt when he kissed your hand that day. And on the most desperate of nights, you let your mind imagine how it would feel pressed against your lips.

You shook your head, the thoughts unwanted and totally unnecessary, knowing that it was just a fleeting acquaintance. You couldn’t like him that way, because you knew that you surely weren’t his type at all. You weren’t even sure why your mind started thinking about him in such a way, your type being usually the complete opposite. But you guessed that it was just because of how charming he was, how clever and funny, how awkward at times. How kind to you. And how absolutely gorgeous his eyes were—always looking at you with patience and an interesting kind of wonder.

It didn’t matter. You were only colleagues, and he was too popular and too different from you to actually be interested. So, you stopped thinking about it some time ago.

“‘Not that much of a talker,’ she says. I never—never!—heard him talk. And I had few electives with him, mind you.” The voice of your friend brought you back from wonderland. You decided not to answer anything to that, thinking that if you told her that he was the one who usually initiated conversations with you, she would probably have a stroke. “You are one lucky girl. You have your own guard dog now.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” You answered absentmindedly, not liking that label. “Or the other way around. I can be feisty.” You imitated shooting from your finger guns, and she laughed, raising her almost empty cup.

“Cheers to that!” You raised your empty cup too while throwing your laptop into your bag. “He’s still staring by the way. Hasn’t really stopped since I noticed. It would be really creepy if he wasn’t that handsome.” You snorted, zipping up your bag and looking down at your phone.

“I told you, he probably just wants to say—Oh, shit! Gotta go! The classes start in 10 and I mixed up the buildings again!”

“Oh, shoot, is that the one at the end of—?” You nodded frantically and she waved her hand dismissively. “Go! I’ll take care of your cup, see you later!” You quickly went to her and hugged her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before practically flying out of the café, completely forgetting to send Xavier a small wave on your way out, if he really was sitting somewhere behind you.

That’s why you also missed how abruptly he stood the moment you bolted for the door—wanting to chase after you, but stoping himself when he realized you didn’t even have time for a small talk. He should’ve approached you sooner, should’ve spoken to you the moment he saw you, instead of just sitting there, desperately trying to catch a climpse of your angelic smile.

He wondered when did he loose his balls, when even the simple idea of talking to you made his heart flutter nervously, his hands automatically reaching to scratch at the ink submerged in his skin. He was pathetic, and it was really starting to get on his nerves.

And at that moment his eyes locked with those of your friend, her lips slowly curling into a knowing smile as she caught him almost running after you. She wiggled her eyebrows at him, and in that instant he finally decided to stop being a coward.

He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you everyday anymore.

He grabbed his bag and started walking purposely to the place which you occupied only moments before. He needed information and he would get it, even if he would have to beg for it.

“Oho. I knew it.” Your friend said, seconds before he even managed to introduce himself.

And he realized that he’d known it too. Almost from the moment he first saw you.

You were exhausted to say the least.

Your classes dragged on, making your head hurt from staring at the constantly changing slides. Your whole body felt sore, and you stretched the moment you reached the lockers—arms raised, back arched, a moan almost escaping your lips.

Your poor legs practically begged for the short trip back to your apartment, if the slight numbness in them wasn’t already enough of a sign of stagnation.

You opened your eyes lazily and turned the key in your locker, wanting to gather your things as quickly as possible and finally see the light of day.

“Hey.” A low greeting from right behind you made you spin around too quickly, your back bumping against the locker. It startled you when you noticed how close he was standing, towering over you.

Xavier.

In all his tattooed glory, hair unruly as always, and his pretty eyes boring straight into yours. He hissed when you made contact with the locker, his large hand immediately coming to rest on the back of your head, gently caressing it, afraid you had taken the hit. You blushed, the contact sudden and unexpected, his body possibly closer to yours than ever before.

“Are you okay?” The hand on the back of your head slid down slightly, now resting on the nape of your neck. The hold was gentle, intimate. You wondered if he realized it. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.” His thumb stroked the skin on your neck, and your cheeks caught fire.

You gulped and shook your head, sighing as the tension in your shoulders eased when you saw his familiar face.

“It’s okay. I’m not hurt, and I didn’t hit my head, so don’t worry.” His expression visibly shifted, relief written all over his face. But his hand didn’t leave your neck. “Sorry, hi. Hi. I just didn’t expect you here.” You didn’t expect anyone really, it was already late for classes and if any were to take place, everyone would already be inside classrooms.

His presence was especially puzzling, it wasn’t even his faculty, did he had another elective here?

“I wanted to see you.” Straightforward answer, as usual. You send him a small smile, thinking back to earlier when you almost met at the café; if it hadn’t been for you being in such a hurry. He must’ve felt bad for not coming up to you, especially since he probably waited for you to finish your classes. But why did he care so much? “And I was actually thinking… Hoping that…” His hand slid away from the back of your neck and began playing absentmindedly with a strand of your hair, while you struggled to keep the blush from darkening your cheeks even further.

He was so close. Too close. You could almost feel his breath warming up your face and see your reflection staring back from the little silver dots in his eyebrow. An inch or two more, and you were sure his hair would brush your forehead, given how much he was leaning into your space.

But he was always like this whenever you two crossed paths—his body leaning in too close to be just friendly, paying no mind to your personal space. His hands were also always reaching out for you as if he couldn’t help it: fixing the hair that fell into your face, stroking your arm, or even occasionally brushing your nose with his knuckle when you said something that made him chuckle.

You thought this was his way of being friendly and you enjoyed it, ignoring the fact that it only seemed to fuel your silly little crush. Besides, you found it very endearing that he was so distant and cold with others, yet so touchy-feely with the ones he liked. It made you feel special, if not a little hopeful.

And that’s when the sharp smell hit you, a cigarette smoke mixed with his pleasant, soft cologne. You scrunched up your nose and pressed a hand against his chest to create some more distance between you.

“Oof, you smoked again.” You couldn’t help but comment, seeing his brows furrowing in confusion upon your slight push of his chest.

“You can still smell it? I even got some gum.” To prove his point, he blew a small bubble from his lips, a minty scent reaching your nose when he popped it a second later, the corners of his lips lifting in a small, proud smirk.

“It’s all over your clothes, Xavier. The smoke seeped right into them. You need a bath, not a gum.” Quiet, unserious little “ouch” left his lips, and you tugged at his black sweatshirt, only now noticing a small cat plushie hanging from one of his sleeves.

So cute. You loved that accent, your finger going to poke at the accessory with an exaggerated sigh. “How could you do it to this adorable little thing?”

“It’ll live. Always does.” His eyes followed your finger still gently touching the plushie, “He’s a tough guy, can handle a bit of smoke. He’d take a drag too if he could, probably.” You sent him a half-serious glare and pulled your hand away from his arm, signaling defeat. You noticed he was still standing right where you had pushed him back to, more mindful of your space.

You turned your back to him to open your locker again, and pulled out your bag, along with your light jacket. However, before you could even sling the bag over your shoulder, he already grabbed hold of it, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

“Does it bother you?” Xavier asked, his voice unsure, your bag already on his arm. The pastel-colored plushies hanging from it were a sharp contrast to his appearance. You looked at him again after making sure you had closed the locker. “The smell of smoke, I mean.” His beautiful blues bore into your eyes, his teeth biting at the lip ring nervously.

“Well, I can’t say I like it. I don’t think anyone really does.” He looked at you like a scolded puppy, his hair falling into his eyes when he turned his head to the side. “But it’s your choice, really, I can’t tell you how you should live. It’s just… really sad to know that you’re destroying your lungs daily.”

“Hmm, yeah. It is pretty sad.” Although a pout marked Xavier’s face now, you noticed a slight playfulness in his voice. Then, a sudden spark appeared in his eyes, as if an idea had just formed in his mind. “I could die. You wouldn’t want that to happen, am I right?” He leaned toward you again, one hand placed beside your head, his body almost trapping you against the lockers, your back pressed to the cool metal again. His fingers stroked your wrist, then trailed up to your forearm, his stormy blue eyes following the movement attentively.

“Y—You’re acting weird.” You commented weakly, your heart increasing its beating against your chest. He was so close, too close, his body towering over yours, making you see only him. You nervously looked around, hoping no one saw you, but you already knew you were alone. “Of course I wouldn’t, but—” You wanted to comment on his unusual boldness, ask a question to why was he suddenly acting like this, but he cut you off before you could say another word.

“I’ll quit, then.” His face so close you could smell the mint of the gum and feel the coldness of his breath on your cheek. You trembled unconsciously. “I don’t want you to be worried. But, I think I would like to ask for something in exchange.”

“Ah, so that’s what it’s all about, you’re cozying up to me because you want someth—”

“A date.” Your mouth closed instantly, eyes meeting his in shock. “There’s this gig that I would love to take you to, this weekend. Open-air, starts at midnight. We could—we could grab a bite too right before it starts? If you’d want to, of course.” You watched as his confidence slowly melted as he was speaking, voice trembling nervously at times, the tips of his ears turning red.

It was probably the longest reply he ever gave you, his sentences usually short and precise. And as you stared at him in disbelief, at his red ears and lip that he was now nervously biting despite acting so tough moments before, your chest filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling of your affections being reciprocated.

He was asking you out on a date.

Xavier, that Xavier: hot, intimidating, unbothered, extremely popular and seemingly unapproachable in the eyes of others.

Xavier, an intelligent, soft, socially awkward and extremely sweet little crush of yours was asking you out on a date.

You had to force yourself not to squeal, the idea that he found you attractive too making you nearly melt right into his chest, that seemed to be getting closer and closer with every second. You were both so different from each other, how could you predict that you actually had a chance with him? You thought that your quick, daily encounters was only him being nice, maybe excited to have a new friend.

Your lips curled into a smile, eyes sparkling with excitement you couldn’t contain.

“Is it that band you were talking about last week?” The memory of catching him staring excitedly at his phone right before you approached him during one of your short class breaks was still fresh in your mind. His fingers had been fidgeting with the cap he wore that day, turning it around as he leaned in to show you the newly added dates—one of which was very close to Linkon.

“Yeah. My favorite one.” He was getting more and more nervous, his hand was touching the nape of his neck now. “And I know these things can be loud and stuffy but I would protect you. You’d be safe with me, I swear, I wouldn’t let anyone else—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His head lowered even closer, the tips of your noses nearly touching. His eyes half-lidded, gazing down at you, his heart skipping a beat.

“Mhm. I would love to go with you.” Afraid to stumble over your words, your answer a gentle whisper. “Even without you quitting smoking. Buuut, it’s a really nice bonus.” Xavier chuckled, his head dropping to bring his lips closer to your ear.

“That so?” You had no idea, but he hid his head from your gaze for the widest of smiles to appear on his face. He closed his eyes and let himself bask in your closeness and sweet scent, mentally thankful for his burst of confidence earlier. “Then maybe the whole quitting thing isn’t really necessary?”

“Ah-ah. No takesies backsies—”

“No wha—”

“A promise is a promise.” You stated surely, your finger pressing on his chest as a warning. If he said he’ll quit, he better have to quit. Especially since now the possibility of him being closer to you daily has increased immensely. “If you want to reach for a cigarette now, you better pop in some gum. Or some candy, or ask for a—”

“Kiss?”

Your head turned his way just as his forehead rested on your shoulder. One eye opened, staring at you, a smirk lingering on his lips, the piercing there once again catching your attention.

Would you feel it when his mouth finally pressed to yours? Would it be forceful and bruising, or would he take his time, easing you into it with soft patience? He was a walking enigma, shy and gentle one moment, confident and quick the next. What side of him would you uncover if you let yourself get closer?

“Don’t overthink it or I might actually take your silence as a yes.” You breath hitched the moment he turned his head and you felt his lips touching the skin below your ear. Not a kiss, just a fleeting warmth of his mouth, the coolness of the ring causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. He took a step back, taking all the warmth away and you nearly chased after him to bring it back.

What was he doing to you?

His knuckles brushed your flushed cheek, and your eyelashes fluttered, the touch once again unexpected.

“First, you have to keep your end of the deal. Then we’ll see.” You learned that you were a literal, freaking master at feigning confidence, given how weak your legs felt and how much you wanted to pass out while meeting his affectionate gaze.

His face was slightly flushed too. Clearly affected, despite his confident demeanor. Maybe you weren’t that different from each other, after all.

“We will.” Xavier wet his lips, the tip of his pink tongue barely peeking out before his teeth sank into the plush skin— like he was already imagining how it would feel like. Maybe holding himself back from satisfying his curiosity right then and there. “I’ll make sure we will. Wouldn’t dare to miss the chance, angel.”

And when he walked you home that day, your bag swinging from his broad shoulder and your fingers brushing from time to time, sending pleasant sparks between you—you realized that, despite your differences, you’d never felt such a connection with anyone before. Talking with him was so easy, the way the walk home felt too short not to miss the comforting presence of his for hours after. And you were sure he felt the same, from the way he joked about not giving your bag back, to the goodbye hug you initiated, but he prolonged, his strong arms wrapping gently around your waist, reluctant to let go. And then there was the longing glance he gave you, just seconds before you closed the door.

A sharp ping of a new message cut through the air not long after, a string of new numbers followed by a simple sentences, ones that made your heart beat faster again.

keep thinking that I shouldve made up some lame excuse just to spend more time with U. The cat plushie said he misses U. I didn’t know he could read my mind — Xavier

And with a chuckle and a blush, you already knew that you were slowly falling in love—and you just hoped that when it fully bloomed, he would be there to help you care for it.

As for the kiss—the weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

🤍 if you liked it, you can support me here! https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq <3

every single one counts, it helps me grow and makes me feel that writing is not a waste of time!! <3

Now you were in the living room, standing there in the middle, feeling the weight of your body and your movements, self-conscious about yourself and alert to the fact that you were being watched. Was he watching you? Now? Right now? That’s fucked up. Jail worthy. Caleb was obsessed with you and if your recent reunion hadn't already proved it, the dozen or hundreds of hidden cameras scattered around that room were proof that Caleb was sick. 

But we know the saying: When you point one finger, there are three fingers pointing back to you. More sickening than knowing that you were being watched, from every angle and probably in every room, was the fact that you were aroused. The spot between your legs throbbed, excited by the situation, by the fact that Caleb had probably seen you naked, had seen you sleeping, had seen you showering... It was so fucking wrong that, despite being against everything he had done in Skyhaven right after the reunion, you still delighted in remembering the possessiveness and obsession that melted at the words of your friend, oh, dear friend. 

In addition to the burning sensation between your legs, there was this tingle in your stomach at the thought of a man - not just any man, we're talking about Caleb - being so concerned, so devoted to you that he would kill and die for your happiness. In fact, a man who returned from the ashes and survived for you and you alone. He was no longer your sweet childhood friend... But that wasn't a bad thing. Now he became a man who had eyes (many, it seems, all over the house), only and exclusively for you. Caleb was crazy about you, and, oh shit, you loved it, which made you as crazy as he was. 

So you had two options: the first was to confront Caleb about why the fuck he had installed so many cameras in the apartment if the only person who spent time there apart from him was you; the second was to pretend you didn't know anything and carry on with your life as if everything was normal. 

You always chose the second option when it came to Caleb, ever since you were a teenager and in college. Whether it was sneaking around his room and finding your panties secretly hidden in the back of his closet, or listening to him masturbate while calling your name when he thought he was alone, you always pretended everything was normal. But ever since, and even more so now that you've found each other again, there was nothing normal about it, and no reason to carry on in the same way. After all, if he had changed, there was no reason for you to remain the same or pretend you didn't know anything. 

Then there was a third and new option: pretending not to know anything, but taking advantage of the situation to play with Caleb. Basically, make him taste his own medicine. If he wanted to see you, well, he would.

Pretending to be normal, you sat down on the sofa and took off your coat, throwing it on the coffee table. You took out your cell phone and called his number. 

"Is my favorite guest home yet?" Caleb answered in his usual animated voice. 

"Yeah. I'm bored. Still working? Is it break time?" You remembered that around this time he was most active on social media, so it should be the best time to put into action what you had in mind.

"Ah…You've always been very clever. Yes, I'm on break. I'll be home in two hours and we can do whatever you want. Don't get bored, you can turn on the TV or play a game on the console I have." Caleb was always like that, attentive to you, always wanting to please you. He wasn't much of a gamer, but because you liked games, he had bought a console with the excuse that he was getting interested in games. But now you weren't going to play with the console. You were going to play with something else. 

"Oh, no..." You put the phone on speaker and placed it on the arm of the sofa. You lifted your shirt and brought your fingers up to your bra, massaging your nipples. "I want to relax, not play." You said, holding your right breast while spreading your legs, slipping anxious fingers into your pants, brushing the fingertips against the wet panties. 

The call went silent. Bingo. He was indeed watching you, like the pervert he was. 

"Caleb?" You asked innocently, keeping your voice steady as you started moving your hand in circles, making it obvious what you were doing inside those tight pants. 

"A-ah, yes. Relax..." His breathing was heavy on the other end of the line, and suddenly you heard the sound of a zipper being opened. You had to stop yourself from moaning just then. He was starting to touch himself while watching you. "Why don't you, uh, take a shower in my bathroom?" His voice was a little choked. He was probably pumping himself slowly, staring at your live image through the screen in his office. Your pussy throbbed and suddenly your pants were too tight and too hot. You stopped stroking your own breasts and took both hands to the waistband of your trousers, sliding them down your legs. Then you took off your shirt, leaving only your panties and bra on. You positioned yourself again, this time with your legs spread wider and your heels resting on the table in front of the sofa. Your fingers returned to the soaked fabric of your panties, touching the sensitive clit through the wet cloth. 

"Yeah, I'll have a shower, I'm just finishing something up." With your middle finger, you moved your panties to one side to touch yourself directly. You bit your lip, holding back a moan, and squeezed your breast with your other hand. 

"Fuck..." he swore. 

"All right?" You replied innocently, holding back your unsteady voice as you carried on stimulating your clit at a steady pace. You wanted him to think you didn't know about the cameras, so you had to stay as normal as possible on the phone.

"Yup... I- I just hit my finger," he lied, slurring his words. 

"Caleb-" You said, catching your breath. "I miss you,"

"I miss you too." He sounded almost breathless. "I can come over now."

"No, you can't. There's work. Or is there something urgent you need to do here?" You quickly pulled down your panties, leaving them between your thighs. Then, out of the blue, you heard the unmistakable sound of a camera zooming in. He must have been eating you with his eyes, and now he wanted a closer look. You opened your folds, circling your fingers around the soaked entrance, like a pervert. You slowly moved the fingers up to your clit, stimulating yourself obscenely again. The other end of the line was completely silent, only a few low sounds and grunts were audible. "Caleb, is there something urgent you need to do here?" 

"Uh-" He stammered, and you raised your hips a little, grinding against your hand. "Fuck, fuck," he said. He didn't bother with sentences anymore. 

"What’s up with you? I'm feeling lonely and bored here. Can't you entertain me?" You teased innocently, but your legs were already shaking. 

"I can entertain you. Ah-" For a second, you heard the wet, rhythmic sound of his thrusts against his own hand. Oh my. Caleb had his pants down, sat somewhere in the FAA, and was touching himself like a teenager while he watched you. And you fucking loved it. "I can entertain you... I can be so, so good for you, if you let me." His voice was raspy and breathless. If you weren't so close to your orgasm, you might've asked him if everything was alright and put him in a tough spot again, but you couldn't even think about that. You were too caught up in your own pleasure. One hand was on your nipple under your bra, the other was all over your clit, and you arched your back on the sofa.

"I- I know you know how to entertain me. You're so good to me, always." You gasped, no longer caring that he was probably listening to the sound of your quick fingers against the wet flesh of your vagina. 

Suddenly, you heard a muffled cry on the other end of the line and several "Fuck, fuck, fuck" being whispered like a mantra at a low volume, as if he had his hand against his own mouth. He was coming. And that was all it took for the tingling at the base of your belly to explode and flow out of your pussy in an obscene and intense orgasm. 

You had just squirted all over the living room table and carpet, and had probably wet the sofa as well. The two of you were silent, only the audible gasp of your breaths as you caught your breath. 

"Caleb? Are you still there? It seems the connection was cut." You lied, still pretending you didn't know anything. He coughed and the sound of things being adjusted or stirred could be heard in the background. 

"Yeah, yeah… Probably disconnected or something." 

You got up and stood next to the sofa, looking at the mess you had left there. 

"Caleb I think I spilled...something on your sofa and carpet. Is there any cleaning cloth so I can clean it up?" You looked around. 

"NO!" Caleb almost shouted from the other side. "I mean, it's no problem, pipsqueak. You don't have to clean up. You must be tired from all this, right?" He cleared his throat. "From the trip, and everything. Just rest more, like I said, you can use my bathroom and take a shower if you want."

"Hm, where's that cleaning freak from before? Who are you and what have you done with my Caleb?" You heard a laugh on the other end of the line. 

"That's why. I'll take care of it. Please" The last word sounded as if he was begging. "I'll be home soon, and I'll be able to...entertain you, as you wish. We can, huh, relax together, too."

You laughed and picked up your cell phone, walking to the bathroom while dropping your bra in the hallway, knowing that he was watching here too. You picked up your wet panties and placed them on the bathroom door handle. In an instant, you could see a small dot hidden next to a painting, pointing directly at where you were standing. You stared directly at it, smiled and winked. 

Remembering the way you'd cried his name and the way your legs tightened around his waist as he'd lost himself in you, he feels his heart clench painfully at the hard reality.

Finding the veil that separated his world from yours hadn't been the blessing he'd initially thought it to be. Zayne's understanding and allowing you to be with him on occasion wasn't the favor everyone saw it to be.

Because no matter how many times you were in his bed, no matter how desperately he tried to leave his mark on you, at the end of it all...you weren't his. He'd tried to delude himself into thinking you were as equally his as you were Zayne's but it was never him that sent you off to work, it was never him that would see your frothy toothpasted lips as you got ready in the morning, and it was never him that got to hear and touch and hold you during those innumerable dates that Zayne seemed to be blessed with.

Some part of him wishes he'd never fallen into your world. It had been easier to watch you as a stranger from afar, like watching a movie which he could at least turn off when he grew weary of it.

But now that he knew what it was like to taste you, to hold you in his arms, to kiss you with that desperation that only a man in his situation would understand...It was unbearable. The ache lingered constantly now in his chest, the knowledge, the unbreakable truth that lingered but which no one seemed ready to admit; that you only visited him out of pity.

Yet he was unable to stop. If he wasn't such a coward perhaps he'd tell you to stop these trysts, to tell you that he doesn't want you if he could only have fractured pieces but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The euphoria of having you near, the damning, head-spinning high of having the thing he yearned for in his grasp had proven to be too addictive and he was powerless to refuse any dose he could get.

It was no kindness done to him, this arrangement. Quite the opposite, devastatingly cruel and gut-wrenchingly torturous.

But he kisses you awake, lets his hands wander over your body, wondering when would be the next time he'd touch you again. After you've finished dressing, you smile kindly at him and smiles back, feeling like his very being was shattering into two. He's confused when you hand him a card.

"You have the same birthday, right?" you ask and he nods, accepting it politely. He wishes he had stopped himself but he couldn't help himself.

"Do you have plans?"

You give him a kind smile. "Yes. I've planned a whole party for Zayne with his colleagues. We're going to a mountain resort and-"

"That sounds lovely." Dawnbreaker cuts you off before you can finish. Why had he hoped for something different? He helps you put on your jacket, and as your evol opens the portal to get back to your world.

When you're gone, silence falls over the house. He's alone. Again.

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

Xavier cages you in beneath him with both, large hands splayed out on the mattress, planted firmly on either side of your pillow, to ensure you have no room to wriggle free. the hard planes of his torso, so taut that you feel as though he’d crafted by stone itself, lay a fraction of his weight against your bare back. not nearly enough to crush you beneath the pressure, but plenty to let you feel his warm, slick skin, the gentle scraping of his peaked nipples against your shoulder blades. he’s heated and sweating, but not from exertion. his stamina could rival the gods. oh no, he’s sweating and grinding his jaw, working hard to restrain his most primal urges— to fuck you with wild abandon until you’re screaming for it. his body yearns to quicken the pace, made evident by the way his cock throbs with hardly-repressed desire.

but he knows this isn’t the time to want you dumb and drooling on his cock, and he’s being on his best behavior— however difficult it may be. tonight, he’s fucking you to sleep, lulling you to dreamland with the slow stretch and incredibly full sensation when the swollen, flared tip of his cock head nudges right up against your cervix; a subtle reminder of his size. “This is how you like it, isn’t it?” his inquiry strained and addled with lust, his hips rocking to fully hilt himself within you. you can feel the warmth and the squish of his soft, heavy balls against your slit as feeds you every inch he has to give, and you elicit a needy purr, squeezing the pillow tighter against your face. the swell of pleasure from deep within your lower belly sends and involuntary tremor along your spine, arching it, and your hazy eyes cross in sleepy, sordid delight. you can’t help yourself, even in your drowsy state, you push back into his ministration, as if begging for more, and Xavier grunts in approval against his teeth before hissing in a breathy whisper, “You want to be fucked, slow and deep, just like this, until you’re dozing off? Give yourself over to pleasure and sleep at the same time?”

your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, so Xavier doesn’t mind if you close them, your needy mewling muffled by the pillow you bury your face in. your breath is hot and wet against the cotton pillowcase, dampening the oblong shape of your open mouth against it when you mindlessly whine for Xavier.

Some part of you felt like it was a bad idea—you knew better. Even after all these years, it felt surreal that Caleb was one of your closest friends. In your small town, there weren’t many people to bond with. The tight-knit community had shrunk over time, and most people you knew were just memories now. But you’d never forget the two boys who lived next door. One was more charming, the other more reserved, but both were just as kind and reliable.

Years later, that sense of community felt like a distant dream. It was why you jumped at the chance to move closer to Caleb and Zayne after they relocated to the city. The passing of your grandmother had made staying in the countryside unbearable. But as you stood ankle-deep in snow, staring at the truck piled high with your belongings, you wondered if you were in over your head.

The cold wind bit through your gloves as you trudged inside the apartment building. Your eyes darted nervously to the heavy furniture that needed to be moved. You shifted your weight, glancing at the door every few seconds. If any of the boys decided not to show up, you would be screwed. 

“Y/N!” Caleb’s voice rang out, and your head snapped up. Relief surged through you as you saw him approaching. Without thinking, you rushed into his arms, your cheeks burning as his warm embrace enveloped you.

“It’s good to see you too,” he teased, his playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His hands rested lightly on your back as he pulled away, studying your face. “How long were you standing out there?”

“Not long,” you lied with an awkward laugh. “I just—got lost in thought.”

How he looked at you made it hard to breathe, as if he still saw the same girl from all those years ago. The creak of the lobby door saved you from spiraling further. 

Zayne strode in, his dark coat dusted with snowflakes. His sharp gaze flicked from you to Caleb’s hands, still resting on your waist. For a moment, his jaw tightened, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

“You’re late,” Caleb called out, smirking.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zayne replied, his tone dry as his eyes settled on you. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“Never,” you said with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. His arms wrapped around you briefly, his touch warm but hesitant. You smiled before turning and walking over to the elevator. You missed your family, and now it felt a little closer to being pieced back together. 

You gave a debrief of the plan for the day, as there was plenty you could do on your own later. Though you were grateful to Xavier for helping you get a place, it needed…tlc. The boys agreed to help you move bulky items and clean up the remnants of a bug treatment. 

The boys retreated to the lobby—they had to move a couch and some other, far too heavy things. The three of you had been friends for years, bickering and fighting like siblings, but never with ill intent. Though Caleb and Zayne constantly teased each other more recently than anything, you weren’t sure what was a joke anymore. 

Your body jolted. A sound of a shout came from the hallway, distracting you from sweeping. 

“Damn—Zayne, pull up the couch—” Caleb strained and bit out. 

“You’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Zayne shot back calmly. 

You walked up to the unfolding scene, your hands resting on your hips when you approached them. The couch was now on the tile of the apartment hallway. You were glad they didn’t break your stuff while they messed around.

“And… Why is my couch on the ground?” you asked, your gaze shooting between them. 

“It seems Caleb’s grip slipped,” Zayne quipped. You could feel the air quotes around the last portion of his statement. His hands were resting on his hips as his breathing slowed and evened out.

“I just need a second—I’m sweating over here,” Caleb said, a deep breath coming from his lips. 

You watched as he lifted his shirt. His jeans rested low on his hips as he lifted the fabric, you could see faint trails of hair leading down his abdomen. He had a vein running above his hip to below his pants. 

Your eyes betrayed you as you shamelessly traced his body. Fuck, he looked good.

Zayne watched you in silence, observing, watching the surprise on your face when Caleb lifted his shirt. And he did not like it. First, why did Caleb always do shit like that, but besides, why did you seem to like it so much.

The three of you worked together to tackle the chaos of the moving day. With the bulky items moved, Caleb helped you clean the kitchen while Zayne focused on the living room. You stood on your tippy toes, wiping the cabinet the best you could, stretching to reach the top shelf. Caleb moved in behind you, his body brushing against yours. 

“Let me get that,” he said, his voice soft as he grabbed the cloth from your hand.

Your breath hitched as his warmth seeped through your back. His fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a jolt through you. You moved aside, trying to compose yourself. He stepped to the side after finishing, leaning onto the counter, “Why don’t I take over this part, since you’re so small?” a playful grin played on his lips, as he winked at you. 

“Always picking on my size,” you joked, your voice shaky. “Maybe you’re just too tall.”

His grin widened, but something in his gaze lingered a moment too long. “...Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low.

From the corner of the room, Zayne’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen. His hand paused mid-swipe on the wall, his eyes narrowing at seeing Caleb leaning close to you. His grip on the rag tightened, but he quickly looked away. This wasn’t the time.

You noticed all his progress when you made your way to Zayne. He almost successfully cleared the living room. “Can I help?” you said, approaching his side. 

Zayne’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “I figured you’d be too busy with Caleb to remember me.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you shot back, an uncomfortable laugh leaving your lips.

He attached the extended handle before handing you the mop, his fingers brushing yours slightly. “Guess I’ll have to remind you why I’m the favorite,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. 

☆

You fell into a routine in the following weeks, trying to adjust to your new life. Weekly meetups with Caleb became a ritual, and today, you waited for him at a quaint coffee shop Zayne had introduced you to. The warm smell of coffee and pastries filled the air as you spotted Caleb walking in, his black coat framing his tall figure.

“Y/N!” he called out, his smile lighting up. He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment.

When he set you down, his eyes held yours for a beat too long. Your stomach flipped as you sat across from him, trying to steady your thoughts.

You began your catch-up over a coffee and some food. Your discussion filled the silence, and you shared a laugh while discussing the latest work drama. You clued Caleb into the details about your coworker, and how the Hunter’s Association locked his file.

It was pretty peculiar in your field; most hunters had a public record, released by the organization they resided under, but in his case, it wasn’t as easily accessible, making him a high-profile individual. Which just made you curious. As talented as you were you couldn’t help but notice the difference in skills between the two of you. It was so obvious he’d been at this longer than you. 

Caleb listened intently as you shared the latest work news, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Detective work?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It feels like I’d be invading his privacy. I guess—I’ll wait for him to tell me when he’s ready.”

Caleb’s gaze softened. “That’s just like you,” he said quietly, his purple eyes glinting in the light.

Before you could process his words, your watch buzzed with an alarm. “I gotta get back to work,” you said, grabbing your things in a rush.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing to the table. “See you later.”

It was a lighter cold today, and no heavy snow blocked your path. As you walked back to work, you were honestly heavy in thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb. His smiles and touches felt deliberate, and you had no idea how to handle it. Dating had always been a mystery to you, and your nerves weren’t helping.  

This wasn’t the first time these nerves graced your presence. When you were much younger, you recall the party, the smell of alcohol, the loud music, and unfamiliar faces. You knew Zayne and Caleb of course, but them being a bit older than you made this crowd—one you hadn’t been exposed to before.

Making your way through the door was the worst. Caleb knew everyone, saying “hellos,” “hi’s,” and “what’s up, dude,” as he led the way. Making your way through the moving bodies was a challenge. You were thankful for Zayne’s hand holding onto yours as you made the way. You scanned the crowd, and everyone was dancing. The number of people grinding on others was mesmerizing, and you wanted in.

The music thudded through the walls, pounding against your ears. You remember making your way up the stairs, following closely behind Caleb, as Zayne sandwiched in behind you, finally letting go of your hand. Honestly, this didn’t seem like Zayne’s type of crowd, and he wasn’t the most outgoing. 

When you reached the room, it had fewer people than the rest of the house. You walked in, sitting on the couch while Zayne stood near the corner of the room. Some people sat in a circle with a bottle in the center, obviously playing a game. One of the girls asked if you and the boys wanted to join. 

You could feel the eyes of two important men in your life shift to you. Both were curious about your response. 

“...yeah.” 

Caleb also joined the game, sitting directly across from you. A girl with blonde hair spun the bottle, and before you knew it, it was your turn. 

Placing your hand on the bottleneck, you spun the bottle, watching its turning motion with curiosity. When it stopped on Caleb, the purple of his eyes glinted as he looked between you and the bottle. 

You could hear the circle of people urging you both on. It was just a kiss. You could do this. He’s your friend. You sat up on your heels, your hands burning as they rested on your knees. 

He got close to you and whispered, “Ready?” only for your ears to hear, and he kissed you, his lips connecting with yours softly, sweetly. Some people teased him for the gentleness at which his lips touched yours, but something shot through you when his lips touched yours. He softly bit your bottom lip before he pulled back from you. 

He kissed you. Zayne saw, everyone saw, and you liked it. 

You needed advice—something solid to guide your next move. You’d already admitted to yourself that you liked him, but how were you supposed to approach this? What did you even say? Zayne helped you through that kiss, reminding you it was just a game. But all these years later, you wanted to be more than a game to Caleb. Even in your shared youth, he had good advice for you, so why wouldn’t you trust him?

When you arrived at the office, your mind was still a tangled mess, buzzing with uncertainty. You decided it was no use overthinking it; it was better to rip the bandaid off.

You pulled out your phone, hesitating for a moment before texting Zayne:

You:

“Can I call you? I need some advice.”

When his reply came moments later—“I have a patient right now. I’ll call you after.”—you let out a relieved sigh. You trusted him, and you needed his help.

Relief washed over you as you read his reply, your heartbeat finally slowing to a steady rhythm. You let out a soft sigh, tucking your phone away. All you had to do now was organize your thoughts.

While you waited, you turned to your caseload, focusing on the profile you’d been compiling for a new wanderer-type you’d encountered during a hunt weeks earlier. Using old files as templates, you typed furiously, the steady rhythm of the keyboard pulling you into the zone. Minutes turned to hours as you worked, the world fading into the background.

The buzzing of your phone jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the screen and barely caught the call before it went to voicemail.

“You want me to teach you how to date?” Zayne’s voice drawled through the line, laced with amusement.

Heat rushed to your face as you groaned audibly. “That’s not—it’s not like that!” you blurted, but Zayne only chuckled softly.

You spent the next ten minutes stumbling through your explanation, your words tangling as you tried to paint a coherent picture of your situation. When you finally stopped, waiting anxiously for his response, all he said was:

“Okay.”

That one word was enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he confirmed calmly.

Your heart soared. “Okay, then,” you echoed quickly, trying to mask your nervous excitement. You rushed to thank Zayne before ending the call, clutching the phone to your chest. Relief and joy bubbled inside you. You knew Zayne would come through for you. You trusted him completely.

On the other end of the call, Zayne set his phone on his desk, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He began packing up for the day, shaking his head in amusement. The idea of you coming to him for dating advice was equal parts endearing and intriguing.

Of course, he would help you. That much was never in question. But who had caught your interest so suddenly? The thought gnawed at him, tempting him to ask outright, but he resisted. He’d figure it out eventually.

As he picked up his phone to draft a response, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Lessons,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with amusement. He couldn’t help but smirk as he began typing out a plan. Lessons in dating and seduction? If anyone was going to help you succeed, it was him.

☆

Your phone buzzed with details for your first lesson. You had to admit you were quite excited. When you open the message, you read simple instructions:

Zayne:

“I’ll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something nice, but comfortable.” 

A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you gripped your phone, its cool metal grounding you—way to give me nothing, Zayne. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.

You:

“Got it.” 

With a rare day off, you had more than enough time to overthink this date—or, well, lesson. You'd been on dates before, but this felt different—important. You wanted to impress Caleb later, but you also wanted to enjoy this with Zayne and learn from him.

Determined, you took your time getting ready—a long bath, smooth and refreshed skin, natural hairstyle, skipping the heat of flat irons. Your makeup was subtle, accentuating your best features—your eyes and lips. The outfit? Simple, with an effortless elegance: a black skirt, a beige sweater, and knee-high black boots. Something nice but comfortable, you echoed mockingly in your head.

The doorbell rang. Your pulse quickened. Taking a deep breath, you cracked the door open.

“I’m grabbing my bag—give me a sec,” you said quickly before shutting it again.

Zayne chuckled softly on the other side. You looked nervous, and he thought it was cute.

When you finally stepped out, his eyes swept over you, approval flashing in his gaze. “Ready?” His voice was warm, familiar.

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah.”

Locking up, you stepped beside him, weaving through the apartment halls. The elevator was packed when it arrived, leaving just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. When the doors slid shut, the crowd's pressure pushed you toward the back corner of the elevator.

Zayne stepped in after you, his body instinctively blocking the others from pressing too close. His warmth enveloped you, a wall of quiet protection. When his chest brushed against yours, your head shot up, startled by the contact—only to knock it against the cold metal wall behind you.

A low groan slipped from your lips, and Zayne chuckled. “Careful.” His hand came up, cupping the back of your head gently.

You stilled. Zayne’s touch was light but steady, fingers warm against your scalp. You let yourself settle into it for just a second, your cheeks heating.

Then, with a soft ding, the doors slid open. The moment was gone.

You followed him out quickly, slipping into his car. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. Still, you were the first to break it.

“So… where are we going?” you asked, anticipation bubbling beneath your skin.

Zayne’s grip tightened subtly around the gear shift, veins visible against his skin. His lips curled into a faint smile. “You’ll see.”

—

You hadn’t expected this.

The setup was breathtaking—candles flickering softly, a picnic blanket spread on the grass by a lake, and wildflowers scattered around like nature’s own confetti. The crisp spring air carried the scent of earth and blooming petals, a reminder that winter’s grasp was finally loosening. The sun had just begun its descent, casting everything in golden light.

Zayne stood behind you, watching. He caught how your breath hitched and how awe softened your features. The faint flush that always seemed to bloom when he was near. He reveled in it.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “A date.”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Zayne, this is…” Your voice wavered with something close to wonder. “This is perfect.”

A small, knowing smile touched his lips.

You hesitated. “I’ve never really—” You exhaled. “So… what do we do now?”

He motioned for you to sit. “First? We eat.”

You obeyed, watching as he unpacked the meal. Your gaze flickered over the assortment of sweets tucked beside the entrees, and you bit your lip. He remembered your sweet tooth.

Your heart squeezed.

He handed you a sandwich—one of your childhood favorites. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet thoughtfulness behind it.

The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. The conversation was easy and flowing, as it always was between you two. You talked about everything and nothing, letting the city fade away, and the wine in your glass disappeared far too quickly.

At some point, you made the mistake of looking at him.

The sunset bathed him in amber light, the gentle hues accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint green specks in his eyes. He looked beautiful—effortlessly so. The sleeves of his powder blue dress shirt rolled up, revealing strong forearms, veins pronounced as his fingers idly toyed with the rim of his glass.

His gaze lifted, catching yours.

You panicked. Tipped your head back, draining the last of your wine, pretending to admire the sky.

And so the night went on.

Laughter. Warmth. The kind of company that made the world feel a little less lonely. It had been too long since you’d felt this way.

Maybe that was why—

—why you ended up tipsy.

The last thing you remembered clearly was Zayne’s hands on your waist, steadying you as you stumbled at your door. His voice, amused and gentle, coaxing you inside.

And then—

"You're drunk."

His voice was strained.

Your skin burned. “N ‘m not,” you murmured, reaching up, fingers clumsily ruffling his hair. “I w’nted to kiss you, Z-Zayne…”

His breath hitched.

You wobbled onto your tiptoes, pressing a sleepy, featherlight kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Zayne~”

Darkness.

And then—morning.

Your head throbbed. You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, and then—

The memory came rushing back.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What did you do?

You kissed Zayne—just a kiss on the cheek, but no less a kiss. And you didn’t know how you felt about it. Maybe you liked it. And when you checked your phone, your heart skipped a beat. 

Zayne:

“Are you feeling better?”

It was a simple question, but your body felt warm, and a smile tugged at your lips as the cold metal burned your hand. 

You:

“Yes, I’m still a bit warm, but much better :)”

And from there the conversation flowed. 

Zayne: 

“So you’re ready for your next lesson?”

You:

“Duh.”

☆

This lesson was set up differently—as a more casual experience. Zayne held the door open, allowing you to enter as the scent of perfumes and faint traces of liquor—something you planned to avoid tonight—filled your senses.

Zayne trailed closely behind you, his eyes drawn to your fitted black dress. It hugged your curves just right, and while you were always beautiful, tonight, you looked divine. His gaze lingered, but he didn’t say a word, instead committing the image to memory.

You settled into the plush velvet seat, crossing your legs as you waited for him to join you. The slight pressure of the fabric against your skin and the low hum of jazz music set a tone of subtle sophistication.

“Lesson two,” he murmured as he sat beside you. “Body language.”

A sly smile crept onto your lips. This time, you were ready. Beyond your carefully chosen outfit, you had mentally prepared to hold your ground. Tonight, you would stay in control.

“So, what’s the plan today, Zayne?” you drawled, leaning forward as your fingers lightly brushed his bicep. You pretended it was a casual touch, but the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, studying your face. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re already ahead, princess,” he whispered, his voice low. The words felt like a direct hit to your resolve.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your lips parted as you scrambled to regain composure. “Head start?” you echoed, tilting your head and trying to sound nonchalant.

"I want to see what you've learned—think you can charm me?" he said simply.

The lounge was an upscale dream: dimly lit, lined with high-end paintings, and filled with the smooth rhythm of jazz. The swaying figures on the dance floor moved in tandem with the music, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the scene.

Leaning in closer to Zayne, you brushed your lips near his ear. “Should we dance?” you whispered, your hand steadying yourself on his knee.

The scent of his cologne—clean with a faint hint of jasmine—enveloped you. You felt his gaze sharpen, and when you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, the faint green specks in them seemed to glow under the low light.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth, as he stood and offered you his hand.

On the dance floor, your movements flowed easily, the music guiding you. You pulled him closer, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands rested on your lower back, firm and grounding, while your fingers trailed up his chest. The hard muscle beneath your touch sent a thrill through you.

“You look so handsome tonight, Zayne,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile.

“Only tonight?” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Your finger traced lazy patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady initially, but you noticed the slight quickening as your touch lingered. You looked up at him, your gaze filled with something unspoken but deeply felt.

“You always do,” you whispered.

The air between you was charged, the tension pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel like you might float away.

When the tempo picked up, you spun away from him, creating a bit of distance as you swayed more freely. He matched your rhythm more stiffly than anything. You couldn’t help but smile—this was fun.

“You’re way too stiff,” you said, getting close to him. Watching him try to whine his hips to the upbeat tempo was amazing. A laugh left your lips as your hands gripped his hips. “Why are your feet so close together?!” you choked out. 

“I was never a dancer,” he said flatly, unamused by the tears in your eyes. 

“Move to the beat,” you said again, trying to show him the way, but he didn’t get it. If you asked him, he’d rather watch you move your body. You moved beautifully, rolling your hips with precision.

When the lounge prepared to close, your cheeks ached from grinning, and your legs were deliciously sore. You shivered slightly as you walked side by side through the chilly night air.

“You look cold,” Zayne said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

The warmth of the fabric—and his scent—wrapped around you. A soft, rich aroma of jasmine and something distinctly him made your heart flutter.

You nudged his arm, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You know… I think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“I haven’t danced like that in forever.” you said.

“How could I forget?” he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to the stars above. “It’s your favorite thing.”

His fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first. You took the leap, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

This man was everything.

☆

Later That Week

You had agreed to meet Caleb for a more eventful hangout—to meet downtown and do whatever caught your eye. 

You spotted him easily. His tall figure towered over most people. You walked up to him, and he hugged you tightly. The warmth of his body covered yours, but it didn’t raise your heartbeat. 

When he loosened his grip on you, his hands rested on your shoulders, “Long time no see, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice full of joy. 

Your cheeks felt tight from smiling—you were happy to see him, but not for the same reasons as before.

“I know, it’s been a few weeks,” you said, pulling back from him and looking into the purple of his eyes. “Let’s get back on schedule,” you breathed, a light smile plastered on your lips. 

Work had been busy, but the truth was that your lessons with Zayne had occupied your thoughts—and your time.

While you started your walk downtown, plenty of things caught your eye. The first thing you did was enter a record shop. The store was in the basement off of a side street. It was a little creepy, but it looked like an underground studio once you got inside. Records were all over the shop, on the wall, and in little baskets stacked in rows. 

He browsed next to you, shuffling through the records occasionally showing you one he thought you’d like or an album you’d enjoyed. And in spending this time with him, you realized that you enjoyed this. 

The simplicity between you, the light air, and the lack of expectations for anything more was all you needed. Caleb’s fingers softly brushed yours as he placed a vinyl behind the one you held up for him.

“Find anything good?” you asked, your feet planted evenly on the ground as you turned to face Caleb. 

His eyes bore into yours, something flickering over them before he answered you.

 “Nah—let's get some food,” he said quickly, his demeanor suddenly returning.

Exiting the store, you joined in step beside him, exploring the city's night scene. Your options were endless as you scanned the shops that lined the streets. You spotted a food truck and the smells coming from it were amazing. 

Altering Caleb, you both sat at the outdoor seating, waiting for your orders. The chill of the evening air seeped through your clothes, making you shiver slightly.

“Do you want my jacket?” Caleb asked, his tone playful. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Only if you have an extra,” you said, bouncing your leg under the table to keep warm.

With a smirk, he reached into his bag and handed you a spare coat. “You’re my best friend, You know I always do.”

You slipped it on, grateful for the warmth but… that was it. There was no spark, no flutter of excitement. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, adjusting the collar and wrapping it tighter around yourself, but it felt like just a jacket.

In the quiet moment that followed, your mind drifted back to Zayne. His jacket had enveloped you in warmth and scent, and your heart raced when he was near. You glanced at Caleb, who was busy watching the street outside.

Nothing. That kiss was—just a kiss. Years ago, you wouldn’t have believed anyone. Not even Zayne could have convinced you it was a fleeting crush. But it really was. You felt proper chemistry, companionship, and care and wanted to keep experiencing that with Zayne.

The weight of your realization was crushing. All the time you spent—wasted on this man. You cared for him, you truly did. But, what about you? Why were you so pent-up and focused on this person you didn't even really like? Was it really him you missed? Or just how he filled your time and made you feel small—safe, even?

That's the point. You’re not small. You're a grown woman who can stand independently, make her own decisions, and provide her own entertainment. Relief washed over you in waves because what were you even doing? Holding onto a version of the past that no longer fits?

But right behind it, sadness crept in. Not for Caleb, but for the time lost—chasing something never meant to be yours. But you didn’t truly waste time if it led you here—to someone real. To Zayne.

You forced a smile, staring down at your lap, and tried to push away the sinking feeling in your chest. You used to admire Caleb. It should feel special, especially his attention and time, but—it doesn’t. 

Caleb was the person you had wanted—the reason for the lessons.

The contrast was stark, undeniable. And for the first time, you realized the answer had been clear.

☆

You had admitted to Zayne that you wanted a cozy evening. Work had drained you, but more than anything, your recent realization had knocked the wind out of you. It wasn’t just an idle thought—the truth that settled deep in your bones, undeniable yet terrifying.

You knew what you needed to say and do, but the effort of voicing it—of being honest with Zayne—made your nerves coil tight.

Your lessons have helped. You felt more confident, more self-assured. You understood what a date was supposed to be now, what it meant to be courted and wanted. But more than anything, you wanted something real.

With him.

So, he invited you over after work.

Zayne:

"How about I cook you dinner, and we watch a movie?"

You:

"How do you always know exactly what I need?"

…

Zayne:

"Make yourself at home. I just finished setting up."

When you arrived at his house, the living room instantly warmed you. The room glowed softly from the candles he had lined along the tables, their flickering light casting gentle shadows against the walls. The scent of something rich and savory drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint traces of his cologne.

But the sight of something familiar made your heart catch in your chest—small plushies, the ones you had won years ago, still resting on the couch.

He had kept them.

Your fingers grazed one absentmindedly as you took it all in, a lump forming in your throat.

You didn’t miss the sound of the shower running from the other room, and heat bloomed across your face. The thought of him stepping out—steam rising, droplets tracing the planes of his skin—sent your mind spiraling. He had just gotten off work, yet he still made time to set everything up for you.

As if on cue, the water stopped. A moment later, the door cracked open, and Zayne walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, another in his hands as he ruffled it through his damp black hair.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said casually, his voice smooth. “Have a seat.”

Then, as if completely unaware of his effect on you, he strode into his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

You swallowed hard. That lasted less than a second, but it was enough.

His physique was unreal—his lean yet defined frame, the way his skin still glistened slightly, the tantalizing trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel… and God, you wanted to know where it led.

This was new. You had never felt this way before.

And he was making you crazy.

You forced yourself to move, settling onto the couch, trying to calm your racing heart as you waited for him. You distracted yourself with the snacks he had spread across the table, but your mind kept replaying that brief glimpse of him.

When he finally reappeared, dressed in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, looking effortlessly breathtaking, your breath caught in your throat.

Something about this moment—the candlelight, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, the sheer intimacy of being here with him—felt so real. So domestic. So much like something you wanted forever.

Zayne disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you in the glow of candlelight. A few moments later, he emerged with two plates in hand, setting them down on the dining table before motioning for you to sit.

“Did you make all of this?” you asked, raising a brow as you took in the spread before you.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, settling across from you. “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the week you’ve had.”

Your heart ached at how thoughtful he was.

The meal was warm and comforting—just like him. You took a bite, letting the rich flavors settle on your tongue and savoring the moment. Zayne watched you carefully, his gaze flicking to your lips before he took a bite of his own food.

“This is really good,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “You’re full of surprises.”

He smirked slightly, tilting his head. “You act like you don’t already know I’m good with my hands.”

Your fork stalled mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snapped to his.

Zayne smirked slightly, taking another bite as if he hadn’t set your whole body on fire with that one sentence.

Your stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the food.

“I—” You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. “I suppose I do.”

His gaze flickered with amusement before he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Something was intoxicating about the way he watched you. It was like he was reading every thought running through your head.

The tension built slowly, lingering between every glance, every soft smile exchanged over the rim of your glasses.

At some point, his foot brushed against yours beneath the table. It was barely a touch—so light it could’ve been an accident. But when you met his gaze, you knew it wasn’t.

Neither of you spoke on it. Neither of you moved away.

It was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment, the way the air grew heavier, tighter.

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual.

You curled next to him as he flipped through the streaming options before settling on something. Not that it really mattered—you could barely focus because of how close he was.

The movie played, but you weren’t watching.

You were too aware of Zayne’s presence, the warmth of his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Every tiny touch sent a current through you.

Then, in the middle of a scene, Zayne suddenly reached for the remote.

Click.

Ring…Ring…Ring…

Your phone started ringing, now of all times, and you dropped your gaze to the device at the same time as Zayne. 

Caleb calls all the time, but the timing of this was just—it couldn’t be a coincidence. And you weren’t sure if you should answer. 

“Don’t pick it up,” was all you heard, as you gripped the metal of your phone tighter. 

“Why,” you whispered, your voice small now. The confidence you had before flickered, unsteady—like a candle caught in the wind. You felt tender, exposed. Unsure if you had the strength to do what needed to be done.

“I know you wanted lessons, because of Caleb,” he started, his eyes meeting yours. The air felt cooler now, and goosebumps ran over your skin. 

"I can’t do this if you’re still holding onto him," he murmured, his voice steady—but stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.

“I can’t bear to see you with him—now that your presence has graced me, I see small pieces of you everywhere I go,” he admitted, his voice soft and tortured. 

Zayne exhaled through his nose,  running a hand through his dark hair before finally speaking.

“I don’t want you to want Caleb—I want you to want me” he breathed.

The screen froze mid-ring. A silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to him, only to find his gaze already on you—serious, searching.

Your breath hitched.

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unshakable.

You swallowed. Say it.

“I thought I wanted to be with another man, Zayne…” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He tensed slightly, his jaw tightening, but you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“But I don’t,” you continued softly, eyes searching his. “I want this. I want you.”

The words left you in a breath, raw and real.

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. But you saw how his eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Please, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you leaned in.

Your breath stilled, heart hammering. He was too close—his scent, the warmth radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his breath. And then… finally, you leaned in, and he met you halfway.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths intertwining in the room's dimness. Your eyes opened tentatively, and you saw Zayne staring at you, his chest heaving from the kiss you had just shared. 

“Again,” you murmured, a silent plea because now that you were here you couldn’t let this pass. And Zayne obeyed, kissing you again. You could feel him shifting your position. His hands found your back, and he briefly disconnected your lips to lay you on the couch. 

His knees straddled your hips, as he just watched you, “Beautiful,” he whispered before tasting your lips again, the weight of him on top of you was not only delicious but welcome. You gasped at the pressure, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A groan escaped your mouth when his tongue entered your lips. 

“Wait,” you said, your hands resting on Zayne’s chest as he lay on you. 

“I’ve never done this before,” you said, noticing the clench of his jaw, flushed face, and swollen lips. 

He waited for a beat, watching you silently, “I’ll take care of you, princess,” he exhaled.

“I don’t have much experience,” he admitted, his gaze shifting from yours.

Your eyes widened with shock at his admission. You had assumed he was experienced, and that was part of the reason you asked him for help. 

You took a breath, smiling at him. " Let's learn together,” you whispered in his ear before leaning your head back and resting it against the pillow. 

You pulled him flush against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. He began his thorough search kissing your temple, to the crux of your ear, “Another lesson, …hm?” he whispered. And that caused you to writhe beneath him—the sound of his voice in your ear, and the soft vibrato of his confirmation. 

He began his steady exploration with his lips and hands. Stroking up and down your body, though most of it covered, the cool of his hands made your skin get chills when he touched you. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to your t-shirt. 

“Yes,” you said too quickly, embarrassed by your eagerness. 

You adjusted your body, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head. You lay there sitting up on your forearms, just watching his explorative touch. His pointer finger traced the outline of your bra, hovering just above your skin. 

“You—” you started, biting the fat of your lip, “Zayne, I want you to take this off too.” 

And those emerald eyes watched you. In his head, he couldn’t believe you would be his—already prepared to memorize your every reaction. His hand trembled before steadying against your skin. The contact of his hand caused you to arch away from the couch. Click.

The bra fell forward as you shrugged it off your arms. Your whole body felt warm as you guided Zayne’s hands to hold your breasts. Your hands rested on his before you moved them back to the couch. His thumbs felt the hardening peaks beneath his hands, and he gave them a tentative flick, watching your face. You squirmed beneath him. 

Sensitive here. He made a mental note, before rubbing the hardened nub against his thumb at a steady pace. 

He moved his mouth to your other breast kissing it, before watching your face as his tongue made contact with it. Your hips jerked forward gently when he flicked it with his tongue. You bit your lip watching him play with your nipples. 

“Can—you touch me there?” you whimpered. His lips parted from your nipple. 

“Where?” he asked, and both of you just looked at each other. 

Before you took his hand and brought it between your legs. You held it there rubbing yourself on his hand through your pants, but you didn't miss the way Zayne trained his eyes on you. Watching each little reaction you had when he touched you. Even the lightest of touch made his lips part slightly even with the furious flush of his skin. 

His cock was straining in his pants, but he waited, wanting to learn you first.

He laid you down, your hands threading into his hair. Pulling him close to you he buried his face in your neck. The smell of jasmine filled your senses, as he groaned beneath you, breathing in your scent. You leaned back into the couch, shaken by the idea of him on top of you.

Your breasts pressed against his chest, the cool fabric causing a shiver to roll through you. He ran his face up and down your neck leaving a trail of light kisses. It was as if he was savoring you, imprinting your smell, your presence in his mind—as if you’d be done with him after this.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned against your throat.

Zayne steadied himself on his hands on either side of your head, his gaze trailing over your body to where he would find himself next. His eyes stopped between your thighs, he watched intently as you squirmed beneath him, your body shifting under his gaze.

Your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, and the cold stillness of the air sent a shiver through you. His lips found your jaw, kissing a slow line tracing to your throat. Each touch of his lips sent heat between your legs, and you tilted your head to give him more access, a whimper escaping your lips. 

Zayne was just a friend, someone who supported and loved you but someone you felt you couldn’t have. Your change of heart made you act on a whim to take advantage of your time with him. You wanted him, and no one else could have him but you. He was a high you couldn't—didn't want to get rid of. 

You grasped the blankets on the couch, trying to ground yourself somehow, while he worked slow kisses down your chest with light scrapes of his teeth.

His hands ran down your sides, caressing your breasts to your hips, his thumbs brushing the naked skin beneath your sweatpants. It was a maddening sensation, and you only wanted him to keep going.

You could see his erection pressed firmly against his pants, and you felt tempted to reach forward, to touch it. To pull him closer firmly against you, to feel him where you needed him most. 

One of his hands left you cupping you over your pants. The pressure against your clit stole your breath. A quiet groan of approval left his lips, while you felt a pulse between your legs.

You ground your hips upwards into his hand. A breath left your lips as you moved your hips. 

“Touch me, Zayne,” you breathed, you felt like you were in a dream. 

He paused, his breath hitching at your words. His gaze darkened, the green of his eyes barely visible, as he searched your face. His jaw clenched, his voice dropping, rough with restraint. “Say that again.”

You observed him, grabbing the drawstrings of his pants. “Touch me Zayne, …Please” Your voice came out small, pleading. 

He exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against your skin. He traced your pussy through your pants, his fingers burning through your pants—that you wished he’d taken off already. 

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing you.

You had never been undressed like this. And you wanted it, you wanted to be touched by him, to feel him grabbing you.

He gripped the waistband of your pants, adjusting his position to push them down your thighs, dropping them to the floor. You sat there in only black underwear while he sat across from you, still in his t-shirt and sweats. 

His attention was all yours, and it was thrilling. 

Your hands still gripped the blanket beneath you. Your feet were tucked next to your bottom. 

“Let me see you.” His voice was low and deliberate. His fingertips grazed your knee before applying the faintest pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting. “Spread your legs for me.”

You took in an unsteady breath, and you did it. 

His hands ran up your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, making your stomach tighten unexpectedly. The cool of his hands felt good against your soft skin. 

The cool air brushed against your panties making you aware of how wet your panties were. Zayne’s gaze met you there, shooting warmth through you.

Your breath hitched when his thumb pressed down on your clit through the fabric. His other hand was steady on your thigh, pressing your thighs open wider. The brush of his thumb up and down sparked a heat in your lower stomach.

You leaned your head back and started to rock under his touch. And then he kissed your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He groaned, licking and sucking your breasts with a slight scrape of teeth. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his hair. 

His mouth was so hot, and he kept licking you, how you’d never felt before. You felt like you could die. So, when he removed his mouth from your breasts, you thought you were going to scream. 

He removed your underwear, leaving them in a pile with the rest of your clothes, spreading your legs once more as his gaze fell between your thighs. 

His fingers glide gently along your inner thigh, his touch warm and deliberate, but never rushed. His gaze softens as he takes you in, his breathing slow, controlled—like he’s memorizing every part of you.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your skin, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that he won’t rush you.

When you nodded, his lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, searching—making sure.

"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee. "I want to make this good for you."

He wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and his head lowered between them. You shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, pleasure running through you. Each soft lap of your clit rolled through you. 

His arms held you so securely that you couldn’t move your hips while he licked you. As much as he said he wanted to take care of you, it felt like he was doing this for himself. 

“Zayne,” you moaned, digging your hands into his thick black hair. 

He swirled his tongue over your clit before sucking. His eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath him. His finger filled you, sending a tremor through you, with his mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, while his fingers moved in and out of you. And he did it with such ease, deep noises of satisfaction falling from his lips. 

He was taking his time, slowly working you out and the pressure was building up in you. You bucked your hips, feeling the heat growing throughout you. 

“Zayne…I need more,” you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered it with slow, calculated movements—his pace steady, yet devastating. He added another finger, stretching you further, his touch unrelenting as he pressed deeper, curling just right. The pleasure was unbearable in the best way, a wave crashing over you with no hope of escape.

Your breath hitched as his dark, heated gaze met yours, watching, reading every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. His free hand smoothed over your thigh, grounding you, soothing you—only to bring you higher moments later.

A choked-out plea left your lips, your body arching, back curving as the heat coursed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. You clenched around him, muscles tightening as that sharp, dizzying pleasure built to a breaking point.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, something possessive yet achingly tender. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

And then—release.

Your body trembled, pleasure crashing into you in relentless waves. He didn't stop, not right away, working you through it, coaxing every last aftershock from your sensitive body until you were completely spent.

You collapsed against the couch, fully fucked out, limbs heavy, your mind hazy with bliss. 

A shaky breath left your mouth, as you sat up slowly running your fingers through his hair.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. Something real.

His jasmine scent invaded your senses as his body wrapped around yours. You closed your eyes, surprised by the sudden upward jerk of him holding your naked body. You held him close as he carried you to the closed bedroom door. 

He laid you on the bed gently, holding your stare, he slipped off his shirt and sweatpants, your cheeks growing warmer even as he stood before you in his briefs. You glanced at his erection pressed through the fabric. He was so hard, and it was hot. And all for you. 

Goose bumps spread across your skin, as he opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom. 

“Do you want me?” he whispered, his gaze meeting yours, as he dropped his briefs. 

“Yes,” you breathed.

He crawled over you, kissing your stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered yours, so heavy. It made your skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed your neck, bracing his hands beside your head. 

Your fingers trailed the line of hair, you'd been desperate to touch. You hesitated, unsure how to touch him. 

Zayne felt your hesitation, and meeting your gaze, he whispered, “Your touch… I need it.”

Your heart fluttered with uncertainty, but you slid your hands down gripping his erection. His forehead fell on the side of your neck, encouraging you further. 

You wrapped your hand around his length. And he groaned. You ran your hand down to the base and all the way back up. 

"Don’t make me wait…please" you whispered in his ear, placing a kiss there.

"Tell me how much you need me,” he rasped, nipping at your neck.

"I’ve always needed you, Zayne," you said softly, dragging your hands through his hair. "I need you in every way… not just tonight."

His eyes met yours before kissing you while you stroked him again. Your breasts brushed against his chest, sending pleasure through you. 

“...Please” you breathed. 

He rolled onto the bed next to you, slipping off his briefs, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in his hands drawing your attention. You watched as he poised to tear it open, his gaze flicking to yours for confirmation.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute. He paused instantly, his eyes searching yours.

“I want to feel all of you,” you said, vulnerability lacing your tone, the weight of your trust hanging in the air.

His expression softened, his brow furrowing with both tenderness and concern.

“If it’s too much, just say the word,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a promise woven into each syllable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering as though to reassure you. Positioning himself at your entrance, his movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on you.

He took the head of his erection and rubbed it against your pussy. The tip caught your clit, causing your breath to hitch. He started to slip the head inside you, and it stung. A shudder rolled through you as you exhaled. Your fingers curled on his chest as he stayed still inside you, watching your face. 

He pushed deeper into you, his gaze dark and unwavering as he watched the way your lips parted, a soft whimper spilling free. The sound sent a shudder through his body, his breath coming out ragged as he struggled to hold himself together.

The stretch burned—a slow, intoxicating burn—one that sent heat rolling through your veins. You felt so full, every inch of him fitting into you as though he was meant to be there.

When he finally bottomed out, a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, pressing you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, his weight solid, grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He didn’t move right away.

Instead, he stayed buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him. Your arms wound around his neck, and he exhaled against your skin, his breath warm and uneven.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch air. He was everywhere, his presence consuming, intoxicating.

And then, he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

You gasped at the sensation, at the way he dragged against your walls with aching precision, each thrust filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

“You take it so good,” he praised, his voice thick, rough with something raw, something reverent. 

Every time his pelvis ground against yours, his head spread throughout you. The friction sent sparks up your spine, every movement of his body against yours pulling a new sound from your lips.

He was watching you, utterly captivated by the way you unraveled beneath him. His thrusts remained slow, deliberate, as if savoring every reaction, every little gasp and moan that escaped you.

His fingers traced down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping you tighter as his pace deepened, intensified. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “So beautiful for me,” he rasped, his voice low, dripping with need.

The words ran over your skin, filling you with warm satisfaction, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Zayne’s lips hovered above yours. With each slow thrust, they brushed yours lightly. 

His pace faltered, his rhythm stuttering as he fought for control, his breath ragged against your skin. But he didn’t dare rush—he wanted to feel every second of this, every shudder, every tremor that wracked your body beneath him.

“You’re mine… all mine,” he groaned, voice thick with possession, his body tensing, muscles drawn taut as he drove his hips deep one last time.

A choked moan escaped you as you shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His grip on you tightened as his own release followed, a deep, guttural sound leaving his lips as he buried himself fully, claiming every inch of you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, your hearts hammering in sync as he collapsed against you, his weight a comforting warmth pressing you into the mattress.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Zayne traced slow, lazy circles on your bare skin, grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality of you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath still uneven but calming, syncing with yours.

Then, in the quiet, his lips tipped into a smirk against your temple.

“So… does this mean I can finally call you my girlfriend?” His voice was lower now, teasing but laced with something real—something hopeful.

He pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Or do I have to seduce you all over again?”

His grin was cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you—like he needed this answer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a slow, tired smile spreading on your lips as you exhaled softly.

"I think you already have," you whispered.

The tension broke as he let out a satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And you didn’t want him to.

Not now.

Not ever.