Xavier notices before anyone else. He picks up on the tightness in your shoulders, the change in your breathing, how you can't seem to focus. When you get snippy he doesn't get mad. He knows you're trying so hard to keep calm. Without drawing attention, he'd get you away from the noise and help you calm down. Even if that means simply waiting and being quiet.

Xavier would never tell you to "just cope" or "to deal with it". He'd start bringing an extra of everything you use to help; noise-cancelling headphones/earbuds, earplugs, ear defenders, stimming tools. His calm presence and attitude would help your nervous system settle.

As a doctor, Zayne is initially intrigued by the term misophonia. He researches it, learning how it's not a current medical term, but a helpful one for sharing people's experience. He'd look into any and all ways to be helpful. He learns how for some, a lot of sounds that are a struggle are actually "silent" to most- like the buzz of lights, the hum of the appliances.

Zayne would replace anything that made a low hum in his office and home. He'd make sure cabinets and doors didn't slam shut on their own. If there was ever a triggering noise he couldn't prevent he would kindly ask, "Would you care to leave for a few minutes?" His care is practical, patient and consistent.

Rafayel would complain dramatically about "horrible noises assaulting your delicate ears" while immediately doing something about them. If someone nearby was chewing loudly, he'd distract you with dramatic conversation or whisk you away under the excuse that he suddenly had a "far better idea."

Rafayel would fill his studio with music you enjoy, fountains, or ocean sounds that mask unpleasant noises. He'd also become surprisingly protective if someone mocked your sensory issues, making it very clear that your comfort mattered more than their opinions.

Sylus would treat your misophonia triggers like important intelligence to remember. He'd remember every single trigger and whenever possible simply make it a non-issue so you could enjoy time without ear protection. He has the money to reserve any private space for you to be comfortable. He did also buy you the most expensive headphones with the best noise-cancellation tech.

Sylus would be gentle and patient. He'd reassure you that it's not a problem or a hassle to accommodate you. He wants to.

When you were younger Caleb at first teased you about it, but as soon as you had a panic attack he realized how serious this was. Over the years he has been your biggest advocate. Telling off bullies, your grandma and friends when they were teasing you. You and Caleb didn't have a name for it until you were older. Having a name was a relief because it made it easier to explain and talk about without it becoming a mouthful.

Anytime you became overstimulated/your misophonia was triggered he'd be there to offer headphones, a shoulder to cry on, someone to help distract you or simply sitting with you until the moment passed.

Valko would understand better than most. No, he doesn't have panic attacks or get affected the way you do, but he is more sensitive. He can hear what others naturally block out. Most times you never have to specify what noise was bothering you because he already knew. He would also already be planning to leave/move or already taking out noise-cancelling protection.

“too loud?” sylus lifts him up and sandwiches him between the both of you. kyros doesn’t answer, just shoves his face in the crook of his papa’s neck.

“they’ve been singing this verse for hours.” you groan, fingers plugged into your ears as well.

the music halts. enough for you to take a breath and sylus to ask,“why didn’t you tell them to stop?”

sylus flinches as the amp is adjusted and the strings start again.

“i can’t do that, luke is getting better!” you protest. you recall the moment a few weeks ago when he announced to the family that he will be learning a new skill— “i’ve always wanted to learn it, and it’s really important to me. so i’d like your support.” he said.

and so support him, you shall.

sylus gapes at you. “you want me to take the fall?”

“i’m being supportive!”

“and what if i want to be supportive too?”

“YOU never cook me sausage on an open flaaame.”

“sylus!” you exclaim, shoving him forward. kyros yelps and you apologize to him.

“please, please, please.” you beg, peppering his jaw with speckled kisses. “please— i just walked by and told him to keep it up.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose. “sweetie…”

“i know, i know.” you’re going to sob if you hear that riff one more time. “please, for me! for your poor, darling boy…” you caress kyros’s back.

sylus squeezes his eyes shut as loud feedback pierces his ears, the microphone now amplifies lucian’s voice. “A, B, C, D—,”

“yeah, lucian!” cheer the big twins, as they sing along. “E, F, G! H—“

“papa…!” kyros kicks his feet against sylus’s ribs in frustration.

“okay, okay,” he relents. he turns to you, “but you take the next fall.”

“yes! yes,” you lean up on your tip toes to kiss his bottom lip. “now go!”

he hands you kyros and walks into the fray with squared shoulders and a purposeful stride.

waiting with bated breaths, you and your son pray for his success as if it was a war he’d gone off to fight. holding out for hope that a flag may fly to proclaim your win.

“hey, boss— HEY!”

there’s a small commotion. the pop of a mic. the static of a speaker. and then, three voices complaining at the same time.

sylus walks out, dusting off his hands and calling behind him, “i have taken you to Bangladesh.”

and in another stern breath, “lucian, bedtime.”

“okey,” breathes the little one, trailing after his fathers legs and catching a finger to hold.

you catch up to them with a happy kyros in arms as you all ascend the stairs together.

you open your mouth to thank him, but he’s already shaking his head.

“kieran,” he says to you like it’s an assignment. “he’s been talking about getting a wolf-dog.”

“oh, yeah, i remember—“

he stops just at the threshold of your children’s bedroom. when kyros and lucian waddle in, he tells you. “no.”

you pout, because he’s been so excitedly sending you listings of puppies online recently. “but—“

“no,” he says, words final. a heavy sigh is enough to show you how stressed he actually is about it. “i’ve had enough of dealing with dogs.”

you frown, heart aching at the thought of letting kieran down. “sy…”

he kisses you quiet, pressing tenderly and sweetly like the treacherous snake he is. “thank you, sweetie.”

you dont get a chance to bite him before he’s walking into the bedroom to start reading a story.

the bass from the main stage doesn’t just hit your ears; it vibrates straight through the thin soles of your sandals, humming up into your ribs. the beach concert was a damn neon-lit mass of salt-sticky skin, cheap coconut rum, and the suffocating heat of a thousand bodies swaying in tandem under the humid night sky. you’d left your friends screaming lyrics into the air, slipping away to the stall by the tree line to grab a refill.

now, cup held loosely in hand, you’re trying to wedge your way back through the shifting wall of people by the shoreline. it’s like trying to navigate a labyrinth of warm shoulders and fucking sweat. you take one blind step past a group of guys laughing too loud, and your foot catches on an uneven dip in the sand. 

you stumble forward, your shoulder colliding with something solid. 

fuck-

the iced drink sloshes violently over the rim of your plastic cup, splashing right across a broad, pale chest.

“shit, what the fuck—”

the curse is muttered under a breath that smells faintly of bitter lime and cheap gin, the tone completely flat, deadpan, and instantly recognizable. you blink, steadying yourself, and your eyes travel upward—past the dark cargo jorts low on his hips, past the lean, surprisingly cut lines of a pale torso, and over a thin silver chain resting against his collarbone.

it’s xavier.

his sunshades are perched crookedly in his messy ash-blonde hair, reflecting the distant strobe lights, and his diamond blue eyes are narrowed down at you in sheer annoyance. what is he doing here? he looks entirely out of place, a pale ghost haunting the edges of a party he clearly didn't want to invite himself to. a black stud glints in his earlobe as he tilts his head.

xavier stares at you. the slow blink of his eyelashes makes him look like a dazed bunny caught in a trap, his brain visibly short-circuiting as he processes the fact that someone from the university—let alone a blockmate he has actively avoided eye contact with for an entire semester—is standing right in his personal space.

he doesn't know what to do with his hands. he settles for crossing his arms over his wet chest, a pathetic attempt to shield himself from you, though it only serves to flex the skinny muscle of his biceps.

“you,” he mutters, his voice a low, monotonous drone that barely cuts through the thumping bass. he sounds like he's reading a script he hates. “you're from the block. the one who sits in the back.”

“and you're the one who sits in the front and doesn't talk at all,” you shoot back, not missing a beat. you let out a mocking little laugh, tilting your head up to match his gaze. you don't offer an apology for the sticky alcohol now dripping down his sternum. instead, you eye him up and down with an amused smile. “wow, look at you. i didn't know the block phantom actually possessed a pair of legs, let alone came outside. who dragged you out of your cave, xavier?”

his jaw tenses, a tiny twitch beneath his pale skin. 

he hates this. he hates the way you look at him like he’s a strange specimen under a microscope. he's used to being invisible, a background character who fades into the chalkboard grease of lecture halls. having your attention focused entirely on him feels like an interrogation.

“nobody,” xavier looks away, his eyes tracking the dark horizon of the ocean instead of facing you. “i came because i wanted to. not that it's any of your business. you should go back to your friends. you’re blocking the breeze.”

“ouch. friendly as always,“ you stepped closer just to watch the way his shoulders go rigid. you take a slow sip from your half-empty cup. “i'm surprised you even know what a breeze feels like, considering you usually look like you live in a basement. what's the matter? surprised to see me here?”

xavier's eyes flick back to you, cold and sardonic, though there's a faint tightness in his throat as he swallows. “i'm surprised you're capable of walking in a straight line. you spilled your drink on me.”

“consider it a baptism into the real world,” you say, laughing softly at his sour expression. “but seriously. you? at a beach concert? alone? it's a little pathetic, don't you think?”

xavier’s fingers dig slightly into the skin of his arms. he wants to tell you to go away. he wants to push past you and disappear into the dark, back to the quiet apartment where nobody looks at him, nobody mocks him, and nobody makes his chest feel this tight. but his feet feel heavy in the sand, anchored by the novelty of someone actually speaking to him.

“i'm fine by myself,” he says, his voice dropping into that familiar, stubborn tone. ”leave me alone.”

he turns on his heel, his large cargo jorts swishing heavily against his shins as he tries to melt back into the shadows. it’s his instinctual move—the clean break, the quiet exit. but you don’t let him. your sandals crunch in the sand right beside him, matching his stride.

“so are you seriously alone?” your voice drifts over his shoulder, light and entirely unbothered by his glaring aura of hostility. “like, actually by yourself? do you even have friends, xavier?”

the question bites, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the sand ahead. he does have friends. zayne and rafayel exist in his orbit, but the mere thought of zayne sitting on a humid beach with a plastic cup of cheap alcohol is absurd, and rafayel would have spent the entire night complaining about the quality of the crowd or the salt ruining his clothes. they aren't the type for this. they don't belong in a chaotic mass of college kids, and neither does he. but explaining that requires too many words, too much vulnerability.

“i have them,” he mutters, almost robotic as he steers away from the main shoreline. “they just have better things to do than stand around in the mud.”

you just chuckle, a mocking sound that follows him as he leads the way toward a darker, quieter corner of the resort. the heavy thump of the bass begins to muffle, filtered through a thick screen of tall bamboo stalks that sway lazily in the night breeze. it’s a designated smoking area, tucked away from the main pavilion. a couple of empty wooden crates serve as makeshift stools, and right now, the little pocket of shadows is completely deserted.

“then, why do you come here anyway? are you here to get some girls?” another snicker escapes past your lips. 

xavier then turns around to face you, his pale chest still gleaming slightly from the alcohol you spilled on him. his diamond blue eyes narrow under the faint amber glow of a single hanging bulb.

“[name], why are you suddenly all up in my ass?” he asks, the profanity sounding almost clinical coming from his voice. “don't you have a bunch of people waiting for you? you're... better off bothering some other guy who actually wants to, like, talk to you.“

he reaches into the deep pocket of his cargo jorts, his fingers pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a cheap plastic lighter. you watch him, momentarily stunned, as he slides a cigarette between his lips. the small flick of the flint illuminates the curves of his face—the boyish, bunny-like slope of his nose, the long eyelashes—contrasting sharply with the way he draws in the smoke. you hadn't expected this. the quiet blockmate who sits in the front row and never raises his voice actually smokes. he feels less like a flat, boring caricature of a loner and more like a puzzle with missing pieces.

you clear your throat, tilting your head as he exhales a thin, grey stream of smoke into the humid air, his eyes tracking the cloud as it disappears into the bamboo.

“well, my friends are occupied, and it's getting kind of boring over there,” you say, taking a step closer into his small sanctuary. a teasing smile plays on your lips. “honestly, it's way more entertaining to stand here and watch you squirm. so, what's the deal then? do you always hide out in corners like this? oh, i know why—it's a trick to attract girls, no? have you ever even experienced getting hit on by a girl before?” 

xavier takes another sharp drag, the tip of the cigarette glowing a fierce orange. he isn't used to this kind of attention—the piercing gaze of a girl who looks at him like he's something to be unraveled for amusement. his throat feels dry, because the truth is humiliating: almost no one approaches him, almost no one talks to him, and the few times women have looked his way, he had frozen up so badly they simply walked away, assuming he was stuck-up or broken.

“fuck off.” 

xavier shifts his weight, looking anywhere but at your face after pocketing his sunshades. “i'm not that type of guy. so, just leave me alone.”

he holds the cigarette awkwardly between his fingers, the ash growing dangerously long because he’s entirely too stiff to tap it off. his knuckles are white against the paper filter, and the silence between you only stretches, punctuated by the distant muffled thump of a techno remix playing by the shore.

“you're not that type of guy?” you repeat, stepping fully into the small bamboo enclosure. “what type? the type who knows how to hold a conversation, or the type who actually knows what to do when a girl hits on him?”

xavier squeezes his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, his chest rising and falling in a shallow breath. he takes another drag of his cigarette just to give his mouth something to do, but he inhales too fast.

“ghk—!”

he chokes.

it’s a pathetic, muffled cough into his fist, his whole pale torso spasming slightly as the smoke hits the back of his throat. it makes his blue eyes instantly water, looking away immediately and cursing silently in his mind. you didn't fail to catch the way his ears were burning a hot crimson.

“i'm fine,” he swallows hard, trying to force the monotonous drone back into his vocal cords, but it comes out sounding shaky. “the wind changed.”

“there is no wind, xavier,” you cross your arms, leaning your hip against one of the bamboo stalks. “jesus, you really don't know what to do with yourself, do you? are you seriously this clueless around women?”

“i-i'm not fucking clueless,” 

a normal experienced guy would laugh it off, make a smooth joke, or step into your space to push the tension back onto you. xavier does none of that. he just freezes, staring at his cargo jorts like the faded denim holds the answers to the universe. “i just... don't see the point. people are loud. you're loud.”

“i'm standing right here and talking in a normal voice,” you point out, taking a deliberate step closer. the scent of your fruity drink mixes with the bitter tobacco smoke hanging around him. “xavier, look at me when i'm talking to you.”

his eyes flick up, entirely against his will, caught off guard by the authority in your tone. up close, his features really do look like a startled bunny—wide, blinking eyes, a soft, trembling lower lip that he bites down on to keep from speaking. he looks so incredibly defenseless for someone who just told you to fuck off two minutes ago.

“...what do you want from me? i don't have anything to say to you. you're just... doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“making fun of me,” xavier tightly grips his own upper arms again, his black piercings catching the light as he ducks his head. “you're just bored and you want to see how long it takes for me to look fucking stupid. go back to the beach.”

“tch—hahahaha!“

the sound of your laughter breaks the quiet of the bamboo enclosure, echoing over the distant thumping of the bass. you actually have to hold your stomach, tilting your head back because god, xavier is a riot. his reactions are better than any entertainment on the main stage! the panic vibrating off his frame makes a wicked little thrill dance in your chest. you want to toy with him until he completely snaps.

“okay, okay, look,” you say, catching your breath but keeping that mocking smile fixed on your lips. “i'll leave you alone. i’ll walk away right now, but... you have to answer just one more question for me.”

xavier watches you out of the corner of his wet, glass-pink eyes, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. he doesn't say anything, which you take as a green light.

“are you a virgin?” you ask, leaning in slightly, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “because honestly, xavier? you look and act exactly like one. oh my god, are you really a virgin?”

you expect him to choke again. you expect him to stutter, to turn away, or to give you another defensive non-answer. but instead...

“yes,” xavier shoots back instantly, his voice cracking slightly on the vowel but sharp enough to slice through the humid air. he doesn't hesitate. he stares right into your eyes, his diamond blue gaze dark and completely cornered. “i am a fucking virgin. are you happy now? is that what you wanted to hear? so go away. go find some experienced guy who actually knows what the fuck he's doing and bother him instead.”

you blink. 

oh. oh. 

he really is... a total virgin, huh. 

you hadn't actually expected him to just lay his cards on the table like that, so exposed and utterly pathetic in his honesty. it leaves you momentarily speechless, looking at the sharp lines of his collarbone, the flushed skin of his bare chest.

but, a slow grin crawls back onto your face. you decide to press his buttons harder. “hmm. i don't believe you.”

xavier’s eyebrows knit together into a deep frown. “what the fuck do you mean you don't believe me?”

“i mean, i have to at least find out for myself, right?”

the air catches in xavier's throat, his eyes widening into pools of pure shock. he stutters, his lips moving a few times before any sound actually comes out.

“...what?” he croaks, his gaze darting frantically between your eyes and your mouth. “w-what did you just say? repeat that. i must've... i-i misheard you or something—”

“i said, i want to feel your shape, xavier.”

what the... fuck.

xavier suddenly chokes on his own saliva, a harsh, pathetic cough rattling through his chest. his hand trembles so violently that the half-smoked cigarette slips right from his fingers, tumbling into the dark sand below, its orange ember dying instantly. he doesn't even notice. his mind is entirely fried, the blue of his eyes completely wild as he stares down at you, his back pressed so hard into the bamboo that the stalks groan behind him.

“you're... you're fucking messing with me,” he breathes out, “you're really... you're really this committed to making a fool out of me, aren't you?”

you chuckle sweetly, “i'm not messing with you, xavier?”

your eyes slowly track downward, leaving his flushed face and trailing across the expanse of his shirtless torso. you're searching for something, and it doesn't take long to find it. there, nestled beneath the faded denim of his cargo jorts, is the unmistakable silhouette of a growing tent. it twitches slightly under your gaze, like a physical betrayal of how affected he actually is.

xavier notices where you're looking and his brain completely short-circuits. “i-i don't... i don't even know what you want from me, so—okay, what the fuck, what the fuck—”

his voice cuts off into an unintentional high-pitched whimper as your hand reaches out and presses directly against the apex of his tent.

“ah.. nh...”

it’s a pathetic, needy little sound that slips past his lips before he can stop it. your fingers curl slightly, deliberately playing with the stiff shape through the thick denim, testing his weight. xavier’s hand instantly fly to your shoulder, his long fingers gripping your skin tightly—not to push you away, but because his knees have suddenly gone completely weak. 

you stop the movement for a second, looking up at him with a look of mock concern. “oh my, xavier... you've been hard?”

he tries desperately to catch his breath, his eyes closing tight before snapping open again. and he presses himself even harder against the groaning bamboo wall behind him, trying to swallow the hot lump in his throat.

“i-i'm a guy, okay?” he stammers out, his monotonous drone completely shattered into a defensive whine. “and... and you... you know you're really pretty, and you're—you're fucking hot, so... of course my body is going to—to—”

“how long?” you cut him off, your voice dripping with teasing authority while your thumb slowly strokes the length of his twitching bulge. “how long have you been hard for me?”

his head snaps to the side, his chin tucking into his shoulder as he desperately avoids your eyes. the deep, burning crimson has spread all the way down his neck, coloring his pale chest in splotchy, beautiful patches of sheer embarrassment. he looks so small, so incredibly tense and cute as he writhes weakly under your palm.

“s-since... fuck,” he stutters, a small, frustrated sob caught in the back of his throat as your fingers twitch against him. his eyelashes flutter rapidly, wet with panicked tears. “since like... since you started talking to me, okay? since you—i couldn't—i couldn't help it. please stop... no, don't stop, just—ah...”

the weight of him expands under your palm, hot and straining fiercely against the thick denim of his cargo jorts. you let out a soft exaggerated gasp, pulling your lips into a mockingly surprised pucker.

“oh, wow,” you murmur, your fingers spreading out to measure him through the fabric. “so you're actually pretty big, huh? look at you, xavier.”

the praise makes xavier’s head roll back against the bamboo stalk, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over with a heavy daze. the fierce crimson on his cheeks makes the blue of his eyes look blindingly bright, almost silver under the amber bulb. he looks down at you through his long lashes, lips parting as he draws in a shaky breath.

“y-you... you really think so?” 

”i do,” you coo, giving him a gentle, firm squeeze that makes his hips involuntarily twitch forward into your touch. “does anybody else know how big you actually are, xavier? have you shown anyone?”

xavier frantically shakes his head no, the messy ash-blonde strands falling into his eyes. “n-no... nobody,” he stammers, “nobody else has ever... ever touched me like this. i told you, i'm—i'm a virgin.”

”poor thing,” you slowly slide your hand up and down his length, snickering under your breath.

and the moment the words poor thing leave your lips, the bulge underneath your hand twitches violently, a thick pulse that you feel right against your palm. xavier lets out a ragged hitch of his breath, his eyes snapping wide open as a jolt of pleasure shoots straight to his groin. he looks at you like a starved creature, his bottom lip trembling as he swallows hard, trying to force his tangled tongue to work.

“s-say... say that again,” he pleads, his voice cracking. his grip on your shoulder tightens, pulling you a fraction of an inch closer to his shirtless chest.

“say what?” 

“th-that... what you just—just called me,” he stutters harder, his pale torso completely tense, a thin sheen of sweat making his collarbone glisten under the light. “c-call me... call me a poor thing again. please. it—it felt...”

he can't even finish the sentence, but you strangely find yourself obeying him anyway. there's something entirely intoxicating about seeing the unapproachable, sardonic block loner reduced to a shivering pathetic mess right in front of you just from a few words.

“poor thing,” you whisper sweetly, leaning in until your breath brushes against his burning ear. “such a poor, pathetic little bunny. you're so sensitive, xavier. look how worked up you are just from me touching your pants.”

”oh, f-fuck... ah...” his head slowly shakes from side to side against the bamboo wall, his entire body trembling as you continue to rhythmically palm him through the cargo jorts. 

“you like being called a poor thing?” you whisper, pressing your body against his trembling frame to pin him thoroughly. “do you want to be called something else, hm? perhaps a... good boy?”

“y-yes... ah! please—” his fingers dig into the meat of your shoulders, desperate for anchor, his knuckles turning stark white. “call me—call me that... please, say it... just say it, i—i want to hear it, please...”

“no.”

the denial breaks him. and for all that he is, he fucking lets out a pathetic sob, his head thrashing from side to side against the bamboo wall. he becomes a completely unhinged, moaning, begging mess right beneath you—just a pathetic starved virgin writhing under your touch.

“please... please,” he wails softly, a breathless moan tearing from his throat as his lower lip trembles violently. “don't be mean... don't be mean to me, i'll—i'll do whatever you want... just call me it... please, tell me i'm—tell me i'm a good boy...”

seeing him reduced to such a shivering, responsive wreck is too sweet to resist. you let your hand resume its punishing pace, and lean right into his burning ear. “such a good boy, xavier. look how well you take it for me. such a sweet, good boy. like that?”

“ngh—!!”

xavier goes completely rigid.

his eyes roll back into his head, his eyelids fluttering as his entire torso spasms violently. a loud, choked-out moan tears from his chest, echoing against the bamboo as he begins to fucking cum right through the thick fabric of his cargo jorts.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fumck—”

his hips slam into your hand over and over in helpless, uncoordinated jerks. he spasms like a dying bunny, helpless to stop the overwhelming waves of friction. and because he’s a little virgin, because he has held everything in for so long, the release is incredibly violent and lasts a bit too long, his body continuously tightening and pulsing against your palm while he stutters and moans incoherently into the dark air.

“shit, xavier, it's not stopping yet?”

“f-fuck... ah, ah... n-no, it's—it's too much... hngh... please...” 

slowly, the violent tremors begin to subside, leaving him slumped weakly against the bamboo, his legs visibly shaking as if they can barely support his weight. oh god, he's so fucking embarrassed.

you slowly draw your hand back, tilting your head as you inspect your palm. the front of his cargo jorts is completely ruined, a dark and sticky-wet stain soaking through the stiff denim.

xavier’s hand leave your shoulder, his fingers trembling so violently he can barely coordinate them as he slides a palm up his face, pushing his messy ash-blonde hair back from his forehead. he presses his hand over his eyes, his breathing still coming in ragged gaps that rattle his throat.

“oh fuck,” he breathes into his skin, the word muffled, trembling, and saturated with a wave of humiliation. “fuck... i didn't... i'm sorry.”

he drops his hand from his face, his diamond blue eyes looking completely wide and glossy with a pinkish rim of pure embarrassment. he looks away from you, staring desperately at the dark sand beneath his feet.

“i didn't mean to... to do that,” he mutters, though it's entirely thin and cracked at the edges. “i got... carried away. i told you it was my... my first time doing anything like this. i didn't know it would... fuck. i'm sorry for cumming too quick.”

“you really are funny,” you let out a sweet chuckle, entirely unbothered by his panic as you step back a fraction of an inch, your eyes trailing over his shivering frame. you turn around lazily, stepping toward one of the high, makeshift wooden crates tucked against the bamboo wall. with an easy grace, you hop up, sitting against the rough edge of the wood.

“well, since you ruined the mood by finishing so fast, you're going to have to make up for it.”

xavier blinks, his long eyelashes fluttering rapidly as his brain stalls out yet again. he looks at you, eyebrows knitting together into a vulnerable frown that makes him look like a lost child. “make... make up for it? what do you mean?”

“i mean exactly what i said,” you murmur, leaning back slightly against the bamboo behind you, parting your knees just enough to send a message. “it's my turn now. you need to give me something.”

xavier’s mouth parts, a breathless gasp escaping his lips. he stands looking at you like you’ve just spoken a language he has never heard before. “i... i don't know what you want. i don't have anything to give you.”

“use your hands, xavier,” you point a finger down at yourself. “put your fingers in me.”

“w-what?” he stammers, his voice cracking loudly as the splotchy red flush on his chest flares up with renewed heat. “you... want me to do what? i can't—i don't know how to do something like that. i've never—i've never touched a girl before. what if i mess it up? what if i hurt you?”

“shush,” you pat the edge of the wooden crate, tilting your chin down. “come here, don't make me repeat myself.”

he looks at you through those long eyelashes, his body frozen in place for three agonizing seconds before the invisible leash pulls him forward. his large cargo jorts swish heavily against his knees as he drags his feet through the dark sand, moving with the reluctant obedience of a stray dog that knows it's about to get scolded. he stops right between your thighs, his torso glistening with a fresh sheen of anxious sweat under the low amber light.

“i'll guide you,” you say softly, your voice dipping into that patronizing tone that treats him like the complete novice he is.

without breaking eye contact, your fingers reach down to the fly of your shorts. the metallic click of the button snapping open sounds loud in the small bamboo clearing, followed by the slow scratch of the zipper sliding down.

zzzzzip.

xavier’s gaze drops instantly, drawn down by the gravity of his own terror, and then he stares at the soft curve of your exposed lower belly. he looks so incredibly flustered, his throat working in a visible gulp. he realizes, with a sudden wave of panic, that he is about to see a girl's pussy in real life for the first time in his years of pathetic existence. not on a screen, not in a textbook, but right here, breathing and warm, under a resort light.

“hey, i told you,” he stammers out, his voice a shaky, thin thread that lacks even a fraction of his earlier sardonic bite. “i'm... i'm not going to be good at this. you're going to... you're going to hate it. don't expect anything from me.”

you don't even bother to acknowledge his miserable little disclaimer. instead, you lean forward slightly, your fingers wrapping around his trembling wrists, forcing his cold hands down until they rest against the waistband of your unbuttoned denim.

“take them off. panties, too. do it together.”

xavier lets out a faint gasp, a breathless “fuck...” slipping past his lips before he can choke it back. he looks at your hands on his wrists like you're forcing him into a crime, but his fingers instinctively curl into the fabric anyway. he’s so utterly malleable under your authority it’s almost laughable.

with hands that shake so violently they repeatedly snag against the rough denim, he begins to push the material down your hips. the fabric bunches around your upper thighs, and he moves with an agonizing slowness, as if he's terrified that any sudden movement will cause you to vanish or, worse, laugh at him again. his eyes trace the expanse of your thighs as they are slowly unveiled.

but as the dark cotton of your underwear follows the denim down to your knees, xavier’s head abruptly jerks upward. his eyes snap to your face, wide and frantic, deliberately forcing his gaze to stay glued to your eyes. he absolutely refuses to look directly there yet.

slowly, you part your thighs, the smooth skin of your legs brushing against the coarse fabric of his long jorts as you widen the space between you. “look at it, xavier,” you murmur, “look at it, and put a finger inside.”

xavier squeezes his eyes shut, his throat moving in a heavy, desperate gulp. for a second, he just stands there in the dark, his hands twitching helplessly in the air as if he’s praying for the bamboo stalks to swallow him whole. and when his eyelids finally flutter open, his gaze drops down. 

he looks, staring directly into the slick, parted heat of your pussy. a wave of heat surges up his cheeks, turning his ears a bright crimson under the bulb. he looks less like a man and more like a completely overwhelmed creature that has just stumbled upon something sacred and terrifying. his lips part, a small, shaky exhale slipping past his teeth.

“it's... it's so pretty,” he whispers under his breath, the praise slipping out unfiltered, raw and thoroughly pathetic in its utter lack of cool. it’s the kind of line only an absolute virgin would utter while staring between a girl's legs.

you reach down to wrap your fingers around his trembling wrist once more. “now don't just stare at it. put a finger in.”

you guide his hand forward, his long index finger pressing hesitantly against the wet entrance of your womanhood. xavier flinches slightly at the sudden contact, his other hand flying out in a blind, clumsy reflex to grip your knee. 

with a slow nudge of your hand, his finger slides past your lower lips, sinking into the tight, tight heat of your walls.

fuck. fuck, fuck.

the moment the slick warmth swallows his finger to the knuckle, xavier’s eyes widens, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat. under the damp denim of his cargo jorts, the ruined bulge of his erection twitches shamelessly, growing harder and tighter against his stomach even though he literally just came through his clothes minutes ago. 

“is this right?” his finger is stiff, twitching awkwardly inside you without any real rhythm because he has absolutely no clue what he’s doing. “am i doing it okay? tell me if it hurts, or if it's–shit you're so fucking warm.”

“you're just holding it there, xavier. that's not fingering,” you mock gently, your thumb pressing down on the back of his wrist to force an upward hooking motion. “curve your finger. like this. curl it up inside me.”

“l-like this?” he croaks, his pupils completely dilated as he tries to mimic the movement. his hand is so tense the tendons are standing out along his forearm, his knuckles white where he’s gripping your knee. he hooks his finger clumsily, catching against your sensitive walls, and the sudden wet squelch of his own awkward movements makes his face burn twice as hot. “like that? are you—are you liking it?”

“i'd like it a lot more if you weren't moving like a broken thing. do it faster, and deeper. unless this is really the absolute best those clumsy fingers of yours can manage?”

“fuck... shut up,” 

before you can even laugh at his little display of temper, his free hand—the one anchoring him to your knee—moves with a sudden bruising grip. his long fingers dig firmly into the soft flesh of your thigh, and with a sharp, heavy heave of his arm, xavier lifts your leg high. he hoists it all the way up onto his shoulder, forcing your thighs to splay open in a completely exposed angle.

the suddenness of the movement makes your breath hitch, your fingers instantly digging into the rough wood of the crate to keep your balance as the cool night air hits the absolute dampest, most intimate part of you. from this point, you are entirely laid bare under the amber bulb, a prize splayed out for the most pathetic pervert on campus to see.

xavier doesn't look away. now that his insecure temper has been piqued, his eyes are fixed entirely on your pussy. he leans over you, his chest casting a long shadow across your lap, the silver chain around his neck swinging like a pendulum as he repositions his hand.

“you want it faster?” he mutters, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. “fine.”

he drives his index finger back into you, burying it all the way to the base of his knuckle. a loud, squelching wet sound echoes clearly over the rustling bamboo stalks as his hand begins to piston into your heat. it’s still incredibly clumsy—his rhythm is erratic, a frantic, uncoordinated jerking motion that has absolutely no baseline experience behind it—but the force of his desperation makes up for what he lacks in technique. he's pushing into you with everything he has, his knuckle bumping repeatedly against your sensitive outer lips.

“wow,” you gasp out, a genuine shudder ripping through your frame as the friction starts to build. “look at you go. you're actually starting to get a hang of it, bunny.”

jesus, you are so goddamn wet. the sound of his own clumsy finger sloshing around inside you is so loud, so incredibly lewd, that the heavy tent underneath his cargo jorts throbs with a renewed tightness. he is so hard it physically hurts, a thick drop of pre-cum soaking further into the stained denim as he pins you down further.

the heat between your thighs is beginning to build into something thick and undeniable, like a buzzing current of pleasure that ripples right up your spine every time xavier’s clumsy finger drives home. it’s getting incredibly hard to maintain that mocking little smirk you’ve been wearing like armor. your teeth dig sharply into your bottom lip, trying to anchor the ragged gasps threatening to slip past your throat. you absolutely cannot let this isolated, virgin blockmate see that his zero-experience is actually working on you. it would be completely humiliating to lose your grip on the reins now.

you need to remind him exactly who is running this little thing.

“two,” you breathe out, your voice a little tighter, a little more strained than you intended. “put two fingers in, xavier. one isn't doing anything.”

xavier's hand freezes dead inside you, his eyes widening into flustered circles as he looks up from your wet folds.

“two?” he looks at his own hand, then back up at your parted thighs. “but... you're already so tight. i don't think they'll fit. what if i stretch you too much? what if it—”

“shut up and just do it.”

he gulps, the silver necklace clicking against his collarbone as he slowly, awkwardly wedges his middle finger right alongside his index. the sudden thick expansion against your walls makes your hips twitch involuntarily on the wooden crate. xavier doesn't even wait for you to lecture him this time; driven by a sudden, greedy curiosity, he begins to piston his hand back into your heat.

squelch.

“~ah!”

a loud genuine moan slips right past your teeth, echoing sharply against the rustling stalks above.

instead of pulling back, xavier plunges his hand deeper, driving those two fingers all the way to the hilt, his thumb bumping hard against your clit with a clumsy pressure that makes your toes curl into the air. 

“more,” you whimpered, the teasing girl completely vanishing, replaced by a needy shivering mess that’s entirely at the mercy of a boy who didn't even know what a pussy looked like twenty minutes ago. “put... put three, xavier. put three in.”

“th-three?” he gasps out, his knuckles slick with your own arousal as he hovers at the entrance. “are you sure? that's—that's too much, you're already so wet and, and, i don't—”

losing the last shred of your patience, you reach down and blindly grab his wrist to yank him forward.

with a low grunt that sounds entirely unlike him, he forces his ring finger right into the tight seam of your pussy. “shit—what the fuck...”

the brutal stretch of three fingers burying themselves inside you all at once catches you completely off guard. you let out a helpless whimper, your back arching off the wooden crate as your fingers claw desperately into the rough grain of the seat. 

the sloshing sound inside you is getting even more out of hand, a wet rhythmic squelch that is echoeing obscenely. and he’s doing it. the guy who looks like he’d apologize to a door if he bumped into it, is currently burying three thick fingers into your heat. 

but for someone who is supposedly delivering the pleasure here, he is making an absolute fool of himself. xavier is whining. actually whining. every time he shoves his hand forward, a strained noise hitches in the back of his throat, his soft boyish features contorting into a pained, pathetic scowl as if he’s the one being subjected to some kind of beautiful torture. his forehead is pressed nearly against your hoisted knee, his chest heaving so hard the silver chain is practically rattling against his collarbone.

you let out a breathless chuckle, fingers digging into his sweat-slicked shoulder just to feel the way his skinny muscles twitch under your touch. look at him. he looks like a pathetic, cornered bunny who is entirely too greedy for his own good.

“what's the matter, xavi? do you want to say something to me?”

in response to your mocking, xavier lets out a frustrated grunt. he drives his three fingers brutally deep, all the way to the hilt until his damp knuckles press hard against your entrance, and curls them upward with a sudden hook.

”~ah! shit!”

you squirm violently on the wooden crate, your toes clawing into the dark air while your hips involuntarily rise to meet his hand. 

xavier pants heavily, his blue eyes completely glazed over and dark with a drunken daze. he looks down at where his hand is buried inside you, his lips trembling as he tries to swallow the thick knot of embarrassment in his throat. “i-i don't... i'm unsure if i can say it,” he stammers out, his voice a shaky cracked whisper. “am i allowed to say it?”

you can barely even find your voice to answer him, your chest heaving as you give a wordless impatient nod. your brain is entirely too focused on the fact that his long fingers are moving way too loudly inside you.

then, without an ounce of warning, xavier leans in close, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of the pulse in your neck. the movement forces you to stretch your leg wider, higher.

“...can i eat you out?”

the whisper is so incredibly soft, so completely unpolished, that it catches you entirely off guard. your eyes widen, your heart doing a sudden flip in your chest. the absolute audacity of this virgin. he’s still actively pistoning his fingers inside you, making you stretch and leak all over his knuckles, and he has the nerve to ask that?

“say it fucking properly.” you gasp out, trying desperately to claw back your sense of control because you refuse to let him see how much the question actually rattled you. “say it like an actual guy, you dork.”

xavier blinks, trying his absolute best to shake off the thick, pleasure-drunk fog clouding his brain. he doesn't pull his hand out; instead, he uses his grip on your knee to hoist himself up, leaning over your body more until his flushed, beautiful face is bare inches from yours. his messy ash-blonde hair brushes against your forehead, his dilated blue pupils locked onto your lips.

“can i eat your pussy?”

fuck.

he says it with the most ridiculous combination of innocence and desperation. it’s a line that should sound smooth, but coming from his trembling splotchy-red lips, it just sounds like a starved creature begging for a scrap of food. and the worst part? your body absolutely eats it up.

before you can even think of a mocking comeback, a thick hot gush of white liquid sloshes out from deep inside you, sliding slowly down his fingers and over your exposed thighs. your eyes roll completely inward, a loud, shattered moan tearing from your throat as your back arches entirely off the wooden crate. you shake helplessly under his touch, your walls clamping down around his three fingers in a pulsating rhythm as you come.

fuck, how did you come this fast? he’s just a fucking loser virgin. a loner who doesn't talk to anyone. how the hell did he just reduce you to a shivering, dripping wreck with nothing but a few clumsy fingers and a pathetic question?

xavier completely cuts off your trail of thought. he slowly pulls his three fingers straight out of your heat. the sudden emptiness makes you whimper, but the movement allows a fresh wave of your sticky, white cum to spill out, dripping lazily down the skin of your seat.

his fingers are dripping with your wetness, his breath coming in short, pathetic puffs as he stares down at the mess he just made. he looks like an absolute freak, an innocent bunny who just realized he has a taste for blood, unable to believe his own eyes.

but the next words that slip past his lips completely seal his fate as a total pervert.

“guess i'll take this as a chance to lick you clean,” he looks up at you through his long eyelashes, his lower lip quivering with that same pathetic timidity. “going to eat you out now. okay?”

you’re slumped against the wooden crate, chest heaving and trying to pull oxygen into lungs that feel entirely too tight. your brain is still a scrambled mess of white noise from the climax you just handed over to a fucking virgin.

and speaking of the devil—or, well, the pathetic bunny in jorts—he’s already moving.

xavier drops heavily onto his knees, the dark sand crunching under his shins. his torso leans forward, long fingers spreading out to grip the flesh of your thighs with a sudden, possessive weight. his knuckles are still slick with your release, and his diamond blue eyes are completely wide again, staring at the pink ruined seam of your core like he’s about to perform open-heart surgery without a license.

slowly, hesitantly, xavier tilts his head. his long eyelashes flutter as he leans in, the tip of his tongue darting out to gently and awkwardly lick the excess white cum dripping from your lower lips.

he flinches at the taste, his ears turning a fresh violent shade of maroon. you can see the nervousness radiating off him; he looks up at you through his messy ash-blonde fringe, his eyes wide and seeking validation like a dog that just accidentally knocked over a vase. the contrast is hilarious. he’s the one who made the perverted request, but he has absolutely no blueprint for how to actually do it.

you open your mouth, a mocking jibe sitting right on the tip of your tongue, ready to dismantle whatever is left of his dignity—

schlick.

xavier buries his face directly into your heat, his mouth pressing clumsily against your clit.

the sudden sloppy sensation makes your head snap straight up against the bamboo wall, a sharp breath hitching violently in your throat. your fingers instantly claw into the rough wood of the crate. he is entirely uncoordinated, his nose shoving hard against your skin as his tongue licks in a frantically flat rhythm that feels more like a wet puppy.

but god, he’s enthusiastic. way too enthusiastic.

“f-fuck,” xavier mumbles against your wet folds, his voice muffled, vibrating directly against your sensitive skin. a high, pathetic whine breaks from his throat between heavy suctions. “shit... i'm getting... i'm getting so hard again.”

“xavier, stop just flat-licking me like a freak,” you gasp out, trying to regain a shred of your authority while your lower half shivers under his mouth. you reach down, your fingers tangling into the soft, damp strands of his blonde hair to guide his head. “swirl your tongue. swirl it right there on the tip. and suck... like this.”

he whimpers against your skin, his hands tightening on your thighs, bruising your skin in his effort to obey. he tries to mimic your words, his tongue swirling awkwardly, catching the sweet spot just enough to make your knees shake.

“like this?” xavier croaks, his head suddenly bobbing up from down below. his face is an absolute disaster—lips glistening with your wetness. “am i doing it good?”

“go lower,” you breathe out impatiently, your hips twitching forward. “you talk too much.”

“i-i'm sorry,” he stammers out pathetically, his boyish features crumpling into a flustered scowl before he ducks his head back down.

this time, driven by your command and his own desperate need to be a good boy, xavier opens his mouth wide. he presses his lips flat against your opening and drives his tongue straight inside you. deep.

squelch.

the wet intrusion stretches you all over again, his tongue pushing into the slick path his fingers had carved out. it’s heavy, hot, and completely unpolished, but the sheer force of him burying his face into your pussy makes your entire world tilt. you fist your fingers deeper into the strands of his ash-blonde hair, the soft texture slipping between your knuckles as you use your grip to ruthlessly guide his head. you push him down, forcing his face entirely into your aching thing.

xavier lets out a muffled whimper right against your wet folds, his lips vibrating against your clit as he tries to draw in air. a tangled chain of choked curses—fuck, please, shit—bleeds directly into your skin, swallowed up by the sloshing wetness he's created. but he doesn't pull away. the absolute pervert doesn't even try to fight you. instead, his fingers slide up your skin, his nails digging ruthlessly into the soft meat of your outer thighs until they leave angry crescent marks that bloom into a fierce crimson. 

you really thought you could just toy with the loser and walk away unscathed, didn't you? look at you now, pinning a shirtless, twitching virgin to your lap in a deserted smoking area while a bassline thumps half a mile away.

the worst part is, the loser is actually a fast learner. his tongue stops the clumsy licking and starts to focus, his instincts adapting with a greedy terrifying speed. he swirls his tongue with an erratic friction right over your most sensitive knot of nerves, combining it with a suction that makes your pelvis lift completely off the wooden crate. then, a tight knot begins to coil deep in your lower belly, tightening with every sloppy degrading lap of his tongue.

suddenly, his large hands slide under your knees. he yanks your thighs inward with a bruising force, pulling you so close that your face is nearly level with the top of his head.

“x-xavier—ngh!”

the sudden change in angle forces a shattered whimper from your throat, your legs trembling helplessly up in the air—and xavier takes absolute advantage of your exposure. 

he buries his face much deeper, driving his nose hard against your pelvic bone as he begins to eat you out with a violently frantic hunger. his tongue pistons straight inside your opening before curling up to swipe your clit in a messy relentless pattern.

it feels so good it’s sickening. your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling his scalp so hard your knuckles go white, but he just whines and sucks harder, completely drunk on the taste of you. the knot in your belly snaps.

“sh-shit, xavier—wait, wait-!”

too late, your words are completely drowned out by a sudden violent spasm that rips through your entire lower half. your walls clamp down like a vice, and before your brain can even process the sensation, a thick hot gush of clear fluid erupts from deep inside you.

you're squirting.

you're violently squirting right into his face, the hot liquid spraying across his nose, his lips, and flooding his mouth all at once. “shit—fffunmck!” xavier lets out a muffled, terrified squeak, his eyes flying wide open in shock as he’s suddenly drowning in your release. he tries to jerk his head back, but your hands are still buried deep in his ash-blonde hair, ruthlessly holding his face down just to pin him to the source of your climax while you shake and sob under his mouth.

the spray of your release slowly tapers off into a quiet drip, leaving the bamboo enclosure thick with the heavy scent of cum and salt. your fingers finally loosen their white-knuckled grip on his hair.

the moment he’s freed, xavier pulls his face away with a gasp. his mouth is parted, his lower lip trembling as your second climax literally drips down the boyish slope of his chin, glistening under the low light. shit, he looks so fucking cute like that—like a completely corrupted and overwhelmed bunny who doesn't know whether to run away or bite.

he stays on his knees for a second, looking up at you from the sand with an anticipated expression.

“did you... did you really just... twice? you came... twice? from my... from my fingers and... and my tongue?”

you click your tongue. “don't be so full of yourself.”

he slowly stands up, his long legs noticeably shaky beneath his cargo jorts, which are still heavily stained and ruined from his own embarrassing mishap earlier. “shit,” he mutters under his breath, turning his head away. “shit... fuck...”

you let out a small chuckle, finally lowering your trembling legs from the wooden crate and letting your feet sink back into the cool sand. “you actually kind of did a good job, bunny,” 

xavier’s head snaps back to you, his eyes wide. “you really think so?”

you nod, sitting up a little straighter against the makeshift high chair, adjusting your messy hair. “yeah. look at you. you can actually go save this for the next time you need it, you know? consider yourself graduated. you basically have experience now.”

it's kind of hilarious how desperately you're trying to regain control when your thighs are literally vibrating.

xavier stays dead-silent for a beat. he reaches up with the back of his hand, aggressively wiping the wetness from his lips and face. “yeah... maybe. yeah. that... that makes sense.” 

he blinks, his eyes tracking your movements. “wait. where are you going?”

you tilt your head, reaching down to grab the waistband of your underwear and shorts, casually pulling them back up over your sticky thighs and into place. “i'm going back to my friends. they must be looking for us—well, for me—already.”

“what?” he croaks out, taking a clumsy step toward you. “why? where—aren't you going to stay?”

“and do what? stand in the dark with a guy who ruined his own pants in two minutes?” you shoot back, letting out a sharp laugh as you swing your legs off the crate and stand up.

but the moment your feet hit the sand, your knees completely buckle. wow. your legs feel like absolute, wobbly jelly, a direct consequence of his three-fingered pistoning. you stumble slightly, taking one awkward small step toward the exit of the bamboo clearing.

“hey, you can't just—i mean, you're the one who came in here and started—” 

he suddenly cuts himself off.

before you can even take another step, a pair of pale hands lunges forward from the dark. xavier grabs your upper arms with a suddenly startling grip, and with a frustrated grunt, he pushes you harshly back against the makeshift high chair.

thud.

the rough wood bites into your lower back again as you slam into it, your eyes widening in complete shock and pain. that caught you so thoroughly off guard you actually couldn't say a single word, your breath trapped in your throat as you stare up at him. xavier is standing right between your legs again, his shirtless chest heaving, his face bare inches from yours. 

sensing your stunned silence, the pathetic loser instantly panics.

“i—i'm sorry,” xavier stammers out. his scowl is deep, pained, fighting his own greedy instincts. “i didn't mean to—to push you like that. i just... i really want you to stay. and... uh... shit. fuck it.”

he swallows hard, his lower lip quivering as his gaze drops down to your covered lap.

”i really want to fuck you. right here.”

you stare at him, stunned. did he just...? did you hear him right? 

he swallows again, licking his lips. “i... i really want to pound my dick inside you until you see stars.”

“what the fuck?”

“sorry,” he blurts out immediately, his voice cracking as the realization of his own sudden aggression catches up to his fried brain. “i don't... i don't know where that suddenly came from.”

you stare up at him, your chest heaving as the initial shock wears off. a slow little smile pulls at the corners of your lips, the absolute thrill of having this untouchable outcast completely at your mercy giving you back your teeth. “is that what you really want, xavier? you want to fuck me right here in the dirt?”

xavier lets out a long ragged breath, his forehead dropping down to press heavily against yours. his eyes squeeze shut, his long eyelashes wet with a fine sheen of panicked tears as his hands blindly rush down to the waistband of your shorts. “yes,” he whimpers, his fingers clumsily fumbling with the button and zipper all over again with a frantic speed. “yes, fuck... please...”

before you can even utter another mocking remark about his lack of technique, xavier grips your hips and shoves you fully down against the flat wooden surface of the makeshift high chair. with a sudden heave of his arms, he hoists your legs right back up into the air, pinning them wide apart on his shoulders. 

“xavier... wait...” but he doesn't give you much time to adjust.

with a low, shaking curse—”fuck, fuck, it hurts so much”—his fingers dive into the front of his cargo jorts. he yanks the fabric down just enough to finally set his dick free. it springs out, thick, violently throbbing, and heavily glistening with the messy cum that had been soaking through his clothes the entire time.

he doesn't even know how to line himself up properly. he blindly presses the tip against your lower lips, and with one uncoordinated thrust of his hips, xavier slides right into your tight heat.

“ahhhhh, fuck!~”

a loud moan tears from his throat, a messy, echoing symphony of pathetic noises that reverberates through the vicinity. his entire body goes completely rigid the second your tight walls swallow him, his eyes rolling back as he immediately begins to thrust, his movements erratic, frantic, and entirely devoid of any seasoned rhythm.

your hands fly out to grip the edges of the wood, your head snapping back as a sharp gasp cuts through your throat. “x-xavier—wait, shit, you're so thick...” you can feel the heavy weight of his shaft still crowding against your outer lips. “a-are you... are you even fully in?”

xavier lets out a pathetic sob, his chest heaving violently against yours as he hitches your legs even higher on his shoulders. 

“n-no... it's not all the way in,” he gives a short, shallow twitch of his hips, his knuckles turning white where they’re anchoring into your thighs. “if i... if i push it all the way in, i'm going to—i'm going to fucking pound you until i cum. it's too tight. you're so fucking hot—”

“then do it, pound me until you cum. show me what you've got.”

the directive completely snaps the last thread of his sanity.

grunting, xavier leans all the way down, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he slams his hips forward with everything he has. he presses himself all the way in, burying his entire length into your pussy until you could feel the fucking tip hit you at the spot. “xav—shit!”

xavier turns into a completely unhinged moaning mess above you, trembling violently as he begins to frantically drive himself back and forth into your wetness. he is ridiculously tearing up, actual drops of sweat and panicked moisture spilling from his eyes onto your skin as his hips hit you with a sloppy, uncoordinated force.

slap. slap. squelch.

“f-fuck... yes, like that... look how well you take my dick,” he whimpers into your ear, his tongue darting out to blindly lick your jaw in a messy, wet display of affection. “you're taking all of it... you're stretching around me so good... shit, shit, this is all i've ever wanted. this is fucking it...”

he hooks his arms under your knees, lifting your legs even higher and spreading them brutally wide apart until your thighs are pressed nearly flat against his ribs. the angle is completely unshielded, forcing your womanhood to open up to its absolute limit as he drives back into you.

slap! slap! squelch!

he isn't moving with that hesitant, stuttering rhythm anymore. xavier has completely lost his mind to the friction, his hips slamming into you faster, harder, until the rough wood of the makeshift chair groans beneath your weight. he is an absolutely unhinged mess above you, his torso slick with a heavy sheet of sweat that glitters under the amber bulb. tears slide down his flushed cheeks, dripping directly onto your chest, but he doesn't care. he just allows himself to pound into your tight heat like a fucking machine.

it's so intense, so fiercely deep, that it catches you completely off guard. for a second, it’s like he isn't even a virgin anymore; he’s a starved pervert who has suddenly found the exact cadence to tear you apart. your fingers claw into his shoulders, your toes curling in the air as you try to hold back your noises, biting your lip until it hurts.

but xavier notices. 

with a grunt, he leans down and bites hard on the sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder. the sharp sting of his teeth forces a high-pitched yelp right out of you, your hips involuntarily bucking upward into his heavy groin.

“d-don't... don't hide it,” he pants heavily into your skin, pulling back just enough to drive himself all the way to the hilt again. “let me hear you... fuck, you're so tight, your pussy is clamping down on me so hard... it's wrapping around my dick...”

his hips keep hammering into you, a relentless punishing pace that turns your insides into pure mush.

plap! plap! plap!

“give me everything,“ xavier whispers, a frantic sob catching in his throat. “give me everything... give me everything... give me it... give me you...”

his voice begins to fade, squeezing into a tight, strained wheeze as the overwhelming friction starts to drag him toward the edge. his movements grow shorter, more violent, his hips twitching in tight desperate jerks while he buries his face back into the crook of your neck.

“just like that... fuck, yeah, just like that... just like that...” 

he is fucking you silly, driving into your tight heat with a relentless speed that turns the small bamboo corner into a blur of heavily wet impacts. the sheer, unbridled force of his hips slamming against yours makes both of you practically see stars, your eyes rolling back as the muffled bass from the beach party fades into absolute white noise.

“f-fuck... ~ah, ah!~” xavier wails directly into your neck, his teeth grazing your skin while his pace hits a punishing peak.

suddenly, his fingers dig into your thighs with a bruising grip, his toes clawing into the dark sand below. with a loud, choked-out sob, he drives himself all the way to the absolute hilt, spasming, his thick length hitting your womb repetitively.

and just like that, he comes thoroughly deep inside you, a massive release that pulses hard against your walls over and over again. your chest heaves, a shattered breathless moan tearing from your throat as you take the full brunt of his climax. shit, that felt so goddamn good.

for a long minute, the only sound in the enclosure is the ragged overlapping pattern of your breathing. xavier stays slumped against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his chest heaving like a runner at the end of a marathon.

and then slowly, with a trembling grunt, he makes an effort to pull himself out. the sudden separation makes you let out a soft, aching whimper. as his thick shaft slips free, it reveals a glistening strain of liquids from the both of you—a messy, thick combination of your squirt and his hot release—that instantly gushes out, dripping down the dark wood of the makeshift high chair and splashing lazily onto the dark sand below.

xavier stares down at the mess between your legs, his mouth parted.

“fuck,” he curses under his breath, pushing his damp blonde hair back. “what the fuck... it... it really did happen. oh god.”

you let out an exhausted groan, bracing your elbows against the rough wood to painfully sit back up. your legs are still trembling, completely numb from the weight of his pace. you look straight into xavier’s eyes.

“are you... are you really even a virgin, xavier?” you pant, your voice dripping with a mix of genuine disbelief and lingering malice. “what the hell was that? you didn't move like one at all at the end.”

xavier flinches slightly at your words, his long eyelashes fluttering rapidly as he looks away.

“y-yeah, i told you, i am,” he looks down at his ruined, stained cargo jorts, his bottom lip quivering slightly before he forces himself to look back up at you. “i just... i didn't know what suddenly came over me. i just... felt like... fucking you like that. because you were being so mean.”

“well,” you breathe out, your voice still a little raspy from the screaming he forced out of you. you reach down, slowly dragging your underwear and denim shorts back up your thighs, the fabric sticking slightly against your skin. “that was... definitely something, xavier. guess you don't need to practice on your pillows anymore.”

the mocking barb is meant to give you your armor back, but xavier doesn't snap back with his usual cold defensive drone. instead, he just lets out a small breathless huff, his lower lip twitching into a tiny, pathetic line that looks almost like a sulk.

“shut up,” he mutters, the curse completely devoid of any real heat. he reaches down to awkwardly pull up the waist of his jorts, his long, pale fingers still trembling so hard he can barely button them. “don't... don't say it like that.”

you hop down from the wooden surface, your feet sinking into the cool sand. your knees give a dangerous, wobbly shake the second they take your weight, and you have to blindly reach out and plant a hand against his bare shoulder to keep from dropping right back down. xavier instantly freezes under your touch but he doesn't pull away. his large hand instinctively hovers near your waist, ready to catch you if you trip.

“wow, still such a helpful little bunny.”

xavier swallows hard, “are you... are you really going back to the resort?” he asks, his voice dropping into that small, needy whisper again. “right now?”

“i have to,” you murmur, finally pulling your hand off his shoulder and stepping past him toward the narrow exit of the bamboo stalks. “my friends are probably wondering if i fell into the ocean. and you need to go wash those pants before someone thinks you spilled a whole drink on yourself.” 

he lets out a faint, flustered groan behind you, but he doesn't try to stop you this time.

as you take a step out into the open air, the loud throbbing bass of the beach party hits you full force, a stark contrast to the mess you’re leaving behind. you pause for just a second, tilting your head back over your shoulder to look at him one last time. xavier is still standing in the shadow of the bamboo, looking like an absolute freak—completely disheveled, beautifully flushed, and entirely ruined for any other girl on campus.

He halts behind a yew sapling, ears perking up when he catches it. Hind leg scraping into the forest floor, as if readying himself to lunge. Internally, Valko snaps in warning; you know better.

His wolf obeys but pushes a sigh through his nose, sick of the way Valko's been getting between him and his target every time he takes their body.

They lie in wait as the group of humans congregate and idle, his wolf's sensitive ears painting the scene on their eyes' behalf. Conversation quieting, the metallic rattle of a chain-link gate, rusty hinges protesting as it clangs open and shut, their collective disturbance slowly swallowed into the seclusion of the No Hunt Zone until it's silent.

His wolf holds their body still for a heartbeat, two. His eyes narrow into a sniper-like scope when his target appears next to the van, figure outlined by moonlight.

Without any obstructions, the scent swells, strengthens. Growing teeth that sink deep into his coat, standing the fur on his body straight up until his hackles raise and his muscles tighten.

Piercing yellow eyes never veer from the lone figure as Valko's wolf skulks toward them. He pads soundlessly across the forest floor until his body is flush with the van. The human, none the wiser, now merely feet away, fixated on the device on their wrist.

This close, the scent's become overwhelming. It thrums through the air like a magnetic field, tuning everything out except for bone-deep, primal chant of mine, mine, mine that even Valko isn't immune to anymore.

His wolf takes one step closer, another, then another, and all-too-late Valko realizes that maybe this isn't the best way to–

"Stop."

The command bombards him with a swarm of realizations, ricocheting between man and wolf like agitated molecules in a heated chamber: how did you know that they'd been– scent; you were totally spying, sneaky little hellion– mine; buddy, there's a gun pointed at our– mate, mate, mate.

That last word is expressed aloud through a deep growl of frustration. Frustration over the distance between you, over Valko holding him back, and over everything else that's standing in front of this wolf and his newly found mate – including the gun in your hands.

You startle at the sound, but your arm never wavers. "Don't. Move."

That's it, sweetheart, Valko thinks. Don't let this big lug push you around.

But for the first time since he was a rowdy pup learning how to shift, Valko is unsure of his wolf.

Not that he'd hurt you, never that, no wolf would ever hurt their mate. But you're a human and he's still a wolf. An onyx-coloured beast with mahogany markings, as large as the vehicle parked next to him. Who's being kept away from his mate. Who might not be mindful of your boundaries, or his strength, when it comes to having you to himself.

Before Valko can react, find a way to forcibly take back their body, his wolf sits, tilts his head – and whines. A 200-pound apex predator who cowers to no one, feared by humans and creatures alike, whining.

Nothing about your stance changes, but a curious, considering light slightly softens your gaze as you continue to stare at Valko's wolf. He stares back and slowly rises. Places a paw forward. Another when you don't react, as if he's trying to act casual.

Your brow furrows and your head tilts to your right, a hesitant glimmer of recognition flitting over your face. His wolf halts, snout just a handful of inches away from you, calm and attentive on the outside. On the inside, he's impatient as hell. Visions of him rubbing his nose into your skin and leaving his scent all over you project as a constant loop in Valko's mind and all he can think is: please don't embarrass us.

Completely ignoring him, his wolf sends a low rumble through his chest, a sound used to soothe newborn pups. And though the fear doesn't smell as acrid and acute as it did just a few moments ago, neither Valko nor his wolf like that it's still present.

Cautious about closing anymore distance, he lowers himself to his haunches until he's below your eye level, noting the size of your pupils as you take his features in, the loosening grip on your gun, the dawning realization.

"Valko?" You ask, incredulous, accusing. And yeah, maybe a little more annoyed than he'd been hoping for. "Oh god, tell me you didn't–"

At the sound of their name, Valko's wolf lunges forward without warning, headbutting the gun out of your hand and burying his nose in it, snuffling and licking and nuzzling.

You yelp and your fear skyrockets just as fast as it retreats, smothered by a relieved, hysterical laugh that has his wolf smug for all of five seconds before you snatch your hand away.

"I can't believe you– When I said 'you' shouldn't have anything to do with this mission, I meant every version of you." The biting tone does nothing to wipe the charmed smile from your face as you wipe your hand on the back of your jeans. "Ugh gross, your nose is all wet."

He takes that as an invitation, pressing forward again, nudging into your hip, chasing the hand you're keeping from him behind your back.

Valko would like to roll his eyes at his wolf, at this lovestruck, downright pathetic behaviour he'd quite frankly never seen him display – at least, not since he was a yearling still being carted around by his mother. But with one small whiff of your delicious, intoxicating scent, he instantly gets it.

"I told you I'd find a way to bring whatever we find to your research facility," you say, voice clipped and low. "Do you not trust me?"

His wolf butts his snout into your stomach when you cast a quick glance at the gate behind you, affronted at your divided attention. Finally, you peer into Valko's eyes and sigh. "Can you even understand me?"

Hunter and wolf stare at each other for a moment, the rapid whoosh of a tail the only sound in the clearing. When too much time passes he whines again, to Valko's chagrin. Like a damn puppy.

"I'll take that as a no." you giggle.

You tentatively offer him your palm and he finally dives in, rubbing and licking as he circles you. Covering you in his scent. Covering himself in yours. Valko and his wolf love your taste, like flaky salt and pine sap. Like warm sunrises and crisp leaves. Like sweet and warm and home.

Valko raises a brow as his wolf chuffs and noses and yips like the attention-whore he is.

"Shh, you have to be quiet," you command, finally giving in and scraping your nails across the fur behind his ear.

His body melts beneath your touch until he's a puddle of fur at your feet, belly flashing, tongue lolling.

Dude, Valko projects in mortification, where's your dignity?

Unfortunately for them both, that's the last thing on his wolf's mind when your nails move to scrape beneath his chin.

Mate. He thinks back, in a tone equivalent to "duh."

Valko's wolf growls playfully when you glance at gate behind you again, mouthing at the rubber sole of your boots, wanting all your attention. An indulgent grin curls your lips, and you lower to a crouch to reach him better.

"You certainly act like him," you note with a murmur. His wolf shuffles forward with his hind legs, draping himself across your lap in a way that has you chuckling. "Exactly like him, actually."

"Big puppy eyes. All up in my business. Hyperactive as hell." He paws at your stomach a few times and you snort as you grab it and move it away. Valko's wolf chuffs in indignation, sticking his whole snout under your arm in a wordless demand. "Bossy."

You sigh, sinking your fingers into his pelt, scratching a spot along his flank that sends his tail thudding happily into the ground. "As if dealing with one of you wasn't enough."

Your hand travels lower, the softness of your breasts pressing into him when you reach deeper into his undercoat. His wolf's muzzle noses into the crotch of your jeans, resting at the apex of your thighs so he can breathe in your pussy, where your scent is the strongest.

"You're so big," you murmur, staring down at the way his head covers both of your thighs, the way they strain to hold up his weight. Your other hand nestles into the space between his ears. "And soft."

Valko and his wolf both snort. There's nothing soft about him right now. As it is, his wolf can barely contain himself from rutting into your thigh. And if he had their body, his cock would probably be leaking from how painfully hard he'd be.

Still, Valko warns him: behave.

And yet underneath the instinctual urge to breed his mate, even Valko can see there's an unfamiliar sensation of levity, of joy that his wolf is feeling. Valko's never really gotten this from him before. Aggression, irritation, sure. But, never this carefree sort of happiness.

"Look at these mitts of yours," you tease, pressing the softness of your palm to the rough pads of his paw with a wide smile.

And maybe Valko would too if he was an outsider looking in. Stumbling upon a massive beast on its back, snuggling a human a fraction of its size on the outskirts of one of the most dangerous areas of Linkon would be a sight.

Usually when Valko's wolf has their body, his mind isn't really present. He processes and documents everything that happens, but it's like his consciousness is disconnected. In the passenger seat, along for the ride.

He's anything but disconnected right now. And he's completely in awe of how differently his wolf is behaving. Wanting your attention, but not pushing. Horny, but deferring the urge.

Is this what meeting your mate does to you?

His wolf huffs in an absentminded reply as he plasters himself to your lower abdomen, your womb – my mate will grow our young – and Valko would be damned if that response wasn't as condescending as hell.

"Hey, what're you doing?" He's moving around now, getting more playful, and probably not watching his strength as much as he should as he rests his paws on your chest to lap at your cheek, judging by the way your arm darts behind you to brace your weight. His tongue darts out again, over your lips this time.

Valko freezes when you squeal and thump the side of his muzzle. "Stop."

But Valko's wolf doesnt even snarl. Instead, he settles back onto his paws, resting his head between them, glancing up with a remorseful whine in his throat.

When you roll your eyes and reach back out to pet him, he lurches forward and laps at your cheek again, making you giggle softly. "You're like a giant puppy."

A rustle stirs one of the bushes nearby, snapping both your heads toward the sound.

His ears flick once before he turns back to you, smelling nothing more than a squirrel darting around. But your attention stays fixed on the shadows, moving from the forest to the chain-link fence.

"It's probably not much longer 'til my team comes back," you murmur. You turn to face Valko and smooth your hands over his sides once more. "You have to get out of here, big guy."

He gusts out another whine deep in his throat, this one smaller, more pitiful. The bastard's begging.

"Go on," you urge in a low voice when he doesn't move, waving your arm toward the forest. "You can't be here when they come back."

He tries another tactic. Lowers his head to catch the leather of your belt in his teeth, gives his head a little shake in defiance.

You thump your hand over his snout with a stern, "No."

His ears flatten, and he answers with an indignant huff.

If Valko could pinch the bridge of his nose he would. C'mon man, pull yourself together.

"Sit." His wolf hesitates for only a moment before lowering his behind to the ground.

Unfortunately, even when he's sitting, his head remains above your eye-level, leaving you to rise to your toes in order to place your palms on either side of his snout.

"It was nice to meet you, big guy," you murmur. "Tell Valko I'll come and find him after this, okay?"

His ears flick at the sound of his name, but the only answer he gives you is a low, mournful whine.

"And..." Your fingers curl gently into his fur. "Deliver this for me."

You tug his snout down just enough to meet him halfway, pressing your lips to the soft velvet of the peach fuzz between his eyes and nose.

Valko and his wolf still, their heartbeats escalating as one in response to open affection from their mate.

Then, as if deciding he needs the final word, his wolf takes one last lick beneath your chin. Smug when the soft sound of your laughter becomes the last thing he hears as he finally, reluctantly, trots away.

Valko is more grateful than he wants to admit that his wolf finally listens. He's going to need every second he can get before he sees you again. To regain his control before he meets you back at the facility. To pretend his harebrained scheme to have his wolf meet his mate, feel your touch, hear your laughter, and taste your skin, hasn't completely unraveled him.

Because if your scent had been intoxicating, the taste of you is downright dangerous.

➻➻ MASTERLIST

NOTE: Just an excuse to write about Valko in his wolf form and use one direction lyrics as a fic name xoxo

If you had to pick a word to describe Sylus, it was addicting. Forbidden, if you could pick another one.

From the day you met, something had irreversibly shifted in your life, even if you hadn’t realized it then. As you grew close and old grudges faded, you found the pull to the illicit allure of the N109 Zone almost impossible to resist. Or, rather, the pull to him.

Sylus was luxury. Smoky cologne, aged bourbon, crisp pressed suit jackets, the tang of motor oil and the heady aroma of machinery. Star-lights glittering below you in an endless night, illuminated by the bloody moon above. And you were addicted to the chase of danger, the thrill of forbidden.

He was everything Grandma would have warned you to stay away from, yet you were a moth to his flame.

And Sylus, in turn, was obsessed with you.

You, the shivering woman trying to maintain her brave face when eye-to-eye with one of the most dangerous men alive. You, the feisty woman stubbornly tackling challenges head-on, refusing defeat. You, the other half of his soul.

He hadn’t known what, exactly, he’d say when he found you again. He certainly hadn’t expected it to be because you foolishly threw yourself into the clutches of The Nest, and he hadn’t expected to meet you, not as a hunter, but as a bounty.

Disappointed. Frustrated. Angry at himself for letting you walk into it willingly.

But you didn’t disappear like he thought you would. You stuck around even without him sending Mephisto to keep an eye on you, eager to crack the mystery behind the man. And he loved it.

He loved the fire glowing in your eyes, determined and irate. He loved the snap of your voice, hissy like a cornered cat. He loved the way you melted for him, unable to resist the pull.

You were different, now. Very much the same as you had been, what seemed like eons ago when you first met, but different. Softer. Happier. Life on Earth had not been as cruel and unforgiving as it had been in that Philos arena, and despite having still faced unimaginable pain, you could keep smiling.

And you were all grown up now. Your body matured, filled out, toughened. And he couldn’t get enough of it.

Your muscle belied by your fat, evidence of the strength you still carried, yet you were soft as your laugh, warm as your smile. When you dressed up to accompany him to events, it took all of his strength not to make himself look like a fool with his incessant attention, instead sternly staring down those who gawked. Fabric, flowing like the tides, caressing every shape of you like a hug, marking the curve of your hips, the gentle slope of your stomach and your chest and your butt, clinging to your thighs greedily - you were the most desirable thing he had ever laid eyes on, and the aether core in his eye demanded he take, take, take.

Sylus had never wanted something - someone - so much. Above all of his armories and jewels and finely-aged wine, you stood above it all, dangled before him like a carrot on a string. So close, yet so far away. But he relished the pursuit; easily-gotten gains just weren’t satisfying the way a challenge was. And you were the dictionary definition of challenge: all feisty, headstrong stubbornness, your sense of justice so big that it practically dripped out of your mouth when you spoke. You were sassy, you were a spitfire, you were gorgeous.

You proved yourself to be as full of avarice as he could be; eating and drinking from his table without a care, eyeing up his most delicately-cut and most polished jewelry, sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothes… and he loved it. Whatever you wanted, you would get, be it exotic cuisine or fine art or thousand-year wine. You wanted a trendy dress in a high-end store? You wore it to dinner. You wanted his clothes? He readily gave you the shirts and sweatpants you loved so much, sneakily buying more just so you would have options. You wanted a necklace or diadem so expensive it would make even a millionaire wince? Done and adorning you before the night was over.

You wanted for nothing, just as it should be. His spoiled little spitfire, content to do nothing more than lounge on his sofa swallowed in softness, a glass in one hand and his hand in the other.

—————

Coming home to you lying, curled up, on the sofa in one of his robes, should not have made his heart beat so hard. You smiled up at him, a plate of charcuterie and a glass of wine on the coffee table.

Getting up, the long robe followed, trickling down to your shins as you went to hug him. “You’re back,” you greeted.

Your warmth was the first thing he registered, followed by your perfume. Hugging you was like hugging a cloud, and your heat seeped pleasantly into his skin like stepping into his suite out of the bitter winter cold.

Sylus breathed you in deeply, eyes closing as he wrapped his arms around you. You smelled of him, of spice and something heady, yet sweetness peeked through.

You huffed a breath of a laugh, patting his back. “Long day?-- Er, long night?”

“Long enough,” he replied, pulling away just enough to see your face looking up at him. “But coming home to a kitten swaddled in my clothes is enough to ease my nerves.”

You rolled your eyes at him as he chuckled, low in his throat, the sound vibrating pleasantly through you. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a kitten who was about to fall asleep if you took any longer.”

“Well it’s a good thing I arrived when I did, hm?”

Sylus effortlessly hoisted you up into his arms, earning a squeak of surprise from you as you hurriedly planted your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. With another rich laugh, he carried you over to the sofa and sat down with you side-saddle.

“You make that look so easy,” you scolded with a huff. “You know how big I am.”

“Ah, yes, my big, strong Miss Hunter.” He purred, plucking a grape from the plate and popping it into his mouth.

You gave him a flat stare.

“Come now, sweetie, am I really weaker than I look?” He smirked at you, raising a brow teasingly. “You’re easier to carry than Luke and Kieran.”

“Really? Both of them?”

“Did I misspeak?”

With a sigh, you grabbed a cherry and a piece of cheese. “You know they don’t count, anyway. You could just use your Evol.”

“True, but I prefer to hold you myself. I get a better view of your cute expressions that way.” He poked your cheek.

“Y- you…” Your face flushed, and you looked away.

Long, slender fingers gently grasped your chin and turned it so that you were eye-to-eye. Sylus’s half-lidded eyes - his Aether Core was glowing, all dangerous beauty - and smile were almost too much to look at.

“T- too pretty, you’re too pretty, this isn’t playing fair!” You accused.

From the moment you met, something about you felt - and smelled - like home.

That feisty little hunter, with a quick wit and sharper tongue, an absolute unit of a woman who made his heart race from the first time you pinned him to the ground. The sweat beading at your brow, your heaving chest panting for air, your sure grip on your weapon - Valko had never felt so attracted to a woman as he had in that moment.

Even once the full moon had passed and the two of you began to see each other again, he tried to chase that very first high. Teasing you on purpose, scenting things of yours, even sleeping on your couch after you gave him permission to come over. Though you got annoyed at him, you didn’t come at him with intent to kill like that very first night. Instead, he found himself chasing another high: your body.

It all began innocently enough - a mission where you were paired together to infiltrate what had been described as a “business meeting”, but was rather a covert gathering of top executives to discuss Protocore experimentation. You had been expected to dress smartly, and so you did, pencil skirt and blazer and all.

From the moment you met up with him and he got a good look at you, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Ears popped out of his hairline, wolfy ears that he had to try very hard to hide again. The way your skirt hugged your hips and stomach and legs, the way your button-up accentuated your figure - if his tail had been visible, it would have been thumping very loudly against the side of his car. It took all he had to keep his gaze respectful.

You were shaped like something divine. You smelled even better. If you were aware of how you affected him, you gave no indication. As you became more comfortable around him, naturally your clothing did too. It wasn’t long until seeing you lounge about in shorts and a tank top was more commonplace than seeing your hunter uniform. Your soft arms that carried such strong muscle, the pudge of your stomach, your comfortable thighs and your full cheeks - your bright grin, your merry laugh, your sassy attitude, your bad jokes, your dimples and stretch marks and everything that called itself you - how wouldn’t he have been so unbelievably eager to be by your side? Your implicit ties were only the baseline for his attraction.

Slowly, he became clingier. He became almost obsessed with scenting you, to the point where your friends commented that you smelled more like cologne and some kind of man-smell than your usual perfume. He left you sweaters of his in the hopes that you’d eventually wear them, rotating them out whenever he noticed that they lost his scent. The day he found you watching TV with one of his old university sweaters, he had to restrain himself hard from flopping atop you and acting like a Snuggie.

And you… well, you were more than aware of his long stares and puppy behaviors. While it was annoying to have people tell you that they could easily tell you had a boyfriend just from smelling you (and, well, having such an obvious smell in general), it felt… comforting in a way. Valko was never shy about affection, even in the tentative period of your budding relationship before he asked you out. Always with a hand between your shoulder blades or on your waist, golden gaze dripping with something fond as it occasionally dipped below your own eyeline.

He was a man, after all, you supposed. You pretended not to notice how his tail would start wagging whenever you took off your jacket or when you sat down and your thighs squished even more. It was kind of cute how your wolfy boyfriend was so entranced by your figure. All your life, you had caught strays from (mostly) well-meaning people about how you really ought to lose some weight so you could attract a nice boy (no thanks) or properly do your job (you easily out-benched and outmatched quite a few of your colleagues), or even just for your own happiness (you were just fine where you were at, thank you).

To have your own boyfriend be the one to encourage you to eat what you wanted - and even who indulged with you - was comforting. He was the one who spotted you at the gym and encouraged you even when your arms shook from trying to reach a new personal best. He was the one who waited for you with a chipper grin and a bag of your favorite takeout when you were done with work. He was the one who stared at you with open awe when you tried on clothes you’d bought while shopping with your friends.

He made you feel seen. He made you feel like you were more than just you. You looked into his eyes and you didn’t recognize yourself; reflected in those molten sunlight irises was a woman who shone like the sun itself.

—————

Upon coming home from work, Valko announced his presence at the door with a call of, “Babe, I’m here! What d’you want for dinner?”

Upon receiving only silence in return, he frowned, looking around the quiet apartment. “… Babe? Red?”

He walked around the living room, the kitchen, before ending up at your bedroom. Cracking it open as quietly as he could, his eyes softened when he found you curled up contentedly in bed, deep into an after-work nap.

Valko crept closer, shedding his jacket and slipping into the covers beside you.

His hand crept along your cheek, and he smiled when you unconsciously nuzzled into his warm touch.

He lay there like that for a long time, watching you sleep and gently rubbing circles into your back. The sun dipped below the horizon by the time you finally roused from sleep, yawning into your pillow as your eyes opened.

Still sleepy, you looked up and smiled at him. “Oh. Hey, babe. When’d you get here…?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It hasn’t been that long anyway.” He nuzzled his cheek into yours. “You hungry?”

Your stomach grumbled in response, and you chuckled before adding, “Yeah, kinda. Wanna get pizza?”

“Pizza sounds awesome.” His tail made a thunking noise as it hit the corner of your bedside table.

Neither of you made a move to get up. Valko’s warmth was making you sleepy again.

“We should… really get some pizza,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

“Maybe,” he quietly agreed, yawning widely as he tucked your head under his chin.

"I'm a doctor, Valko, not a veterinarian."

The man in the hospital bed chuckles, winces, then pouts all in one second. "Oh, fuck you."

Zayne walks over to the bed, standing beside the chair you pulled up next to it. You avoid his gaze like the plague. He addresses you calmly otherwise. "Do you mind telling me what happened?"

You hang your head in your hands in shame, and don't offer a response.

Zayne tries again. "Valko?"

"She broke my neck."

"I did not!" In the rush to defend yourself, you forget the minute-long vow of silence you took once Zayne walked in the room. Valko raises an eyebrow and gives you a pointed look, as best as he can with neck brace. You go back to hiding, words muffled in your palms. "The nurse said it's probably just a sprain..."

Zayne gives you mercy, stepping toward Valko lying pitifully in front of you. The doctor observes his patient intently, asking questions about the pain, where he feels it, if he has feeling in his legs and toes (the last one is overkill, one of Dr. Zayne's classic jokes, you can tell by the smile he is trying to fight off). Valko answers them all easily. He always had a high pain tolerance.

Until Zayne reaches his last question.

"And how did you potentially break-"

"Sprain!" you interrupt.

"...Sprain your neck?"

You pray to the gods above a Wanderer strikes you down on the spot. You're ready.

You know Valko has that shit-eating grin on his face without even needing to look at him. You can hear it in the way he breathes.

If you say it out loud, maybe, maybe it won't sound so bad?

"I may have... suhuhhisfc..."

"Pardon?"

Zayne sounds closer than before. Oh, good, he's sitting on his doctor stool right next to you, attempting to find your eyes through the slits between your fingers. A warm hand pries away one of yours, and for a moment you forget about your hesitation.

"I... I sat on his face."

Zayne blinks, and you hear Valko snickering (interrupted by a pitiful 'ouch') from his bed.

"So, so worth it."

"Val!"

"What? You seemed to- ow- enjoy it."

"A bit too much, seeing the results."

"Zayne!"

"Apologies," he says with a smile on his face. You don't think you've ever seen him smile so much at work, excluding the time you brought him a full sleeve of macarons from his favorite bakery for his birthday. He brushes the hair out of your face, revealing the flush that stains your skin. The touch of familiarity relaxes you, despite your embarrassment. "If it makes you feel better, this is not an uncommon occurrence."

Zayne turns to Valko, then, entering doctor mode in an instant. "And luckily, your neck is not broken, but you'll have to keep the brace for the next couple of weeks. That means no strenuous activity until the pain is gone."

"What!" Valko complains. "For two weeks?"

"I'll prescribe a pain reliever for the time being," Zayne continues, ignoring the pouting wolf mumbling to himself. He scribbles on his doctor note pad, ripping the sheet and holding it out for you to take. When you take it, you feel the weight of his gaze holding you down. "That is not an invitation to see what he can handle. Understood?"

You feel properly chastised. And a little embarrassed that Zayne knew exactly where yours and Valko's minds went after he mentioned a painkiller. "Yes, sir."

only a little roughness lingers by the time he's gently opening the bedroom door - with his enhanced vision, he can comfortably make out where your sleeping form is under the duvet. he pads over, slipping under the covers, ready to pull you close, awaiting the moment where you wrap your arms around him in your sleep.

(it's his favourite thing, how you do it without thinking, your subconscious tugging you towards him just like how his pulls him to you.)

only, your arms are... occupied, it would seem.

a plushie. your round yellow birb plushie, nestled into your arms like it belongs there.

valko frowns, humming so low in the back of his throat that it sounds like a threat.

he reaches towards you, fingers sliding between your arm and the soft fabric, ready to prise it away.

only for you - traitor - to hum happily in your sleep and nuzzle the damned plushie closer into your chest.

he flexes and extends his fingers like he's readying his claws.

no. you'll be upset if he destroys it, and he certainly doesn't want that.

fine.

he scoops your body into his embrace, plushie and all (begrudgingly), and shoves his face into your neck, sniffing and kissing and nipping at the delicate skin. you squirm in your sleep, until you eventually wake up to the feeling of being thoroughly loved upon (and scented) by your wolfie.

"mmm... val, what're y'doin'?..." you murmur, shifting the plushie so it isn't obstructing you from hugging valko close instead, a clear upgrade. he visibly perks up; even in the darkness, it's like you can feel something in him shift to happiness from the sheer exhaustion of the preceding moments.

"my little wolf was neglecting me." his words come out teasing, muffled into your skin as he presses his nose into your neck. "not very nice of you, babe. i've been working so hard all evening, only to be replaced by a plushie."

"mm, maybe you should've come to bed sooner, then." you try to sound feisty, but it just exposes the truth - how badly you want him by your side, and how you hate sleeping with his side of the bed empty. then, you're shifting so you're sprawled top of him, and you plant a kiss on his cheek before tucking your head under his chin.

"looks like i need to do a little better next time 'round, then." he muses, his usual cockiness subdued a little by an affection that warms you to the bone. one hand comes to splay over your lower back in a loosely protective hold, while the other drapes over your waist, fingers kneading your soft skin.

"mhm." you agree. "shouldn't be workin' so late, val, should be here with me." your soft murmur is half a confession, but truthfully, it's nothing he didn't know; nothing he wasn't already acutely aware of, in the very fibres in his being, in the soul-tether that binds you to him.

"i know. i'm sorry." he says, voice low and achingly sincere. "tomorrow, baby. tomorrow, i'll be here. by your side. i promise."