brook

There’s something cruel about a city that just keeps moving.

The warehouse went up in smoke three nights ago, and yet the Lanes still stink of oil and sweat and neon. Enforcers still shout, kids still run through the alleys barefoot, and bars still pour cheap drinks like nothing happened. Like he didn’t die in there.

Like Claggor isn’t gone.

You haven’t slept since. Not really. Not without seeing it again. Flames licking up the walls, the roar of shattering glass, the pressure wave knocking you to the ground. You’d gotten there too late. Too late to help. Too late to scream.

And there was no body.

No one found him. No one could. Just twisted wreckage, burnt-out rubble. You’d spent hours digging through the ash with your bare hands until your knuckles bled. Screaming his name. Praying to a god you stopped believing in long ago.

Nothing.

Just his goggles. Melted. Cracked down the middle.

You keep them on your nightstand now. Like a tombstone.

The others try not to say his name. Not around you. Not when you go stiff at the sound of it. Vander’s ghost still hangs thick in the air, and Silco’s voice rises on every street corner like smoke, but Claggor? He’s silence. A ghost of a boy no one else remembers right.

But you do.

You remember how he snorted when he laughed too hard. How he always offered you the last slice, even when he was starving. How he’d stay up at night fixing Powder’s gadgets while you sat beside him, handing him tools and pretending not to stare.

He was solid. Sweet. The one you leaned on when the world felt like too much. And the night before the explosion, he kissed you for the first time.

It had been shy and fast, more a promise than anything else. You’d both laughed after. You never got the second kiss.

You’re older now. Meaner. The kind of tired that lives in your bones. You make deliveries for people you don’t trust, and sleep with a knife under your pillow. You don’t talk about your past. You don’t let anyone in.

But when you’re alone?

You light a candle for him.

Every year, on his birthday. You sit on the roof with a half-eaten cupcake and talk to the stars like he can hear you.

“You’d hate what I’ve become,” you whispered last year, tears drying against your cheeks. “But I still love you. You should know that.”

You don’t let yourself cry often anymore. Not in front of anyone.

But sometimes, when the sky turns that same smoky purple as the night he died, you do.

And you wonder what he would’ve looked like if he’d gotten the chance to grow up. What kind of life he might’ve had. Whether he would’ve left Zaun. Whether he would’ve taken you with him.

You wonder if, wherever he is, he forgives you for living.

—

Two Years Later

The sky over Zaun is bruised violet, streaked with neon and smoke, the kind of night that clings to your lungs.

You’re crouched low on a rooftop, listening. Boots scuffle against metal somewhere nearby; deliberate, measured. Not enforcer rhythm. Something quieter. Lighter.

Firelights.

You curse softly. You weren’t supposed to run into anyone tonight. Just a quick delivery for Sevika; drop the gear, get paid, vanish. But the shadows are moving now, glowing masks flashing like ghost fire in the dark.

You take a slow breath and ready yourself to run, hand tight on the vial in your pocket. But then you see him.

Not just a mask. A shape. A walk.

Your heart stops, and everything else goes quiet.

He steps into view, and the world splits clean in two. Because it’s him. The boy you knew. The one who never came back.

“Claggor?” you whisper it before you can stop yourself. It leaves your mouth like a prayer, or a wound.

He freezes mid-step. The others keep moving, vaulting past with barely a glance, but he turns. Slowly. Warily. Then his eyes meet yours.

“…No way,” he breathes, voice lower now, rougher, but still somehow his.

You barely notice the mask fall from his fingers. All you see is his face. Older. Sharper. A scar runs through one brow now, and his eyes; those soft, warm eyes, don’t hide their shock.

“You’re alive?” you ask, blinking against the sting in your chest.

He laughs, short and breathless. “I could say the same to you.”

You don’t think. You just move.

You throw yourself at him, and he catches you on instinct. His arms wrap around your waist, tight and desperate, like he never thought he’d get the chance again. Your face buries into the curve of his neck, and he smells like smoke and metal and something warm underneath it all. Like safety.

“God,” you whisper, your hands clutching the back of his jacket. “You were gone. I thought—”

“I know,” he murmurs, voice cracked open and real. “I wanted to come back. I tried. But then everything went to hell. Powder, Jinx now, and… it all changed.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your fingers trembling. “Why didn’t you reach out? All these years?”

His face twists, eyes closing. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again. After what happened. After… I died, technically.”

You shake your head, breath catching. You hit his chest once, then twice. “You idiot. I mourned you. Every day. I lit a candle for you on your birthday. Every year.”

His gaze hardened then softens like melted glass. “You did?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I loved you.”

“I still love you,” he says without hesitation. “That didn’t stop.”

His gloved hand brushes your cheek. Gently, carefully, like you’re something precious he’s afraid to break.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy, and hot, and rushed, and there’s a tear running down your face when your lips meet. But it’s real. His mouth tastes like ash and adrenaline, and the way he groans into it, deep in his chest, makes your knees go weak.

Someone whistles from a nearby rooftop. “Claggor! Let’s go!”

He doesn’t move.

“Go,” you whisper against his lips. “You’ll blow your cover.”

“Come with me,” he blurts. “We’re doing good work. You’d be safe with us. With me.”

You hesitate. The vial in your pocket feels like poison now. The life you’ve been living, always looking over your shoulder, working with Silco, suddenly feels so damn small.

You take his hand. “I’ll meet you again. Soon. I promise.”

He pulls you in again, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Don’t break it,” he says quietly.

You squeeze his hand once. “I won’t.”

In the Lanes, there’s no such thing as quiet safety . Only brief, borrowed peace.

The kind that slips between crumbling walls, rides in on laughter and shared meals, makes a home out of a place the rest of the world pretends doesn’t exist. That’s what your family had built. Not blood, but bond. Makeshift. Sacred.

You were eight the first time you saw Ekko; small, fast, already loud and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood behind the woman who would become your mother. She offered you a place. Not just a cot or a warm meal, but something far rarer in Zaun: permanence. And Ekko had been thrilled to have an older sibling to look up to. You were his anchor, his partner in crime, his confidant. Your whole life rewrote itself in the crooked little rooms of the Last Drop.

That’s where you met Claggor too.

Big goggles, wide heart. He didn’t talk much at first, but his steadiness was the kind you noticed. Where Ekko burst through rooms, Claggor lingered, thoughtful. If Ekko was your little brother, Claggor quickly became your best friend.

Years passed like steam drifting through alleyways; quick, hot, and full of noise. You learned how to fight. How to run. How to patch wounds with one hand while holding a knife in the other. The older you got, the more you saw: what Piltover stole, what Zaun had to claw back. What kind of people survived here, and how hard it was to stay soft in a place that punished softness.

But somehow, Claggor had never hardened.

You still didn’t know how he did it. He looked out for Powder when no one else had the patience. He humored Mylo even when Mylo was impossible. And with you… well, something shifted over time. At first you didn’t want to name it. Then you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way he always passed you the last bite. The way he seemed to listen a second longer than he needed to. The way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. It wasn’t loud, whatever existed between you, just warm. Steady. Real.

⸻

That night, the underground buzzed with tension.

Vi and Milo had gone topside. Ekko followed them, despite your protests. Powder stayed curled up in her room. And you… well, you were tired of chasing shadows. Of worrying that any day could be the last you saw of the people you loved.

So when Claggor caught you wandering the bar after closing, blanket tucked under your arm, he grinned sheepishly.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Could you?” you shot back.

He held up a small tin of stolen sweetbread. “Figured we could wait for them together.”

The two of you set up in the back room, the one with the creaky floor and dusty armchair that nobody sat in anymore. You spread the blanket on the ground, curled up close, heads tipped toward one another.

“Remember the time we built that dummy for Vi to punch?” you asked, mouth half-full of bread.

“She named it ‘Baron Von Suckerface,’” Claggor laughed.

You chuckled, then looked at him for a beat too long. “We were kids.”

He glanced over. “We still are.”

You wanted to argue that, but you didn’t. The silence stretched. A comfortable kind, at first. But soon, you could feel something else under it ; something nervous, humming just beneath your skin. The room had grown dim, the only light coming from the amber glow of the overhead pipes. Steam hissed through vents like the room itself was breathing.

Claggor shifted beside you, stretching out, one arm tucked behind his head. “You should get some rest. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

You nodded, curled in beside him, and closed your eyes. But you weren’t asleep. Not yet.

Not when you could feel the faint tremble of his hand, the way he kept adjusting his goggles, fidgeting. You heard the breath he took before moving; slow, tentative.

Then you felt it.

A gentle touch to your hair, brushing it away from your cheek. And then…

A soft kiss to your temple.

Your breath caught, but you kept it steady, playing asleep with your heart thundering in your chest.

Claggor hesitated. “If you were awake,” he whispered, voice barely audible, “I’d say I think I’m falling for you.”

He let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh.

“But you’re not. So I guess it’s safe to say it now.”

Your eyes stayed closed. But your face heated so fast you were surprised steam didn’t rise from your skin.

He laid back down slowly. And within minutes, you heard his breathing even out.

You opened your eyes.

The warmth from his body was everywhere. The closeness of it. The way his hand had drifted to your arm in his sleep, relaxed there. He looked younger with his goggles pushed up, mouth slightly open, eyebrows soft.

Your chest ached.

So you moved closer, barely a breath between you now. And with a soft, barely-there brush of lips, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. The faintest touch. A return for the one he thought you didn’t feel.

“I heard you,” you whispered against his skin. “And me too.”

⸻

You woke to light filtering through the high cracks in the wall.

And Claggor’s arm around your waist.

Your face was tucked into his shoulder. His leg was over yours. You didn’t know how it happened, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world , like you’d always fit there.

Claggor stirred, then froze when he realized how tightly you were wrapped together.

“Uh,” he said, voice hoarse. “Hi?”

You smiled, eyes still half-closed. “Hi.”

He looked down at you, his whole face pink. “So, uh. About last night…”

You looked up at him, lips brushing his collarbone. “About you kissing me?”

His ears turned red.

“I—wait, how much did you hear—?”

You sat up slightly, hand on his chest to steady yourself. “All of it.”

He groaned into his hands. “I knew it.”

You grinned, cheeks sore from smiling. “Claggor?”

“…Yeah?”

“I kissed you back.”

He blinked. “Wait. When?”

“When you fell asleep.”

His smile bloomed so fast, so wide, you thought your heart might burst.

“Oh,” he said, quietly. “Well. That’s… kind of amazing.”

“Kind of,” you teased.

And with the kind of sweetness only Zaun kids could make out of soot and sleep and second chances, you leaned in for the real kiss.

You’d always had a more dominant streak in you; quiet, steady, tucked just under the surface. You used to think that maybe it would soften, fade out, disappear once you started dating Claggor. That something about his sweetness, his softness, would pull something gentler out of you in return.

But it never really had.

If anything, being with him had only sharpened it. You craved that control, that slow-burning power. The way his breath would hitch when you pressed your hand to his chest. The way he’d whimper when you teased him just right. The way he’d whisper “please” under his breath when you were going down on him; desperate, needy, almost reverent.

It lit you up from the inside. Every time. It soaked your panties in seconds.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to be the one to bring it up first.

It was late. You were both curled up in bed, sleep-soft and tangled together, limbs heavy with that lazy kind of exhaustion that didn’t quite push either of you over the edge into sleep. The room was dim, quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside and the even softer rhythm of your fingers brushing across his chest.

Then, out of nowhere, he mumbled, voice thick and shy:

“Hey… so I’ve been thinking and… god, this is gonna sound so stupid but… would you ever, like… want to peg me?”

Your brain flatlined for a second, just blinked out like a light, and then surged back to life, quick and hungry. You sat up slightly, eyes flicking down to his flushed cheeks and then the blanket, which was already starting to tent from how turned on he was just from asking.

“I mean… yeah,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as heat flooded your core. “I’d love to. But what’s bringing this up now?”

You traced slow circles on his chest, coaxing the words out of him gently. But he hesitated.

“Claggor,” you said, your voice low and warning, playful but firm as you raised an eyebrow.

He exhaled a soft sigh and looked away, a blush blooming across his neck and ears. “It was just this porn I saw, okay? And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it…”

You grinned, more fond than teasing, and leaned in closer. “Yeah? What happened in it? Tell me.”

He squirmed a little, and your smile only widened as you felt the tension in his body, the nervous anticipation under your hand.

“It was this guy… and his girlfriend,” he started, clearly struggling to describe it without dying of embarrassment. “And she was just like… pegging him. But she was all soft with him, talking to him the whole time, and he was… he was really into it.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes glued to the blanket as if it could swallow him whole. You could see how hard he was now, already twitching beneath the covers.

Your chest swelled with something warm. You weren’t laughing at him, you would never. But god, the way he got flustered like this, it made you want to eat him alive.

“Claggor, baby,” you said, brushing your fingers up to his jaw and gently guiding his face to look at you. “Do you want to try that? For real?”

He nodded, slow and shy.

You kissed him before he could second-guess himself. You couldn’t help it. He was too sweet. Too brave for bringing it up. Too damn irresistible.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips, “but you have to promise me something.”

He looked up at you, still breathless. “What?”

“If we do this, you have to tell me if anything feels off. If you want to stop, if you need a break, anything. You tell me. Got it?”

He nodded again, more firmly this time, and slid his hand over yours. “Promise.”

What Claggor didn’t know, what he couldn’t have known, is what he’d just awakened inside you. That part of you that had been waiting, simmering just below the surface for someone like him to come along and say, please.

He wanted that part of you?

You were going to give it to him.

You were going to ruin him, in the best, softest, sweetest way.

And he was going to love every second of it.

—

The next day, you went on a mission.

You walked into the sex shop like a woman possessed, heels clicking, head high, and fire in your eyes. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause, didn’t wander. You knew what you wanted. What he wanted. What you were going to give him. And you were going to make sure it was unforgettable.

Your fingers trailed along shelves of silicone and leather, teasing over textures like you were already imagining them against his skin. You didn’t need help. You were experienced enough to know exactly what size strap you’d need to stretch him just right; not too much, not too little. Just enough to make him whimper, to make him melt for you.

You picked a sleek, midnight-black harness, adjustable, sturdy, meant to fit snug and secure around your hips. The kind that said I’m in charge, without needing a single word. The dildo you chose was curved just slightly, enough to hit the perfect spot, and long enough to keep him begging for more.

And then… the lingerie.

You hadn’t planned on it, but the second you saw it; black lace, sheer, high-cut with delicate straps and a plunging neckline that left very little to the imagination. You knew it was coming home with you. You imagined the way his eyes would widen when he saw you in it, the way he’d lose every coherent thought the second you stepped into the room.

Power wasn’t always loud. Sometimes, it was in the slow glide of silk up your thighs, in the way you crossed your legs and looked at him like he belonged to you.

You tossed in lube; water-based, high quality, and a bottle of toy cleaner like the practical bitch you were. No fumbling, no guesswork. Just precision and intent. You were going to take care of him right.

At the register, the cashier raised their eyebrows slightly at your haul, but you just smiled, cool, confident, almost predatory.

You weren’t just shopping.

You were preparing for a devotion.

Because Claggor had asked you to take control. He’d given himself over to you in that breathless, blushy voice, and now? Now you were going to show him exactly what that meant.

By the end of the night, he’d know who he belonged to. And he’d be begging for more.

—

Claggor came home later than usual, he’d texted you from the train, apologizing for running behind, promising to make it up to you. He had no idea what was waiting for him.

The apartment was dark when he stepped inside, save for the soft flicker of candlelight dancing along the walls. The air was warm, scented faintly with something heady, amber and spice, and there was a hum in the air, a quiet electricity that made his breath catch.

“Hello?” he called out softly, unsure.

“I’m in the bedroom,” you said, your voice low and smooth, like velvet laced with honey and command.

He swallowed and stepped further in, slipping off his shoes and setting down his bag with nervous fingers. Something about your tone, something in the way the room was lit, the scent, the silence, made him move slower. Cautious. Curious. Turned on without even seeing you yet.

When he pushed open the bedroom door, he froze.

You were standing at the foot of the bed in a silk robe the color of wine, lit only by candles that cast golden shadows over your skin. The robe clung to your curves, slipping off one shoulder just enough to hint at the lace beneath, black, sheer, sculpting your body in all the right places. The sight of you made his jaw go slack.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

You smirked.

“Don’t speak,” you said, taking a slow step toward him. “Just listen.”

He nodded, wide-eyed, his cheeks flushing already. You could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, see the outline of his growing arousal in his pants.

You circled him once, slowly, like a lioness sizing up her prey. Fingers skimmed his chest, down his arm, across his lower back, gentle, but firm. Claiming.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” you murmured, your lips brushing just beneath his ear, “and I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do to you.”

A sharp inhale. You smiled.

“Take your clothes off, Claggor.”

He moved almost on instinct, hands fumbling slightly with his buttons, his gaze flicking to you every few seconds like he needed the reassurance that this was real. That you were real. That this was actually happening.

You didn’t help. You didn’t touch. You just watched, arms folded, eyes sharp and hungry, as he stripped slowly down to nothing, standing naked and flushed before you in the candlelight.

“Good,” you said, stepping closer, pressing a hand to his chest. “Now get on the bed. Face down.”

He blinked, breath catching again, but obeyed immediately, crawling onto the bed on trembling limbs. He laid flat, his arms stretched out above him, his face turned to the side as he waited, completely exposed, completely obedient.

Exactly where you wanted him.

You stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, savoring the view. His pale back, the curve of his waist, the way his legs tensed with anticipation. You could see the way he was already hard again, pressing into the mattress, twitching with need.

You slipped the robe from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

He couldn’t see you yet, not like this, but he would. He’d feel every inch of you, your dominance, your care, your hunger, pressed into him, surrounding him, unraveling him.

“You’re already shaking,” you murmured, your voice low and pleased, your fingertips tracing lazy patterns down the length of his spine. “Poor baby… you haven’t even felt me yet.”

He whined softly into the pillow, hips pressing forward on instinct, seeking friction. You smiled against his skin and kissed the place just behind his ear, your hands trailing down to part his thighs just a bit wider.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you said, reaching for the bottle of lube you’d set nearby. “But I need you to breathe, Claggor. Deep. In and out.”

He nodded quickly, his cheek still pressed to the mattress. “I—I’m okay,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I just—fuck—I want it so bad, but I’m nervous.”

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t rush.

You bent forward, lips brushing his ear again. “I know, baby. But I’ve got you. You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

“Good. Then let me take care of you.”

You kissed his shoulder gently before sitting up. He jolted slightly when he felt the cool slick of lube against him, but you were slow, deliberate, rubbing it in with firm, soothing fingers. The first touch to his entrance was featherlight, teasing, circling without pressure.

He gasped, hips twitching.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

You smirked. “Sensitive already?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Mmm. That’s perfect.”

You eased your thumb just beside the tight ring of muscle, not pressing in, just tracing him. “You look so pretty like this. Open for me. Desperate.”

He moaned, low and needy, and you finally gave him what he was silently begging for. Just the tip of your finger, slow and gentle, sliding past the initial resistance.

His whole body jerked.

“Oh—oh fuck—!”

You stilled instantly, your free hand pressing between his shoulder blades. “Breathe, Claggor. You’re okay.”

He moaned again, but this time softer, melting into the mattress as his body adjusted. “It’s… oh god, it’s so much,” he gasped. “But good—so good.”

You leaned over him again, lips brushing his cheek, your voice firm but affectionate. “You’re taking it so well, sweetheart. I told you I’d take care of you.”

And he was, you could feel how tight he was around your finger, how his hips instinctively rocked back, greedy for more despite how overwhelmed he was. His cock was trapped against the sheets, leaking already.

You moved slowly, working him open with practiced ease, teasing him with little crooks of your finger that made him sob into the pillow.

“Fuck, fuck—” he whimpered, his whole body trembling. “More, please—”

You chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the small of his back.

“You’re not ready for more yet,” you whispered, slipping a second finger beside the first but not pushing in. Just teasing. Just threatening. “You don’t get to rush. You asked for this, remember? Now you’re going to feel every second of it.”

His answering moan was nothing short of broken, hands fisting the sheets, thighs trembling under your weight.

Claggor’s breaths were already shaky, his body tense beneath you, caught somewhere between eagerness and overload. His hips flexed again, trying to chase more pressure, but you stilled him with a firm hand on his lower back.

“Ah-ah,” you murmured, your tone rich with amusement. “You don’t get to move unless I say.”

He whimpered, pressing his forehead to the pillow, his hands gripping the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. You trailed your fingers down the back of his thigh, tracing the edge where skin met bedsheet.

“You’re not used to this yet,” you purred, slicking up your fingers again. “You’re not ready for how good this is going to get. You think you want it now, baby, but you don’t even know what you’re begging for.”

His hips twitched again, desperate, involuntary, and you laughed softly, pressing your hand harder into his back until he went still beneath you again.

“That’s better,” you said, almost cooing. “Good boy.”

A soft, choked sound left him at that. Praise always did him in, made his body go pliant, made his cock throb against the bed, leaking into the sheets without even being touched. You let your fingers ghost over his hole again, already shiny with lube, but still untouched enough to keep him aching for more.

He was so reactive, so eager. It was intoxicating.

You circled your finger again, barely dipping in—just the tip, and then pulling back out, again and again. Every time he pushed back, trying to take more, you’d stop completely. Deny him. Keep him hovering right on the edge of something electric.

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracked and trembling. “Please, I—”

“You what?” you asked sweetly, dragging your fingernails gently down his ass, making him shudder. “Use your words, Claggor.”

“I want—need—your fingers,” he gasped. “More. Anything. Please—please, I can’t—”

You rewarded him by finally pushing your finger in deeper, slow and steady until your knuckle brushed against him. He cried out, a ragged sound into the pillow, his thighs trembling under your weight.

“There you go,” you murmured, leaning down to kiss between his shoulder blades. “See? You’re doing so well.”

You started to move then; careful, curling your finger just so until his breath caught again. He moaned, louder this time, hips jerking down into the mattress.

You added the tiniest twist, brushing right over that spot inside him that made his whole body seize.

“Oh my god—!” he sobbed, panting hard, his voice high and desperate. “That—what was that—?”

“That’s me,” you purred, curling your finger again, slower this time, dragging it right over that spot again just to hear him break. “That’s what happens when you let me take control.”

He gasped, whimpering into the mattress, his legs kicking weakly as you worked him open. You added a second finger after a while; just as slow, just as deliberate. He went taut beneath you, overwhelmed, but not resisting. If anything, his body craved it now, opening up so sweetly around you, even as he sobbed from the pressure and the pleasure colliding inside him.

You leaned forward again, your chest pressing against his back, silk and lace whispering against his skin. Your voice was soft, cruelly gentle.

“You’re dripping all over the sheets, Claggor,” you murmured in his ear. “I haven’t even touched your cock and you’re this far gone? What are you gonna do when I fuck you, baby?”

He moaned like it hurt to even think about it.

“Please, please let me cum—” he begged, rocking helplessly back onto your fingers.

You laughed darkly, pulling your fingers out with a wet sound that made him cry out in protest.

“No, no, no—please—!”

You kissed the back of his neck, slow and indulgent.

“Not yet,” you whispered. “You don’t cum until I say. You wanted to be ruined, didn’t you?”

He whimpered something close to a “yes,” too incoherent to form words now.

You got off the bed slowly, deliberately, letting him hear your movements, feel the absence of your warmth as you stepped away. He tried to look up, confused and whiny, but you hushed him with a soft click of your tongue.

“I’m just putting it on,” you said, reaching for the harness you’d laid out earlier. “You’ve taken my fingers so well. Now you’re going to take this.”

He groaned into the mattress, both overwhelmed and so fucking ready.

And when you stepped back into view, silhouetted by candlelight in black lace and sleek leather, the strap-on thick and shining between your legs, he went silent; eyes wide, lips parted, staring like you were some divine force sent to destroy him.

You smirked, climbing back onto the bed and straddling him once more.

“You ready, baby?” you asked, teasing the head of the toy between his thighs, sliding it along the mess you’d made of him. “Or do I need to tease you a little more first?”

His body shook as he tried to form a reply.

But at this point?

You already knew the answer.

You held the base of the strap, slowly, carefully guiding it to his entrance, letting the slick head press against him without pushing in just yet. His body jolted from the contact, and he gasped, hips rocking back instinctively, trying to take it.

“Mmm, not yet,” you warned softly, hand firm on his hip. “You don’t get to fuck yourself on it. I said I’d take care of you, let me.”

He whimpered, burying his face in the pillow. “Please… please, I want it, I need it, I can take it…”

You leaned over him, voice like velvet and heat against the shell of his ear. “Oh, baby… I know you can. I just love hearing you beg for it.”

He moaned like he was falling apart under your words alone.

“You’re doing so well for me, Claggor,” you murmured, sliding the head of the strap just barely in, enough to breach him, just the tip, and his body clenched hard, sucking it in like he needed it. “That’s it. Breathe. You’re okay.”

He gasped, his whole body trembling. “F-fuck—it’s so big—”

“Shhh,” you soothed, rubbing slow circles into the small of his back. “You’re taking it like you were made for this.”

Bit by bit, you sank into him, watching the way his body opened up so beautifully around you. His thighs trembled, his hands curled in the sheets. He was panting, already whining with every inch, his cock hard and untouched beneath him.

“Almost there,” you whispered, your voice low and reverent, as if this was something sacred. “God, look at you. So perfect for me. So good.”

He made a wrecked sound in his throat, like your words alone were going to tip him over the edge.

You bottomed out slowly, hips flush with his ass, and held there, letting him feel the fullness, letting him shake and gasp and moan while you rubbed your hands over his hips and kissed between his shoulder blades.

“Oh my god,” he sobbed. “You feel so good—fuck, it’s so much—it’s so good—”

You didn’t move yet. Just stayed still, letting him adjust, letting the anticipation swirl like lightning beneath his skin.

“You’re doing amazing,” you whispered. “You’re taking me so well, Claggor. Just like I knew you would. Look at you, baby.”

“I c-can’t—” he choked, face buried in the sheets. “I’m gonna cum, I swear—if you move I’m gonna—”

You grinned, leaning down so your chest pressed into his back, your lips ghosting over his neck. “That’s okay. You can cum as many times as you want tonight. I’m not stopping.”

He whimpered at that, half pleasure, half fear at just how serious you sounded.

You rolled your hips slowly, just once, and he screamed.

“Oh my god—”

His whole body shook as he came hard against the sheets, untouched, wrung out from nothing but your strap inside him and your voice in his ear. His thighs clenched, stomach contracting, his moans rising into desperate sobs of pleasure.

You held him through it, whispering praise against his skin.

“That’s it, baby… fuck, you’re so pretty like this. You did so good. You came just from me being inside you—god, look at you.”

He was still twitching, oversensitive and gasping, but you didn’t move much. Just shallow, slow thrusts to keep the pressure there, keep his body humming with overstimulation.

“You think you’re done?” you murmured, voice honey-sweet and merciless. “Claggor, I haven’t even started ruining you yet.”

And beneath you, he sobbed something that sounded like your name.

Begging for more.

Begging for mercy.

Begging for you.

You let him breathe for a moment, your body pressed over his, the toy still snug inside him, twitching with every shallow rock of your hips. Claggor was whimpering quietly, his body boneless beneath you, and yet… still twitching for more.

You kissed the back of his shoulder, your fingers brushing over the curve of his spine. “Still with me, baby?”

He nodded, dazed. “Uh-huh,” he managed, voice rough and thin. “Don’t stop. Please… please keep going…”

You smiled. God, he was perfect like this, half-broken, flushed, pliant, and begging. You adjusted your grip on his hips and slowly pulled out a few inches, watching his hole twitch around the loss.

His breath caught. He was so sensitive now, every movement making him jolt.

Then you thrust back in. A little harder. A little deeper.

Claggor cried out, his back arching, legs shaking beneath you.

“F-fuck—!”

“That’s it,” you murmured, setting a slow, steady rhythm, letting him feel the full drag of it every time you pushed in. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted me to fuck you properly.”

“Yes—yes,” he moaned, burying his face in the pillow. “It feels—oh god, it feels so good—”

You reached under him with one hand and slid your fingers down his chest, his stomach, until you found his cock; still half-hard, twitching and messy from before. He gasped when you touched it.

“Already came once, and you’re still this needy?” you teased, stroking him slowly in time with your thrusts. “I knew you were greedy, Claggor, but this… this is something else.”

He was already moaning louder, the pleasure rolling through him too quickly to catch his breath.

“Fuck me,” he sobbed. “Please—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

You thrust deeper, faster, your hips meeting his with soft, wet sounds, the harness snug against your thighs. He was taking you so well now, body completely open to you, gripping the toy like it belonged inside him.

“Such a good boy,” you breathed against his ear, thrusting deep and holding it, grinding against him. He screamed, shoving his hips back.

“You love this, don’t you?” you whispered. “You love being filled like this, used like this, mine.”

He nodded, trembling. “Yours—yours, please—”

You kept your rhythm steady, fast now, deep and relentless, the toy sliding effortlessly in and out of him, hitting his prostate with every stroke. He was sobbing into the pillow, begging between broken cries.

“Gonna cum again,” he gasped. “Please—please let me—”

“Cum for me,” you said, voice low and commanding. “Do it, baby. Show me how good I fuck you.”

That was all it took.

Claggor came again with a choked scream, his entire body convulsing under you. He made a mess of the sheets, thighs trembling violently, cock pulsing in your hand as his hole clenched hard around the strap still buried inside him.

You didn’t stop right away. You fucked him through it, deeper, slower now, dragging out every second of his orgasm until he was shaking, until he went completely limp under you, whimpering from the overstimulation.

Then, finally, you slowed to a stop and leaned down, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him as he came down, pressing kisses to the back of his neck, his shoulder, his spine.

“You did so well,” you murmured against his flushed skin. “So perfect. My sweet, perfect boy.”

He whimpered softly, no words left in him, but the way he turned his face toward you, the way he curled his fingers over your hand on his stomach, told you everything.

He was yours.

Totally and completely.

—

The room was still glowing in the soft amber candlelight, shadows flickering against the walls as your breathing slowed. Claggor was quiet beneath you, his face pressed into the sheets, his whole body flushed and trembling with the aftershocks.

You stayed still for a moment, just resting your weight gently over him, your hands stroking along his sides, grounding him, letting him know you were still there. Still with him.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, voice low and warm. “You okay?”

He let out a tiny sound, somewhere between a breath and a laugh, and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “More than okay. Just… kind of floating.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “You were amazing. So good for me.”

Slowly, carefully, you pulled out, watching as he winced just a little at the loss. His body was sensitive, pliant, flushed. You reached for a warm towel you’d left nearby, because you’d planned for this, and gently cleaned him up, murmuring soft, sweet things the whole time.

“You did so well,” you said again, wiping him down gently, your touch reverent. “You took it like a pro. Made me so proud.”

Claggor’s hand reached for yours, squeezing your fingers tightly. His eyes were glassy with exhaustion and affection. “Didn’t know I’d like it that much,” he mumbled, cheeks red. “But with you? I trust you.”

That hit you right in the chest.

You kissed his knuckles, then set the towel aside and slipped out of the harness, tossing it to the side before crawling back into bed. “C’mere,” you whispered.

He came willingly, almost boneless, folding into your arms with a soft sigh. You wrapped him up in your silk robe, not caring that it was wrinkled now, and pulled the blanket over both of you.

He tucked his face into your neck, warm breath brushing your skin. “You’re still shaking,” you murmured, running your fingers through his curls.

“I know,” he admitted, voice muffled. “But like… the good kind.”

You just held him tighter. “I’ve got you.”

There was silence for a while. Just your fingers stroking through his hair, your other hand resting on his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. You kissed his temple.

“I loved seeing that side of you,” he whispered eventually. “You being so in control. It… made me feel safe.”

Your throat tightened a little. You hadn’t expected that; how deeply this would connect you, how vulnerable he would let himself be, and how much trust that took. You kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered, “You are safe. With me. Always.”

Claggor smiled, sleepy and sweet. “I love you,” he said, soft and true.

Your heart stuttered, then settled, full and glowing.

“I love you too,” you said, voice thick with emotion. “So damn much.”

You held him until he fell asleep, his body warm against yours, breath evening out, your fingers never leaving his skin. And even after he was asleep, you stayed like that.

Watching him.

Loving him.

(this is just a blurb from it)

You hated lab days.

Well...maybe hate was a strong word. It’s not like you loathed them, exactly. But you definitely didn’t like them. There were too many steps. Too much math. Too much standing around pretending you understood what stoichiometry was while silently wishing the Bunsen burner would swallow you whole.

So when your professor’s Sunday night email popped up: “Reminder: Chemistry Lab Tomorrow. Come prepared.” Y ou nearly dropped out of college on the spot.

And then, as if the universe hadn’t already declared war on you, you walked into the lab Monday morning and saw it.

The dreaded phrase, written in dry-erase marker across the board like a death sentence:

Lab Partners Today

Could your day get any worse?

Yes. Yes, it could. Because you were paired with him.

Claggor.

As in, that Claggor. Starting tight end, team golden boy, and all-around pain in your ass. The same guy who flirted with you freshman year at a party you barely remember, the same guy who spent every lecture scrolling on his phone and somehow always managed to look surprised when he asked you for the notes you knew damn well, he didn’t deserve.

Perfect.

You dropped your bag to the floor with a heavy thud and collapsed onto the painfully uncomfortable lab stool beside him.

“I hope you’re actually going to put effort in today,” you said flatly, not even bothering to look at him.

He didn’t answer at first. Just leaned against the lab bench like it was a locker room wall, phone still in hand. When he finally glanced up, that familiar smirk was already forming.

“Depends,” he said lazily. “You gonna do all the work for me?”

That stupid jock tone of his made you clench your jaw.

God, he was insufferable.

And worse? He knew it.

You ignored his smirk and pulled the lab manual toward you, flipping to the experiment of the day. Titration. Great. Acid, base, and a whole lot of numbers you didn’t want to deal with on a Monday morning.

You started reading the procedure, squinting at the tiny text. “We’re supposed to calculate the molarity based on how much base is needed to neutralize the acid. So we need the volume used—”

Claggor leaned in, way too close, pointing at a random paragraph with the tip of his pen. “Wait, wait. Is this the part where the chemicals explode if we mess up? Or is that just in the movies?”

You gave him a withering look. “This isn’t Fight Club , Claggor. It’s Chem 102.”

He grinned. “You say that like you’re not lowkey hoping for a little explosion. Spice things up.”

You turned back to the manual. “The only explosion that’s about to happen is my brain trying to remember how to do these calculations.”

“Aw,” he said, fake pouting. “Need help with the big bad numbers?”

“I need you to not talk for five minutes.”

He let out a low whistle. “Feisty. I like that.”

You didn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, you started writing down the formula for molarity: M = mol / L . Simple enough. In theory.

Claggor tapped his pen against the table. “So... what’s a mole again? Like, the animal? Or...?”

You stopped mid-equation and stared at him.

He stared back.

“I’m joking. Kind of.”

You ran a hand down your face. “Why are you even in this class?”

He leaned in again, smile slow and smug. “Why do you think? Gotta stay eligible for the team. And maybe I wanted to see you again. You know, relive that magical freshman moment.”

You blinked. “The one where you spilled beer on me and asked if I ‘felt a connection’?”

“That’s the one,” he said proudly.

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your ancestors. “Focus. We need to find the number of moles of the base, and for that we need the molarity of the acid, and the volume added—”

But Claggor wasn’t listening. He was still watching you; head tilted like you were a puzzle he was just starting to enjoy solving.

“You get real intense when you’re concentrating,” he said, grinning. “It’s kinda cute.”

You slammed your pen down. “Do you want to pass this lab or not?”

He leaned back, hands up like you’d just pulled a weapon. “Hey, I’m helping! I’m the moral support. The vibes.”

“Your vibes are actively lowering my IQ.”

He chuckled, actually chuckled, like this was all some big joke to him. Which, to be fair, it probably was.

“Tell you what,” he said. “You teach me this math stuff, and I’ll buy you coffee after. Or dinner. Your pick.”

You stared at him. “That’s not how lab partnerships work.”

“It could be.”

You gritted your teeth and shoved the notebook toward him. “Start by writing down the volume we used. Accurately. If you round wrong, I swear to God—”

He took the pen with a wink, like you’d just agreed to marry him. “You got it, partner .”

You were waiting for him to mess it up.

Really, you were ready for it. You had already rehearsed your eye roll, prepared a snarky comeback, even opened your calculator so you could redo everything yourself.

But then Claggor… actually picked up the pen.

And didn’t look confused.

“Huh,” he said, tapping his finger against the page. “So if the volume of the base we used was 0.025 liters, and the molarity of the acid is 0.1 M, then we can just plug that into the neutralization formula, right?”

You blinked. “Uh… yeah.”

He jotted something down, quick and neat, and your eyes widened. His handwriting was surprisingly legible. Neat, even. A little angled, like he was trying not to make it too obvious he cared.

“So,” he said, “if the balanced equation has a 1:1 ratio, then moles of acid equal moles of base. Multiply molarity by volume, that gives us... 2.5 millimoles.”

You stared at the notebook.

Then at him.

Then at the notebook again.

“…Did you just do that in your head?”

Claggor looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah? I mean, it’s not that hard.”

You frowned. “But you said… You act like you don’t even know what a mole is.”

He grinned. “Yeah, because it’s funny watching you get all worked up.”

You gaped at him, full-on speechless. “You’ve been pretending to be bad at this?”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Not pretending. Just… choosing not to try. There’s a difference.”

You leaned back in your stool, trying to process what the hell just happened. Claggor. Claggor. The guy who once asked if the syllabus was “just a suggestion,” had just casually solved the hardest part of the lab without breaking a sweat.

“What are you even doing in football?” you muttered.

He shot you a lopsided grin. “What, you don’t think athletes can do math?”

“I think you were trying really hard to convince me you couldn’t.”

He looked down, a little more sheepish this time. “Yeah, well… people don’t usually expect me to be good at this stuff. It’s easier to just play the dumb jock card.”

You studied him, genuinely seeing him for the first time, actually seeing him. And yeah, he was still smug and obnoxious and had no business being that attractive, but there was something else under all that bravado. Something… sharp.

Smart.

You sat up straighter and crossed your arms. “Okay then, genius. Finish the calculations. I want a break.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then, without hesitation, he got to work. Unit conversions, sig figs, the whole thing.

You didn’t know what was more alarming: that Claggor was solving stoichiometry like it was Sudoku… or that watching him do it was, somehow, infuriatingly hot.

You weren’t sure what kind of rom-com hell you’d just stumbled into, but one thing was painfully clear.

When you started dating Claggor, you assumed he’d be kind of vanilla in bed. Sweet, maybe a little awkward, definitely the type to ask before kissing you and apologize if he got too rough. And that was fine. You liked him for who he was. He was steady, thoughtful, gentle with his hands.

But the first time he got between your legs, all of that got ripped to shreds.

Claggor eats like a man who’s been starving his whole life, and you’re the only meal that ever mattered. There’s nothing slow or sweet about the way he goes down on you—no teasing, no warm-up. He gets your legs spread and dives in like he’s drowning and you’re the only air left in the world.

Messy doesn’t even begin to describe it.

You feel the stubble on his jaw scrape against your thighs, his hands bruising your hips as he drags you down the bed to where he wants you. His tongue is relentless, his lips slick and parted, gasping against you like he can’t get enough. Every sound he makes is soaked in hunger; wet, desperate, fucking obscene. He moans into your cunt like it’s his favorite song, and he hums when you twitch or cry out, like he’s proud of it. Every movement, every lap of his tongue, is frenzied and raw, like if he dies tonight, this is exactly how he wants to go out.

And the worst part? He talks while he does it.

Filthy, degrading things that make your spine arch and your hands scrabble against the sheets.

“You like that, don’t you? Fucking soaking. You want me to clean up your mess like the little slut you are?”

You gasp, eyes wide, because Claggor, sweet, soft-spoken Claggor, is gripping your thighs and snarling between them like he owns you. His voice is wrecked, half-muffled by your slick, and he doesn’t stop . Not when you cry out. Not when you beg. Not even when you shake so hard the bed creaks beneath you.

“I could live down here,” he growls. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me keep my face buried in this perfect little pussy all fucking day.”

He slaps your thigh when you try to pull away, like he’s angry you even thought of it.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You’re not sure if you’re sobbing from pleasure or just the overload, but you can't stop trembling. You weren’t ready for this. No part of you was prepared for him —not like this. He devours you like he’s been dreaming of it for years, like every filthy fantasy he’s ever had is crashing down on you at once, and he finally gets to ruin you with it.

And the way he looks up at you; mouth soaked, chin glistening, eyes burning. And you realize he’s only just getting started.

You barely get a breath in before he dives back, tongue sliding into you so deep your vision whites out. You try to lift your hips, try to squirm away, but Claggor growls and slams your thighs down, pinning you in place with nothing but the weight of his arms and that goddamn mouth.

"You don't get to run from me," he snarls into you, lips dragging over your soaked skin. "You started this, baby. Now you’re gonna fucking take it."

His voice is low and wrecked, full of heat and hunger and something far more dangerous. And you do. You take it. You lie there, writhing under him as he feasts on you like it’s his last night alive, like every twitch and gasp you give him is another hit of oxygen. His tongue works you over with ruthless precision, flicking, dragging, circling your clit just enough to make your whole body lock up and then pulling away like he knows what he’s doing to you.

Sadistic.

You moan, hands flying to his hair. You try to tug him up, try to pull him into a kiss, into anything, but he just growls again and grabs your wrists, slamming them down above your head with one big, shaking hand.

"I said stay down," he pants. His voice is soaked in need. "You're not gonna fucking distract me. This is mine tonight."

He goes right back to it , practically shaking from how hard he’s grinding into the bed, desperate for any friction while he devours you. The noises are filthy; slick, wet, greedy. He slurps and moans like a man possessed, mouth shining with your arousal, and when you glance down through hazy eyes, fuck... the look on his face is downright obscene.

He’s loving it.

He’s addicted .

“You taste like heaven, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue in slow, devastating strokes. “Like you were made for me to eat.”

You’re crying, you realize. A choked, helpless sound escapes your throat as you try to hold on, try not to cum again but Claggor knows . He feels it.

"Don’t you dare hold back," he says, voice hot against your soaked skin. "You give it to me. Be a good little thing and fucking give it to me."

And when you break, when your body finally gives in and you scream through your climax, he doesn’t stop . Of course he doesn't

He just keeps licking , sucking you through it like he's trying to pull your soul out through your cunt. You twitch and gasp, hips shaking so hard you nearly throw him off, but he holds you down and keeps going . He's going to kill you. You’re going to die like this. Shaking and soaked and sobbing while Claggor wrecks you from the inside out with nothing but his fucking mouth .

Eventually, finally, he pulls away with a gasp, face flushed, lips swollen, chin soaked.

He looks dazed. Wrecked.

Like he just found God in the way you tasted.

"Fuck," he pants, voice rough. "You should see yourself right now."

You’re too far gone to speak, legs still trembling, eyes glassy, but that just makes him grin, slow and crooked, as he leans over you and presses a hand between your thighs, spreading you open again.

"Think you're done? Baby, I’m just getting started."

You don’t know how long you lay there; boneless, wrecked, still twitching from the aftershocks, but Claggor doesn’t give you much time to recover. He’s already climbing over you, his body heavy and hot, caging you in with arms that tremble from restraint. His face is still soaked in you, lips swollen and slick, and he doesn’t wipe it away.

No. He wants you to see it.

Wants you to remember what he just did.

"You’re fuckin’ shaking," he murmurs, voice low and guttural as he presses the head of his cock against your entrance. "Look at you. Already ruined. And I haven’t even fucked you yet."

You whimper, but it just makes him grin, sharp and cruel. That look in his eyes... it’s nothing like the sweet, quiet guy you started dating. No, this is something else. Something darker. Rougher. Unleashed.

He grabs your jaw and makes you look at him.

"You gonna cry when I put it in?" he murmurs, voice rough. "That how tight you are, baby?"

You nod, but it doesn’t matter, he’s already pushing in.

Slow , but not gentle. He stretches you open inch by inch, groaning like he’s finally home. The stretch burns, even with how wet you are, and your fingers claw at his shoulders, nails dragging red down his back.

“Fuck, yes ,” he hisses, bottoming out with a brutal snap of his hips. “You feel that? That’s how a good little thing gets used.”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t let you adjust. He just pulls back and slams back in, and again, and again, the sound of skin on skin loud and filthy in the room. Every thrust is mean; deep and hard, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You’re already gone, already gasping, and he loves it. Drinks in every broken moan, every sobbed-out plea like he’s earned it.

"You didn’t expect this, did you?" he grunts into your ear. “Thought I was gonna be soft, didn’t you? Thought I’d light some candles, ask for permission, maybe whisper sweet nothings while I fucked you like a virgin.”

He laughs, low and cruel, and fucks you harder.

“No, baby. I’m gonna break you. ”

He grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders, folding you in half like it’s nothing, hitting even deeper . You scream his name and he smirks , sweat dripping from his brow, mouth dragging down your neck.

“Such a good hole for me,” he grunts. “So tight, so wet—fuck, I could live in you. You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me fuck you open every night until you can’t walk ?”

You’re babbling nonsense now—"yes, please, don’t stop"—and it only fuels him more. He keeps your legs pinned up, rutting into you like a man possessed. Like he needs this more than air.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he growls. “Gonna fill you up until you’re leaking down your thighs. You want that? Want me to fuck it so deep you feel me for days ?”

Your orgasm crashes into you so hard it hurts; your whole-body tensing, throat raw from the sounds tearing out of you. And Claggor doesn’t stop. Not when you cum. Not when you scream. He fucks you through it, makes you take it.

“You cum when I tell you to,” he snarls, fingers bruising your hips. “You don’t cum without my permission, you hear me?”

You nod, dazed and shaking.

“Good girl.”

When he finally cums, it’s with a snarl, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside you as he spills everything into you, panting and groaning your name like a prayer.

And even then, even after you’re wrecked and ruined and boneless beneath him, he doesn’t pull out.

He just stays there, cock still buried inside, hand wrapped around your throat, eyes locked on yours with a lazy, dangerous smirk.

You don’t know when you stopped moaning and started gasping for breath.

Your limbs are trembling; fingers numb from clutching the sheets so hard. You’re spread open, flushed, soaked inside and out, body buzzing like you just survived something dangerous, and maybe you did. Claggor’s weight is still on top of you, warm and heavy, cock softening inside you while his breath comes in hot pants against your neck.

And then… like someone flipped a switch… he melts .

He blinks down at you, pupils still blown but soft now, gentle, like he’s seeing you clearly again for the first time.

“Oh, baby,” he whispers, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers. “Shit. Are you okay? Was that—was that too much?”

The whiplash nearly makes you laugh. Your throat is raw, your thighs are aching, your chest still rising and falling like you just ran ten miles, and now he’s cupping your face like you’re made of glass. That sweet , almost bashful concern in his voice feels like something out of a dream.

You blink up at him, dazed. “Are you okay?”

Claggor huffs a soft, sheepish laugh and kisses your forehead.

“I’m good, I just—fuck, I got a little carried away. You were just… so good. Let me take care of you now, yeah?”

You nod, boneless and blinking, and he’s already moving, pulling out of you with a soft apology, easing your legs down from his shoulders with a gentle rub. He’s murmuring under his breath the whole time, little praises and soft reassurances like you didn’t just get absolutely wrecked by him ten seconds ago.

"You're amazing, baby. Did so good for me. So perfect. My perfect girl."

He disappears for a moment and returns with a warm towel, carefully wiping between your legs like he’s handling something precious. He keeps murmuring soft nothings while he cleans you up—"Almost done, sweetheart. Just a little more. Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

And then he’s bundling you in his arms, pulling you into his chest like you didn’t just watch him degrade you until you sobbed. He kisses your temple. Your cheek. Your shoulder.

“You were amazing,” he says again, more serious this time. “I know I got kind of intense. I just—fuck. I don’t wanna scare you off.”

You blink up at him, still in that strange, floaty haze. “You’re scaring me more right now , honestly.”

He pulls back a little, frowning, confused. “Wait, what?”

You gesture weakly at him. “You were literally just saying the filthiest shit I’ve ever heard in my life and now you’re wiping me down like I scraped my knee.”

Claggor blinks. And then he laughs; a soft, genuine sound that rumbles through his chest.

"Yeah, well… I like taking care of my girl. Doesn’t mean I don’t like fucking her dumb first."

You groan and bury your face in his chest. “You’re so confusing.”

He kisses your hair, still smiling. “You love it.”

And the worst part is… you do .

Because yeah, Claggor might fuck like he’s feral, like he’s trying to break you—but after?

He cradles you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.