vicky

Still, his eyes were beautiful. Your hope flickered like a small stubborn flame in your chest that you wanted to guard against the blizzard. The marriage was simple. You showed up to the courthouse in a knee-length white dress, constantly adjusting at the pearls around your neck anxiously while he signed the papers. Once he was done, he’d simply slid it over to you, evidently avoiding your eyes. 

“Are you sure?” you’d asked meekly, as if speaking any louder than a whisper would shatter your heart. You weren’t sure if you were asking him or yourself. Not that it mattered, much.

He spared you a soft smile. Pity, maybe, with how his eyes remained empty, but you took it anyway. 

A starved man does not beg for more. The flame remained.

The only reason he married you was because MC had gotten married to another childhood friend of theirs. When he mentioned it, you thought nothing of it at first. But when the only photo he’d put up throughout your entire house was one of him and her as children, while your awkwardly situated courthouse picture sat beside it, you knew. He didn’t stop to stare at your photo, ever. Not any of the photos. Only hers.

The final blow to the puny flame remaining in your heart was when you’d finally initiated physical contact. To perform the marital duty, he’d hovered above you in just his pants while you stared up at him in your thin pajamas that did little to hide what was beneath it. There was no setting the mood. The air was cold, the room dull because only your half had any semblance of effort that had gone into decorating it. When he kissed you, it felt more like his lips were simply touching yours gently. Almost tapping it. 

It felt like nothing.

This was not romantic at all.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back with a furrow in his brows—probably because you were lying lifelessly while holding your breath. You wondered how he could ask something so softly when his eyes remained so muted. Maybe not softly. Maybe just quiet.

“It’s okay.” You wanted to curl up and go to sleep, but he was the only semblance of warmth in the freezing room.

But when his hand slid up your shirt, resting atop of your stomach, you stopped breathing again. He stopped as well. Your gazes met silently, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. A dull, slow stop. And then suddenly, he was off you, clambering to pull his shirt back on as you sat up in confusion, eyes wide.

“I can’t,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

The flame went out.

Were you really so distasteful? So disgusting that he didn’t want to lay his hands on his own wife? Or was it that you were just too different from her? Should you be offended? Are you even offended? Relieved? Hurt? 

Does it even matter?

Once you were sure he’s gone, you cried yourself to sleep.

The next few years are a blur that you wish had somehow gone even faster. The days are a bore. He’s away for weeks—maybe even months—at a time. In those periods of time, the house feels like a maze not meant for only one person. At the same time, maybe it’s better he’s away.

Caleb Xia is not a mean person. On paper, he’s a decent husband. He cleans, cooks, and never complains if you ask him to do something. He smiles, nods, and goes on his way. Yet, it feels more like a vaguely close roommate than a husband. The two of you eat in silence, watch TV in silence, and even go to bed in different rooms. You suppose you can’t complain—it’s not like you put in much effort to get to know him well anyway.

The only thing he does that even comes close to romance is bringing you flowers. You’d told him once that you wished the house had space for a garden to plant them, and he’d brought you a bouquet later that week. Since then, he brings them every few weeks routinely. They appear in the vase beside the couch as if they’ve just magically appeared. 

They’re pretty, you think.

Resentment builds, slowly but surely, probably on both ends as in most marriages. This kind of life is killing you inside. This lonely, aimless life in a house that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world, in a bed that feels too large. 

“I want to work,” you say one day, picking at your food blankly. “I have an interview tomorrow, so I won’t be here for most of the day from now on if I get it.”

A fork clatters from across the table. “What? Why?”

You don’t necessarily have to work given Caleb’s plentiful paycheck, but you want to anyway because you can’t stand being in that gigantic house all by yourself. But of course, how could you tell this to the man in front of you? The man you don’t even know the favorite color of?

“It’s a regular office job.”

“I didn’t ask what it was,” he blurts, eyes narrowing in concern. “I’m asking why? Do I not give you enough money? You know you have access to everything on the card, right?”

You shrug. “It’s not about the money…I just think I need something to do throughout the day.”

“What about picking up another hobby?”

“I’ve exhausted most of them.”

“Then traveling?”

“By myself?” you frown. “It’s not like you’re ever here.”

You’re not sure why the words slip through your teeth, but they do, and the disdain is apparent. He seems surprised at first, blinking, before his shoulder slump again and the corners of his lips twitch downward. For some reason, it makes you feel—good? Alive, more so. So you keep talking. “You’re always working. You even missed my friend’s wedding after I told her we’d be there.”

He shoots back immediately, brows tight. “That was a special case—it was an emergency.”

“That’s fine,” you chew slowly on your food. “But I don’t want to wait around all day for you to get back.”

“You shouldn’t work if you don’t have to. I make more than enough.”

“Again, not the point.”

His lips tighten, pursing. “What will your family think if they hear that I’m making you work after I told them that I’d take care of you?”

You snort. “Is this what you call ‘taking care of’?”

Immediately, you can tell that you’ve struck a nerve. And for some reason, it feels good again. Like you’re alive, again. Maybe you just like pissing him off. His expression shifts momentarily to something you can’t recognize before it settles disapprovingly and silence befalls the both of you. You like when he doesn’t have that stupid smile he always has. The fake, lifeless smile he’d given you when you first met. You’d rather he just be upset, just like this. He looks like he wants to say something, but then shuts his mouth, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

His phone rings, slicing the tension in the air like a knife. Caleb glances at the caller ID for a split second before he’s already on his feet, pacing to the sink to put his plates away in a hurry. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. Let me know how the interview goes..”

You stare at your plate, listening to his feet pad around in a hurry. “Is it MC?”

He whips his head around. “What?”

You stand from your seat to dump your food into the sink, ignoring the slight clench in your chest. He’s always been this way. Jumping at any opportunity to be useful to her, while he leaves everyone else in the dust. “Nevermind. Go.”

Once you hear the front door shut, you slump into the couch face first, hoping it swallows you whole before he comes back. This has to be some sort of humiliation ritual. Perhaps you committed a grave sin in your past life, because you’re not sure what you could’ve possibly done to warrant such a feeling. The sunset seeps through the window planes and hits half of your face, bathing you in a warmth that had been missing from the rest of the house. The heat makes you sleepy, and you soon find your eyelids drooping shut, gazing lazily at a photo of the two of you on the coffee table. You don’t remember when it was taken, but in it, you genuinely look like you’re almost enjoying yourself. You can’t tell with him, though. You can never really tell.

“Stupid Xia,” you mutter as you fall deep into slumber.

When you awake again, the sun has fully set. There’s a blanket draped over you and when you blink away the blots in your vision, you’re met face to face with a fresh vase of flowers on the coffee table. They smell nice.

Damn it. 

Sometimes, you wish he was just an asshole.

You learn about him through the photo albums he has stashed away in the attic. It’s not like you were looking for them. You’d only been cleaning when they managed to topple right into your hands, and since he always says whatever’s his is yours, you figure you might as well satisfy your curiosity. There’s less than you expected, unfortunately. Most photos are taken by him, but there’s a few in between where he’s the subject. Him at his birthday party, his graduation ceremony, him packing for college, and the day he left for the DAA. 

It’s odd. You forget he was a normal teenager at one point, and not a high ranking colonel.

The pictures are through his eyes. Before you can stop, you find yourself becoming engrossed in lacing the photos together into some semblance of a story in your head. You see his childhood home and the model planes he enjoys building. His outings with MC and his grandmother. His last minute halloween costumes. Him and his friends carrying out a prank on someone. His studies. His likes. His dislikes. 

Caleb Xia is a charming person. If you hadn’t met the way you did, you think you might’ve liked him a little more.

When you ask him a question regarding one of the photos at dinner, he nearly chokes on his food. You quirk a brow in response. “Was I not supposed to see them?”

“No, it’s fine if you look…” he mumbles, taking a sip of water to gather himself. You squint—are his ears pink? You didn’t know he was capable of doing something kinda adorable. “It’s just a little embarrassing.”

“Like the picture of your airplane swim trunks from when you were a kid–”

He coughs again, and you snicker.

You think he’s tolerable—just a bit.

Weeks pass. Life gets a little easier with your job and more to do—it might even be a bit fun. With your new friends at your workplace and a new sense of accomplishment, the less you stress about your loveless marriage and the more you appreciate what you have. Your interactions with Caleb become less forced. Not because you’ve somehow managed to miraculously understand how his brain functions, but because you put less weight on what you say. It’s hard to see someone as intimidating when you’ve seen a photo of them in a stupid halloween costume. He seems to notice the change too. 

[Caleb Xia]: I got us fried chicken for dinner. Don’t be too late so it doesn’t get cold :)

Your mouth waters. It’s nice, almost. Emphasis on the almost.

Outside, the evening chill hits your cheeks, sharp enough to wake you up and wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. The street is busy but not crowded, as the sun has just set. A couple laughs too loudly across the road. Somewhere, a bus exhales.

You start down your usual route.

At first, it’s nothing. Just footsteps. Not out of place. People exist. People walk. People go home.

But something’s off. Your gut insists on it, and it’s hard to ignore.

You slow slightly, just enough to be subtle. The footsteps slow too.

Your fingers tighten around your bag.

Coincidence, surely.

You don’t turn around, yet. Turning means you have to see something and acknowledge that it’s real. Instead, you adjust your pace again. Faster this time.

The footsteps quicken, dropping your heart to your stomach. 

Your eyes dart around you anxiously. It’s dark. Streetlamps are guiding your path home, and though the neighborhood is nice, it’s empty. Well, except for you and the footsteps that seemingly sound like they’re getting ever so closer every few seconds. You throat feels dry. 

Phone. You need to tell someone. Even if you’re wrong—even if it’s just a hunch.

[You]: Still there?

[Caleb Xia]: Yea. why?

[You]: I think there’s someone following me

Your message sends, and for a moment air doesn’t enter your lungs.

The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.

[Caleb Xia]: I’m coming.

You don’t know how he’s going to find you, but you don’t bother questioning it at the moment. You swallow, and your throat is dry enough that it hurts. The streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement, and it’s hard to discern whether something is just a shadow or something else in the dark.

You don’t turn around.

Your legs carry you as fast as you can go without breaking into a sprint, and your grip tightens around your phone until your fingers ache. Hurry, you think. Hurry up, Caleb.

A car passes.

He’s closer now, whoever it is.

Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense, every instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs feel like they’ve forgotten how.

Suddenly, a car turns the corner too fast, tires kissing the curb before readjusting and you nearly jump out of your own skin. The tint on the car makes it too difficult to see inside, not that you’d be able to see much regardless due to the dark. It slows to a stop as it sees you, and you think if this isn’t who you’re expecting, it might actually be the end for you. 

The passenger door swings open.

“Get in.”

Relief floods your body when you hear his voice and you stumble to clamber in.

Relief?

This is Caleb Xia you’re talking about. Now that you think about it, you’re unsure why he was the first you contacted instead of the police. Your fingers had tapped on his profile faster than you could think. Was it just because he was at the top of your contacts? Was it because he was near? It must be, right? It had been instinctual. Your body had reacted—and it had somehow worked out. 

Regardless, you can’t possibly deny how relieved you feel right now.

You wonder if this is how MC always feels. It must be nice to know that someone so reliable is always at her beck and call, right? To come running at just a few words—maybe she wouldn’t have had to walk home in the first place. Maybe he would’ve driven her. You feel sick. This isn’t what you should be thinking about right now. Right now, you need to report it to the police and take a much needed nap. 

A part of you is envious of her.

“You should’ve called me earlier.”

The chicken doesn’t look as appetizing anymore even despite it sitting before you in all its crispy fried glory. The growling in your stomach from earlier is replaced by a slight pain, and it’s difficult to tell if you’ve only lost your appetite or if it’s a different kind of anxiousness. He watches you from across the table with a perplexed frown while you pick at the chicken aimlessly, nodding blankly.

“I’ll report it first thing in the morning,” Caleb sighs. “I should pick you up from work from now own. Or I’ll call you a taxi if I can’t.”

You nod again.

“Are you okay?”

Ah, he’s asking that again. You hate when he does.

You tilt your head. “I’m just sort of in shock, I think.”

“I know, but you should eat at least a bit. Here.” He holds a piece of chicken on a fork to your face and you scrunch your nose. He smirks. “Here comes the airplane?”

“I might vomit all over you.” A half lie.

He replies instantly. “Then I’ll clean it. Eat.”

For a reason that you just attribute to exhaustion, you don’t bother arguing. Instead, you pop it into your mouth, cheeks dusting pink at the intimacy of the act. He hums in approval and you try your best not to choke. Why was he feeding you—a grown woman? And why were you letting him? 

How bizarre. This whole day is bizarre.

At least you’re home—thanks to him.

“Thank you,” you mumble softly. “For getting there so fast.”

He looks almost offended, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, it was a given. I’m just happy you thought to call me. I was worried you wouldn’t.”

Why did you call him? Well, you suppose he is your husband at the end of the day. One who has eyes for another, but your husband nonetheless. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He stops for a moment, as if in thought, and then smiles sheepishly. Not the annoying fake smile he puts on for show, but one that’s riddled with guilt. Shame. You want to know why. “Just assumed you wouldn’t.”

Strangely, the words make your chest tight.

Your eyes meet his usual striking violets, shoulders slumping as you look away once the eye contact feels too intense. “I’m glad I did.”

You barely catch the tips of his ears turning pink.

Caleb keeps his word for the months following the event. You never have reason to pass by that street again on foot, and although you continue to insist it’s not necessary, having him as your private driver of sorts does feel kind of nice. You think eventually, you’ve come to call him more than a stranger. He’s easier to talk to. Funnier than you thought, actually, when he’s not being annoying to tease you.

You’d never tell him that though, of course.

You blink warily, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand when a ray of sunlight escapes through the shades of your bedroom and hit your face. However, it’s not what awakes you. Rather, it’s the insistent buzzing of your phone on your bedside table, which you barely manage to snatch without falling off the edge of the bed. 

[Caleb (husband)]: morning sleepinghead, you awake?

[Caleb (husband)]: Come eat breakfast :> made apple juice too

[Caleb (husband)]: I better hear you shuffling around in your room in the next few minutes or i’ll have to come drag you out.. :)

Caleb Xia, you find, nags a lot.

“Sleep well?” he chuckles when you finally emerge, still half-awake despite being fully dressed. You scratch the back of your neck, yawning as you perch yourself on one of the chairs at the counter where he’s standing with an apron tied neatly behind him. If you were just a tad bit more awake, you’d have a field day making a snide comment about it.

“Mm.”

He laughs again, gently. Did he always sound so soft?

“You can always quit your job, y’know,” he shrugs, placing a plate of breakfast foods in front of you. It smells immaculate, as usual. “Offer’s always on the table.”

You shove a forkful of eggs into your mouth, squinting at him. “Why do you wanth me shoo be unemployed sho bad? My parentsh don’t care.”

“It’s not about your family…It just doesn’t seem necessary.”

“I like working. Just not waking up so early.”

“I only want you to avoid overextending yourself if you don’t have to,” he pops a tomato into his own mouth. “I make enough for you to get whatever you want, don’t I?”

“But I want my own money, too.”

“My money is your money. This is the least I can do.”

“Careful,” you snort. “You sound dangerously close to being romantic.”

He tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I be romantic? I’m your husband.”

This time, you really choke on your food, coughing as he quickly hands you the apple juice. He’s been doing that lately—dropping lines like that out of nowhere, like they’re nothing. Somehow always when you’re least prepared for it, and always with a lopsided grin that tells you he’s either completely oblivious or knows exactly what he’s doing.

You’re willing to bet on the latter.

Caleb Xia, as you figure out in the time you spend with him in his car on the way to work, has terrible taste in films.

“That movie is awful. There’s no way that’s your favorite.”

He gasps dramatically and you don’t bother suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. “Hey, don’t judge before you try it.”

“I’d like it if I never had to try it, actually.”

The smile adorning your lips falls in an instant the car slows to a stop. You find yourself growing disappointed when you arrive at your workplace, because it means you’ll have to leave him. You want to scold yourself for thinking such preposterous thoughts. What are you? A teenager who’s hanging out with a boy for the first time?

You’re married, for god’s sake.

Then again, so what if his company isn’t so bad? What if you think he’s a bit more to you than tolerable? Isn’t that allowed? He’s your husband, after all. If it doesn’t feel so bad, maybe you could let yourself reprise and enjoy it while it lasts.

“Ah, right, I should tell you—I’ll be leaving this weekend for work.”

Ah, nevermind. Reality has a way of slapping you across the face when you least expect it.

“How long?”

“A few weeks at best,” he pauses, voice quieter. “Months, if I’m unlucky.”

You really despise the subtle aching in your chest.

You hate how easily it slips in. How, for a second, it makes the flame that’s gone out years ago flicker, as if these moments could mean more than they do. They don’t. You know they don’t. They aren’t yours to keep. None of it is.

The warmth, the ease, the way he looks at you like this—like you’re something he actually cares about—it’s all fake. Stolen. You’re just standing in the space where someone else is supposed to be.

You press your lips together, forcing the feeling down before it can spread any further. Get a grip.

His palm pats the top of your head, making your cheeks heat against your will. With a grin, he nods. But it’s stiff. The slight crinkle between his brows. Upset. Upset? “I’ll see you tonight.”

It’s like he knows what you’re thinking before you know yourself.

“Who said I want to?”

“You wound me.”

As soon as you enter the building, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

[Caleb (husband)]: I know you’re at work, but…

[Caleb (husband)]: Movie night tn ?? i can make us popcorn :D

[Caleb (husband)]: And yes we’re watching my fav so you can stop calling it bad :>

[Caleb (husband)]: Last hurrah before i leave

This is dangerous, you think. Really, really dangerous. 

You seriously hope you don’t fall for him, if it isn’t too late already.

A few hours later, the living room is dimly lit with soft lights, the low hum of something playing in the background as Caleb sets everything up. The bowl of popcorn ends up a little too full, a few pieces spilling onto the counter as he carries it over, muttering something under his breath as he munches on the ones that are about to spill over. You sink into the couch, watching him move around the room—adjusting the volume and flipping through options he’s already decided on. 

It’s strange, how easy it feels. How normal.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he glances over.

So you look away quickly, fixing your gaze on the screen. But a few seconds pass, and you can feel his attention still lingering.

You pretend not to notice.

What are you doing? What are either of you doing?

You don’t say anything, swallowing the question down into the pit in your stomach.

The movie stars a side character with a passionate devotion to his family, who reminds you of Caleb. Oddly enough, the resemblance is almost uncanny. You kind of want to root for him but also want him to lose terribly. You huff quietly. “He’s so intense.”

Caleb glances over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “What? You wouldn’t want someone like that?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “I mean… he’s a bit much.”

A pause.

“…but it comes from a good place. I like him.”

He stills.

You pick at a piece of popcorn, rolling it between your fingers. “He reminds me of you a little.”

“Yeah?”

You shrug, still not quite looking at him. “Yeah.” A small breath escapes you before you can stop it. “MC is really lucky to have you.”

He goes quiet. When you glance over, he’s already looking at you.

“…Lucky,” he repeats, almost to himself.

You hesitate, then ruin it by saying more. "I mean, you're always there for her, you know? If she calls, you come running. Everyone wants someone like that."

It was supposed to come off lightheartedly, but it only digs the hole deeper.

Something in his expression shifts. His smile fades, his face losing its usual ease as it drops to something you’ve never seen on him before. It contorts in phases. Surprise, and then confusion, and finally into one you prefer the least.

Panic. Something is wrong.

You wish you’d just shut up. The long pause makes you wish you were just a fly on the wall right now.

“Is this why?” he blinks, and his eyes glisten with something you haven’t seen from him. Void of the usual emptiness but replaced with something fuller. Heavier. “Is this why you hate me so much? Because of MC?”

Huh?

“Fuck,” one hand pulls at the roots of his hair, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he attempts to hide his face from you. “I’m a moron. I should’ve known.”

What? Despite your hands growing clammy, you feel cold. Like the blood is draining from your face.

“You must hate me so much.”

When did you ever hate him? You’ve loathed him, certainly, when he’d disappear for weeks on end leaving you all alone in this cold, lifeless house. You’ve wanted to punch your balled up fists into his chest, knowing that it wouldn’t phase him in the slightest simply to alleviate some of your own anger. You’ve wanted to run away a multitude of times. But hate? Have you ever hated Caleb? Can you hate Caleb?

“Caleb.”

“This is my fault. I should’ve been more aware. It’s so obvious now, I feel like an idiot.”

“Caleb.”

“I thought you just hated me because this isn’t a marriage you wanted,” his voice cracks, and he’s burying his face into his palms. “I thought staying away from you was what you wanted. Shit, I’m so stupid.”

“Caleb,” you say, more firmly this time, and he finally looks at you. There’s a watery film over his usually lifeless eyes, glistening against the light of the TV screen, and it makes the pit in your stomach grow deeper. You don’t like seeing him like this. You thought you would, but you don’t.

His voice is a mere whisper now. He looks like he wants to vomit out a million words at once, but there’s three specific ones that linger on his tongue. Is this what they call a woman's intuition? You’re not sure how, but in the moment, it feels like you’re in his head. For the first time in the 4 years you’ve been wed to Caleb Xia, you feel like you can understand him. 

A victory that doesn’t feel like one at all.

“Listen to me,” he grabs your hands in his, holding them in front of his chest. “I don’t love her—not as a woman. I haven’t in a long time. She and Zayne are like my family, and I’d be a terrible person not to be happy for them. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear to you. I’m so sorry.”

Your heart doesn’t seem to be beating anymore.

The air is too thick. Like liquid entering your lungs.

Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his words stuck in the back of his throat. You’re not sure if you want to hear what he wants to say. The words hold too much value, too many years of hurt, and you don’t know how you’ll react. You don’t want to acknowledge any of this as real, because if it is, what was all of this for? What were the years you spent holed up in your room meant to achieve? Were you just being a fool? And in that case, would you even want to know?

No. You don’t.

So instead, you kiss him.

A wordless, messy kiss. Though he’s taken aback at first, he’s quick to slot his mouth against yours eagerly, hands flying to your waist to pull you closer as if a man starved. It’s desperate. Different from the kiss you shared with him at the courthouse, or for transactional purposes. His mouth feels hot against yours, and when his tongue swipes against your lip, you let him in. 

You climb onto his lap, straddling him as he presses you flush against him. The movie is long forgotten. His hair weeds through the crevices between your fingers and he deepens the kiss as if he’s trying to physically become one with you. His heart hammers against your own like a timer, warning you of what this could mean, but you don’t care.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he mumbles against you, and then you’re suddenly being lifted up to your room with his hands supporting your thighs around his waist. But even those few seconds aren’t worth staying apart for, because he’s kissing your neck, mouthing at spots that have you pursing your lips to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. He lets you down gently onto the middle of your bed and follows suit, pushing you onto your back.

You’re here again.

He’s looming over you, face flushed in a deep red this time. He’ll ask if you’re okay. If this is okay. And then he’ll take off his shirt and his hand will slide up yours. It’ll be better this time, because it’s not out of some twisted sense of duty. Desire pulses at your core, but you can’t help but shake off this curdling feeling in your chest, as if you want to hurl. You wait for what you expect, eyes never leaving his.

Instead, he breathes sharply. “I love you.”

The world stops. 

“You don’t have to say anything back that I don’t deserve. I just want you to know,” he whispers.

Can anyone love someone like you—much less, your husband? You start breathing again because you have to, staring up at him as if he’s gone insane. In fact, you think you’ve gone insane. Kissing him, lying beneath him, enjoying his presence, looking forward to his breakfasts, letting him drop you off at work, feeling disappointed that he’s leaving—you’ve most definitely died and come back as another person, because this is not you.

This is Caleb Xia. He is an unloving person. He cannot love. But what happens if he does? With tears stinging at his eyes, watching you with a mix of pure adoration and sorrow, he’s telling you he loves you. Love is a strong word, isn’t it? But he means it. He loves you. Caleb loves you. You want to call him a liar, but he’s not.

You want to cry into his chest and run away at the same time.

The flame flickers, and you panic. Not because you despise him, or because his confession is one you don’t want to accept, but because this flame is not one you welcome with open arms anymore. It’s too easy to hurt. Too easy to shrink, yet somehow impossible to destroy.

“I can’t,” you croak. “Not right now.”

Even Caleb can’t mask the hurt that deepens his frown, as if you’ve torn his heart straight from his chest. For a man with so much power, he’s never looked more powerless than he does now.

It feels too vulnerable. Open. As if you’re naked and he’s fully clothed, when it’s infact the exact opposite. You don’t want to open up to him again. You don’t want him to snuff out that small flame you have that never seems to go out no matter how much you douse it in water. Or maybe you do?

He forces a crooked smile, strained against his very will and nods before leaving the room. As the door slips shut, he doesn’t turn to look at you. “Sleep tight.”

You don’t get much sleep that night at all.

Morning comes anyway.

And then another.

And another.

His absence returns, but this time because you’re the one avoiding him. You leave earlier than usual, linger longer at work, find excuses in the smallest things—emails, errands, anything that keeps you just a little out of sync with him. When you do cross paths, it’s brief. Polite. A short good morning or a quick goodnight. It’s easier that way.

You tell yourself this is what you wanted—to put distance back where it belongs. Whatever that night was, whatever flame flickered between you, it will fade. It must fade.

He isn’t yours. Even if he says he is, there’s too much pain--too many years of resentment built up that you don’t know what to do with.

You catch yourself thinking about it at mundane times—standing in line, walking home, staring at your coworkers chatting amongst themselves. The apartment feels different already, like it’s preparing to be emptier. As cold as it was a few months ago, when he was still Caleb Xia, and not just Caleb.

You take the time away from him to reset. To think, but not too much. You find yourself flipping through his photo albums again, smiling when you flip to a particularly embarrassing one. You hear him shuffling outside your room, probably packing for his business trip. You’re aware of what he risks everytime he disappears for weeks at a time—not only his life, but the lives of his men—and you don’t know how he bears to leave home everytime he does. 

But he always comes back. He has to. 

You suppose it’s for the best for now. And when he returns, things will return to normal. The house won’t be as awkward as it is. The two of you will slip into your usual routine of a loveless marriage, and you’ll find other avenues in life to derive joy from. So will he.

The front door shuts faster than you anticipated. 

He’s gone.

This is fine.

This is what you wanted.

The house is empty again. You pace to the living room, and surprisingly, a fresh bouquet of flowers is propped inside their usual vase. You lift the vase into your hands, letting the scent of the flowers waft into your nose. They smell good. New. Sort of like the detergent he uses when doing the laundry.

You set the vase back down, nails pressing faint crescents into your skin.

His face when you last saw him keeps flickering in your mind. So much hurt. Raw with fear.

“I love you.”

You want to tell him he doesn’t. You want to remind yourself that this is your husband. Your heartless, cunning husband who kills people for a living—who doesn’t care about anyone but his family. 

But you’re his family, aren’t you?

You can still smell his cologne in the air.

You must’ve missed it from the glint of the sunlight in the glass coffee table—there’s a small shimmer of something sitting beside the vase. With a quirked brow, you pick it up. He usually never leaves trash lying around.

You nearly drop it.

His wedding band.

Your breath stutters, sharp and uneven, like your lungs have forgotten how to work. Your heart pounds as you realize that you're shaking, eyes wide as saucers as you stare at the object in your hands.

No.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just leave it.

The ring sits in your palm like a brick that weighs your entire body down. This isn’t something you can pretend will reset when he comes back.

This means no more quiet dinners. No more stupid arguments over movies he insists are good. No more messages waiting for you when you’re at work. No more him, standing at the counter every morning with a pan in his hand. No more him.

And worst of all, no more chance to fix it. To tell him your side of the story.

Your body moves before your mind catches up.

You wrench the front door open, not bothering to lock it behind you as your feet hit the pavement with just your socks. The air burns your throat as you run, lungs screaming, heart still pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage.

He can’t leave.

The stinging beneath your feet go unregistered as you clutch the ring so tightly that it feels like it might dig into your flesh. 

Just forward, you hiss to yourself. Faster. You turn corner after corner, your body begging you to stop overexerting yourself, but you can’t bother to care. You don’t even register where you’re going, but you need to go somewhere. It feels like ages and seconds at the same time, as you beg nobody in particular for one more chance.

A chance for what, you're not sure.

Reconciliation? Love? Understanding?

Is any of that possible? And if not, why are you running like your very life depends on it?

The ring digs further into your skin, and you realize it doesn't matter as long as you find who it belongs to. Him. Caleb. The reason and bane of your existence, and apparently what has you running across the entire town in hopes of bringing him back.

Finally, you slam into something solid.

The impact knocks the breath out of you, your grip loosening as the ring nearly slips from your fingers. A hand catches your arms before you can stumble back too far, steadying you with a familiar scent that somehow lets you breathe again.

“Hey—watch it—oh.”

You freeze in place, breath hitching as you look up. Standing right in front of you, he appears slightly disheveled, one hand still gripping your arm while the other awkwardly balances a paper bag of groceries. Caleb blinks, his eyes immediately scanning over your frame before landing on your feet. “Why are you here? Are you okay? And where are your shoes, it’s dangerou—”

“Don’t go, Caleb,” you sniffle, tears already stinging at your eyes as your body finally has a chance to rest, though it doesn’t feel much better. “Please don’t go.”

He stares at you as if you've grown a third eye, nearly dropping his bag of groceries at your pleas. Even the tips of his ears turn red, flustered. "What are you--"

“Why did you leave the ring? Did you lie?” About loving me?

His expression falls, attention honing in on the ring gripped in your fist. Something seems to click in his head, and immediately, he shakes his head. “No, of course not, I was going to leave a note. I just went out to get groceries before I left—”

“So you were going to leave the ring?”

“Well, yes, but can we–”

“Do you not like me anymore?” you blurt, finger bunching at the fabric of his sleeve. “Is it because I ignored you for a week?”

He almost looks offended. “Of course I still like you.”

“Then why?”

His voice softens, as if speaking too loud will scare you away. Hesitantly, he sheepishly releases your arms. Instead, he slowly takes your hand in his, lips pursing as he sighs. His palm feels rough with calluses from the work he does, but light as feathers against your skin. His touch is gentle, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I figured there was no reason for me to tie you to me anymore. I won’t force you to be with someone you can’t even stand to be around. Someone you hate. It’d be selfish.”

Your words tumble out before you can process them. “I don’t hate you.”

Finally, with your hand in his, the world feels okay again. This feeling tells you you’re screwed, but you don’t care.

“I’ve been mad at you, and I don’t know what to do with your feelings because they make no sense, but I don’t hate you,” you mutter. “You’re just too confusing.”

“...Confusing?”

“I just—I don’t know what to do, Caleb,” you wipe vigorously at your eyes with your free hand, head falling to avoid looking him at him. “I don’t know what to think about you. How to feel about you.”

His eyes ease, and you feel him squeeze your fingers. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know.”

Caleb has always been better at reading you than yourself. A flash of hurt ripples across his face, but his eyes maintain its soft glimmer—because he knows. Even if you say you don’t know, he knows. He also knows that you’re afraid of those words, and he doesn’t blame you for it.

So instead, he asks something else. “What am I to you?”

You want to call him a million things. The man who left you by yourself, the man who refused to touch you for so many years, the man who’d chosen to sleep in the guest bedroom just to avoid taking up space in yours. He’s felt awful, inconsiderate, and cold. But he’s also the man who’s gotten you flowers, the man who’d break four speeding laws to make you feel safe, the man who makes sure you’re never hungry, the man who folds your laundry neatly and organizes it color-coded in your closet. The man who you wish you could slap across the face and hold close to you at the same time. The man who’s made you feel alone yet so cared for all at once.

You like him, you think. In some strange way that’s never been covered in the romantic films you used to clutch onto like a life line, you like him. The ‘L’ word teeters on the tip of your tongue like a marble rolling around to decide what these emotions settling in your heart really are, but it doesn’t really matter. All you know is that you need him. You want him. You want him to hold your face and kiss you tenderly, like he did that night. You want him to do it again and again until you can’t breathe, and all you can feel is him. You want to eat dinner with him every night and wake up in the morning to his stupid apron. You want to go grocery shopping with him. You want to fall asleep watching a movie in his arms.

“What am I to you?”

Tears fall down your cheeks in fat globs and you try your hardest not to let your voice crack. “My husband.”

His eyes widen for a moment, and then his lips split into a wide grin that resembles the lovesick expression of a teenage boy who’s holding hands for the first time. Caleb drops his grocery bag to his feet and reaches either hands to the sides of your face, cradling you gingerly as he guides you closer. Before you’re even registering it, he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead and presses a soft but firm kiss to your temple, where you can feel him smile against your skin.

“Who am I to say no my wife?”

Your marriage is a messy, complicated jumble of emotions. The confusion. The fear. The warmth. It’s not perfect. It never will be. And despite it all, you don’t want it any other way, because Caleb Xia is a loving person.

“You’re taking the piss.” 

Theodore Nott was no stranger to his best mate’s unparalleled talent for bullshit, but this took the cake by far. Honesty, what kind of fool did Mattheo take him for? Despite his skepticism, his curly headed friend showed no signs of retreat. Instead, Mattheo paused their video game and tossed the controller onto his bed, which told Theo that he meant business. 

“I’m telling you, mate,” Mattheo insisted as he took the joint from his dubious friend. Smoke filled their dorm as Riddle took a long drag. “It’s a real thing.” 

Theo snatched the joint back and inhaled deeply. Frankly, he needed it to deal with Mattheo’s antics. “There’s no such thing as ovulation week.” 

Just a few moments ago, they were having a perfectly great time shotgunning energy drinks and playing extremely violent video games until Mattheo announced that he needed to leave immediately. His lame ass excuse for interrupting their very important activities? Attending to his girlfriend’s needs. Needless to say, Theo was not pleased. Like the jealous, codependent best friend that he was, he rolled his eyes and whinged. 

“That’s the third time you’ve bailed on me this week,” he said with a sigh. “You know I like Chloe, but she’s cutting into my custody time. We made arrangements, you know.” 

Mattheo snorted. “Sorry mate, but it’s ovulation week. I have to take advantage of it while I can.”

The confusing gibberish then prompted Theo to ask the question that would irrevocably change the trajectory of his silly little life: “What the fuck is ovulation week?” 

Mattheo explained that two weeks before their period, there was approximately a week’s window of time where women became absolutely feral and horny. Thanks to the increased levels of fertility, their hormones and libido spiked to its most potent peak. Apparently, sex during this time was insane and unhinged, which is why Mattheo was ditching his best mate for the night. 

“Sorry, Theo,” Mattheo said, not looking the least bit sorry. “But duty calls. You understand, right?” 

“No, I really don’t,” Theo mused. “Because if what you’re saying is true, then Y/N would have told me. She never gets like that.” 

If ovulation week was a real thing, Theo would have noticed the signs from his childhood best friend. The two of you were practically inseparable and spent every waking moment together. Arguably, he was closer to you than anyone else in his life—including Mattheo. Hell, Theo even knew when your period was coming because he set a monthly reminder on his wand to bring you snacks and a heat pack. 

There were no secrets between you. 

Right?

“Oh, she definitely does. Y/N is probably just good at hiding it.” 

Theo frowned deeply. Why would his best friend hide anything from him? For fuck’s sake, he told you about his first boner! Granted, it happened while you were sitting right next to him, so he supposed there was no escaping the sordid confession, but he could hardly be blamed. At thirteen years old, Theo was wholly unprepared for Mrs. Malfoy to bend over in front of him during dinner at the manor. 

It certainly didn’t help when Narcissa brushed his hair back and pinched his already reddened cheeks. “Theo, dear, you’ve gone all red. Are you quite well?” 

The answer was a big fat resounding no. It was the most humiliating moment of his life, but nonetheless Theo shared it with you because that’s what best friends do. The thought of you keeping anything from him made his head pound and his chest tighten in the most unpleasant way. 

Mattheo, the little shit that he was, decided to pile on to Theo’s anxiety by adding a rather unhelpful suggestion that he hadn’t even considered. “I don’t know how she’s surviving it by herself. I definitely wouldn’t. But maybe Y/N has someone else to help her out with it that she doesn’t want any of us to know about. We are a pretty nosy lot, after all.”

Someone else? There should be no one else. Theo was truly starting to spin out about the whole thing. Why wouldn’t you tell him about ovulation week in the first place? And why, on Godric’s green earth, would you ask anyone other than him to help? He would’ve done so in a heartbeat. Theo would do anything for you. You had to have known that. 

A million thoughts fired off in his mind. Was it that stupid Ravenclaw that you sat next to in potions? Or that gormless Hufflepuff that followed you around like a lost puppy? Merlin, he was going to fucking murder them. Needless to say, Theo was pissed about a theoretical situation that he completely made up in his head. 

All this time, Theo thought he had made himself perfectly clear. The years of bantering, bickering, and flirting should have clued you in on exactly how he felt about you. Everyone else in the castle knew that you were off-limits. Not only were you his best friend, but you were his period. Perhaps it was time to remind you of that.

After Mattheo left, he formulated a plan. Thanks to his tracking charm and complete lack of boundaries, Theo knew that you and Mattheo’s girlfriend were cycle sisters, which meant that you had to be ovulating this week too. With cunning and determination, Theo set off for Hogsmeade to enact the first phase of his plan. 

You would never know what hit you. 

When Friday night rolled around, Theo was locked, cocked, and loaded. 

After his trip to Hogsmeade, he spent extra time fussing with his freshly cut waves before breaking out his expensive aftershave and cologne. Theo even went so far as putting on your favourite jumper of his—the one that, according to you, brought out the pretty colour of his eyes. To top it all off, he slipped on his rings and combat boots and prepared himself for battle. Oh yes, he was indeed bringing out the big guns.

As usual, his friends were gathered in the common room for their weekly movie night. Notably absent were Mattheo and his girlfriend, who were both likely defiling some corner of the castle. The rest of the Slytherins piled in with snacks and blankets in hand. Pansy and Enzo were arguing about which movie to watch when Theo slipped into his rightful spot next to you. 

“Ciao, bella,” he rasped. 

Theo tried not to smirk at your little gasp of surprise as you took him in. Your cheeks flushed a pretty pink color as he lazily lounged on the couch and draped his arm over your shoulders. The casual kiss he placed on your cheek lingered longer than what could be considered friendly. 

“Hi, Teddy,” you greeted in a sweet voice. 

Your eyes flickered to his waves. It was perfectly sex tousled like he had just taken a roll around in the sheets before coming down to torment you. 

“Did you get a haircut?” 

“Mhm,” Theo hummed as he swept your hair over your shoulder. “D’ya like it?” 

You nodded slowly. “It looks nice.” 

Unbeknownst to his scheme, you were convinced the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. This week had already been hell thanks to your heightened hormones and your best friend casually strolling into the scene looking like sex on legs certainly didn't help. It was already hard enough to control yourself around him on a normal day, so ovulation week was truly testing your willpower.

“Just nice?” Theo asked cheekily. “I think you can do a little better than that, dolcezza.” 

The rasp in his voice combined with his stupid irresistible Italian drawl was inflicting all sorts of damage to your nervous system. You could hardly hear yourself think as Theo leaned in closer, enveloping you with the intoxicating scent of sea salt and smoke. Something as simple as cologne shouldn’t have made you so unbelievably wet, but here you were, practically soaked through after a whiff. For Salazar’s sake, you needed to get a fucking grip. 

You rolled your eyes fondly, but the gesture didn’t seem as convincing after you awkwardly shifted in your seat to alleviate the pressure. 

“It’s okay, bella. You don’t have to say it,” Theo teased. “We both know I’m hot.” 

That was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? Your best friend was undeniably and unfairly attractive. Most days, it was easy to circumvent the inconvenient urge to climb him like a tree thanks to common sense, but once a month, for a week straight, the ugly horny little beast within you pondered if riding him until you passed out was worth risking the friendship. Especially when Theo made it his mission to tease the fuck out of you for absolutely no reason at all. 

Regardless, you ignored his cheeky little wink and turned your attention to your friends instead. Despite groaning at Daphne’s choice of a cheesy romcom, the boys were fully invested in watching the story unfold. You tried your best to pay attention, but Theo was making it absolutely impossible. 

Without warning, Theo tugged you into his lap. The blanket snuggled up to your chin covered the compromising position, but did nothing to ease your nerves. You tensed as he cuddled you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder while his arms snaked around your waist. The scratch of his stubble against your cheek made you shiver. The movie was all but forgotten as Theo toyed with the strap of your bra.

"Hmm, I like this colour on you," he murmured, admiring the delicate baby blue lace. "Very pretty."

You nearly choked on your own tongue. "T—thanks."

In an effort to drive you insane, Theo alternated from massaging your neck to feeding you popcorn and sweets. 

“Open up, bella,” Theo rasped as he tapped a sugar quill against your bottom lip. 

You were sure your knuckles were white from gripping the couch cushions so violently, but you obliged nonetheless. Something dark and dangerous flickered in your best friend’s gaze as you sucked on the sweet. 

“Good girl.” 

The two of you had always teetered the impossible line between just friends and something more, but it had always been fun and lighthearted. Now, the flirting felt more sexually charged than it ever had before. Theo was done with teetering the line. Tonight, he was charging straight ahead with reckless abandon. 

Your best friend smirked as you flushed deeply. Your entire body felt like it was on fire as he pulled you further into his lap. There, against your arse, was evidence that Theo was playing an entirely different game. Embarrassed, you attempted to reposition yourself. 

Theo gripped your hips in response and planted you firmly over his erection. “Stop squirming around, bella. You’ll only make me harder.” 

The surprised squeak that came out of you only further encouraged his behavior. What the actual fuck was happening? Sure, you and Theo had teased each other before. The usual stuff like making out while you were drunk or daring each other to strip during poker, but those activities could easily be blamed on the alcohol. Now that you were stone cold sober, there was really no excuse. 

“What game are you playing at, Theo?” 

“I’m testing a theory.” 

You raised a brow. “About?” 

Theo paused, his intense gaze landing on your face before he slid his hands underneath your skirt. You jolted when he squeezed your thighs, his cold rings biting into your sensitive skin. 

“Mattheo told me something interesting.” 

Your eyes fluttered close as he brushed your hair back and whispered in your ear. The movie was loud enough to mask his words, but you doubted you’d even care if the others heard. 

“He explained a little concept called ovulation week. Said you witches get downright feral. That the horniness is unlike anything he’s ever seen. How come I’ve never seen that side of you, hm?” The erratic sound of your own heartbeat pulsed in your ears. “Do I not do it for you, bella?” 

You let out a soft sigh as he toyed with the hem of your skirt. “Theo…” 

“No, I genuinely want to know,” Theo pressed, his lips gliding against your throat while his hands travelled higher and higher. “There’s no secrets between us, right? Is there someone else?” 

His tone turned dark and possessive. “I bet he can’t touch you like I would. I bet he can’t make you scream like I would. I bet he can’t fuck you until your pretty eyes roll back like I would.” 

Theo palmed you over your panties while you bit back a moan. 

“Teddy, please…” 

“Be a good girl and answer the question, Y/N.” 

“There’s…there’s no one.” Theo raised a brow and withdrew his touch. You whined at the loss of contact, but he merely stared at you. “I had hookups here and there, but it just didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel right.” 

“Because they’re not me.” 

Once spoken into existence, it was impossible to keep denying the truth. Deep down, you both knew this was inevitable anyways. 

“They’re not you.” 

Theo said nothing as he hauled you up from the couch, ignoring your friend’s protests as he led you down a dark corridor. The two of you were barely out of sight before Theo pushed you against the wall and crashed his lips onto yours. 

The kiss was neither shy nor sweet, but desperate and hungry. Theo kissed like he was starving for it, his entire body enveloping yours while the force of his desire made your back hit the wall. Years and years of pent up tension and longing poured out of him as your lips melded together, pressing again and again until you were dizzy and breathless. 

You whimpered softly as Theo slid his thigh between your legs. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, groaning while he squeezed your neck possessively. You made a mess of his waves, tugging at his hair to pull him even closer. Theo impatiently hauled you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. The makeout session was hot, heavy, and unlikely to stop anytime soon. 

The wanton moan that escaped your mouth went straight to Theo’s cock. Suddenly, he was carrying you through the corridor and into his dorm without breaking the kiss. You scrambled to get the door open and giggled when Theo impatiently slammed it shut behind you. The sound of it reverberated along the dungeon walls. 

You had no time to gather your bearings before Theo tossed you onto his bed, his pupils blown wide with desire while he crawled over you. The frantic need to feel his skin against yours felt overwhelming. Theo smirked as your hands roamed underneath his jumper. 

The taut lines of his abs flexed against your touch as you greedily tugged the jumper over his head. Theo was not as gracious. He ripped your blouse open, the buttons flying everywhere and leaving you exposed. Theo groaned at the sight of your baby blue lace bra before trailing hungry kisses down your cleavage. 

Your chest heaved as he laved your skin with openmouthed kisses, painting bruises onto your breasts. Theo looked completely undone—his watercolour eyes nearly black, his lips kissbitten and pink, and his hair a tousled mess beneath your fingertips. You wanted him so badly that it fucking hurt. 

When you reached for his belt buckle, Theo instantly grabbed your wrist. “No, dolcezza,” he grunted. “I’ve waited too long for this. We’re not rushing it. I’m going to worship your body like you deserve until you’re a screaming, writhing mess. Then and only then will I even think about fucking you. Do you understand?” 

His filthy words made your core clench. All you could do was nod. “Okay.” 

Theo smirked and kissed you sweetly. “That’s my good girl. Now, spread your legs. You’re my meal and I’m fucking starving for it.” 

A shaky little exhale was the only response you could manage as Theo planted kisses along your calves and knees before settling between your thighs. His eyes were wide when he surveyed your matching baby blue panties. Theo looked up at you as he kissed the delicate white bow sitting pretty on your waistband.

“So pretty for me,” Theo hummed. “I can’t wait to make a mess out of you, Y/N.”

That hypnotizing gaze was fixated on you as he licked a stripe along your folds. The first taste of your pussy had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

Theo wasted no time and flicked his tongue like his life depended on it, licking and sucking in a way that made your back arch off the bed. He was relentless in his pursuit, his tongue swirling in dizzying patterns that had your body tingling in pleasure while he greedily lapped up your juices. It was entirely depraved and utterly heavenly. You could have died happily with his head between your thighs. 

Though judging from the unholy moans coming out of Theo, he might be enjoying eating your pussy more than you were. His pretty eyes rolled back as he sucked on your clit, wicked tongue darting out to spell something that took a moment of concentration to follow. T-h-e-o… 

For fuck’s sake, this infuriatingly sexy man was quite literally spelling his name on the most intimate part of your body, effectively claiming you for himself. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, dolcezza,” Theo groaned. “I can’t get enough.” 

You watched through heavy lids as he palmed himself over his trousers, slipping his hand into his boxers and squeezing to regain control. The sight of it made you whimper. 

“God, you’re just…unbelievable,” you said breathlessly. “You’re worse than me and I’m ovulating.” 

Theo grinned unabashedly. “You only have to deal with it for a week every month, but this is how I feel every day. You wouldn’t even believe all the filthy fucking things I think about doing to you on the daily.” 

You blew out a breath as he grinded against the mattress. It was desperate and pathetic and you fucking loved it. 

“I want you to do all of them to me,” you said. “Give me everything, Theo.” 

At that, Theo sucked your clit hard. The orgasm hit you like a bludger to the head. You whined and writhed while Theo watched with rapt attention. The sight of you bucking your hips against his mouth was enough to make him cum, but he promised himself that he wouldn’t until he was inside of you. 

Even as the orgasm made you shake, Theo slid a finger into your throbbing pussy. You were sensitive and the squelch of you sucking his fingers in filled the room. Theo filled you over and over again, stretching you so you could properly take his cock. 

It didn’t take long for the orgasm to start building again. You gasped in surprise as Theo easily flipped your positions, manhandling you so that you were seated above him. You lifted your hips to alleviate the weight, but Theo was stubborn and gripped your thighs until you were hovering directly above his face. 

“Theo, wait. You won’t be able to breathe,” you said with concern. “I don’t want to suffocate you.” 

The cocky git actually laughed. “I promise you, I can handle it.” He cheekily bit the flesh of your thigh. “Now be a good girl and ride my face, principessa.”

Never in your wildest dreams would you have guessed how filthy your best friend actually was. You wondered about all the different ways he fantasized ruining you and felt yourself get wetter at the thought. Bracing against the headboard, you gave Theo exactly what he asked for and grinded your throbbing cunt against his mouth. 

“Fuck—so fucking addicting…” he sounded absolutely euphoric. “Must’ve dosed your pussy with Amortentia. Can’t stop eating this sweet little cunt.”

Theo was insatiable. He ate and ate until it bordered on gluttony. It felt like hours before he finally let up, flicking his tongue over your clit until you were close to the precipice again. You gripped the headboard and cried out as you came. The sensation felt different this time—wetter. You realized with a shock that you had squirted all over him. 

Theo moaned. “Look at you, pretty girl. Such a fucking mess for me.” He licked the juices off of his mouth. “Was that your first time?” 

You flushed furiously. “Y—yes.”

“I’m honored,” he said with a tinge of pride. “You’re doing so well, principessa. One more and you’ll be nice and ready.” 

You were still shaking from the aftershock of your second orgasm. “I don’t—I don’t think I can, Theo.”

Theo hummed as he brushed the hair out of your face. “Of course you can. I’m not stopping until you’ve soaked the sheets. Come on, bella. Squirt all over my face. Mark your territory, hm.”

Well, fuck. He was so goddamn filthy that it was impossible to refuse. Besides, that little bit of praise had you growing wet again. You held nothing back as you grinded against him on shaky legs. Theo moaned and squeezed your ass, signaling you to go faster. He made no complaints as you just about smothered and suffocated him. Instead, he guided your hips with one hand and stroked himself with the other. 

The depravity of Theo getting himself off while you rode his face brought you to the edge again. You screamed his name as his tongue flicked over your clit. Theo moaned in pleasure when you squirted for him again, soaking the sheets all the way through just like he wanted. It was as beautiful as he imagined. 

Theo kissed you all over, murmuring praise and encouragement while you recovered from the comedown. You hummed in contentment as his tongue slid into your mouth, kissing you slowly with the taste of you still lingering on his lips. It was luxuriant and languid this time, making your head fuzzy at the edges. 

At first, you were content with the exploratory touching and lazy kisses, but you were quickly learning that the need for Theo never truly dissipated. Because you repressed it for so long, it had buried itself underneath your skin until it eventually bubbled to the surface and begged for release.

“You’re doing so well. So perfect for me,” Theo praised. “I’m so fucking obsessed with you. Have been for years.”

“Should’ve said something,” you countered, pecking at his lips. “Wanted you for so long. Could’ve been doing this all along.”

Theo groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “Don’t say that, bella,” he murmured. “I hate knowing I wasted so much time being an idiot when I could’ve been kissing you…” Theo sucked on your bottom lip. “Touching you…” his big hands gripped yours arse. “Fucking you…” you moaned as he slid a finger through your folds. “Just like this.”

As you slid your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, Theo panted into your mouth. “I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

“Cheeky little witch.”

You kept eye contact as you palmed him, smirking slightly when his cock twitched in your hand. When you finally wrapped your fingers around him, you understood why he insisted on getting you off so many times. Theo was fucking big. His cock was hot and heavy and throbbing in your palm as you pumped him back and forth. Theo cursed as he watched you stroke him, the unintelligible string of Italian sounding like music to your ears.

“Fuck, bella,” he said in a hoarse voice as his forehead dropped against yours. “I want you so fucking bad.” 

You positioned his head at your entrance and rubbed him over your slick folds. Theo choked when you slowly grinded against his cock, barely slipping the tip in while you bit your lip. In and out in slow, shallow thrusts that felt absolutely torturous. Theo couldn’t stop watching as the head of his cock was swallowed by your sweet cunt. You were being such a tease, but he fucking loved it. 

“Then have me, Theo.” 

A flip switched inside of him and suddenly you were seated on his lap. Theo gave you no warning before he thrust all the way in, his hip bone touching yours as he buried his cock to the hilt. The two of you moaned in unison. You felt so full, so whole. You never realized how empty you were without him. 

Theo released a shaky breath. “Fuck, you feel so good. Pretty pussy’s squeezing me so tight.” 

His filthy words made you clench around him even more. “Oh Theo, fuck—“

You buried your face in his neck, breathing in sea salt and smoke as you rolled your hips and felt every inch of him. Theo was more than happy to allow you to adjust, his kisses slow and sloppy while you grinded on him. It took some time to acclimate to his size, but thankfully you were fully prepared. Once you got your bearings, you picked up the pace. 

You bounced on his cock as Theo watched with heavy lidded eyes. His lips wrapped around your tits, catching a nipple into his mouth and sucking greedily while you fucked him. Theo looked elated as you used him for your own pleasure, clawing at his chest as your ass slapped against his thighs. 

“Oh god,” you moaned. “You’re so big, Theo. I want you to tear me apart.” 

Without warning, Theo flipped you onto your back. You squealed as your back hit the mattress. 

“Oh, I’m going to fucking ruin you, principessa.” 

Theo pressed your legs against your chest and thrust in without mercy. The pace he set was punishing, but it hit all the right spots. You were lost in delirium as Theo squeezed your throat, making you lightheaded and dazed with pleasure. You were pleased to find that he was extremely vocal in bed. 

“Yeah, you like that?” Theo grunted. “You like it when I fuck you just like this, Y/N?” 

Tears filled your eyes as you whimpered in response. You were so overstimulated, but it felt too fucking good to stop. “Y—yes, yes.” 

“Aw, I know, baby,” Theo cooed as he fucked you into the mattress. “I know. Your pussy feels like heaven.”

Theo kissed you deeply before hiking your legs over his shoulders. The skin to skin contact felt amazing. He wanted to be as close as possible. Theo needed every inch of you touching him. Fuck, he’d crawl into your skin if you let him. 

Most of all, Theo wanted to see your pretty face. He wanted to hear all your whimpers and moans while you chanted his name over and over again like a prayer. He had never been a fan of this position. It was too intimate, too close. But with you, it was all Theo wanted. 

“I think you’ve made me a fan of missionary,” Theo said with an amused chuckle. “My little princess. You look so pretty when I’m fucking you.” 

He groaned when you squeezed his cock. You were gripping him so tight, clenching around him like a vice. “You like when I talk dirty to you, bella?”

“Yes, gods,” you panted. “It’s so hot. Your voice makes me wet.” 

“Mmm, your voice makes my cock hard.” Theo admitted. “And your face. And your eyes. And your hair. And every other thing about you. You don’t even know what you fucking do to me.” 

Your eyes fluttered close. “Theo, please. Right there. Oh fuck, I’m so close.”

“I know, principessa,” he cooed. “I can feel you squeezing my cock, milking me dry. Let me come inside you. Let me fill you up like you need.” 

“Yes, yes, please…” 

Your back arched off the bed as you came. Theo’s eyes rolled back as your pussy convulsed around him. His thrusts turned sloppy and out of control before his cum filled you to the brim. Theo thrust all the way in, securing every last drop inside you. His cock twitched as he unloaded, his arms wrapping protectively around you to keep you in place while the last shocks of your orgasm faded. 

“Keep it all in, principessa,” he commanded. “I don’t want to waste a single drop. I love knowing you’re full of my cum.” Theo chuckled darkly when you whimpered softly. “Should’ve known you’d have a breeding kink too. You’re just as filthy as I am, bella.”

“When I said I wanted all of you, I meant it.”

Your best friend looked at you like you hung the stars and the moon. God, you were so fucking perfect. After a while, Theo collapsed beside you but kept his cock in place as he snuggled to your side. He smiled against your neck as you brushed the sweaty strands stuck to his forehead. 

“The hair, the jumper, the cologne,” you ticked off. “You did all of that on purpose, didn’t you? You play dirty, Teddy.” 

Theo merely shrugged. “I had to make sure you realized what was already yours. I won’t apologize for that.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you won’t. Consider it realized, though. I know you’re mine.” 

Theo groaned when you squeezed your walls around him. You giggled when he started getting hard again. 

“Fuck, bella. Now who’s playing dirty?”