Craving Five (6) Guys

The fifteenth birthday always marked a noble lady’s first step into adulthood. Gone were the days in which you could play freely with your friends. Any male contact needed a chaperone. Your own brother—the crown prince—was more difficult to reach than ever before. And your ladies-in-waiting? They liked to gossip, and you did not plan to become the topic of them anytime soon. 

A sigh passes your lips when you look at your own reflection. Today marked your own coming of age. When you blink and lift your gaze towards the surface, a young woman stares back at you, hair put into waves and a ridiculously complicated hairstyle held up by pins and midnight blue ribbons. 

Your reflection is all grown up now, yet deep inside you feel you are still a little girl. The other nobles seem so much more aware of life. The things you sometimes catch the maids saying have you wonder just how much you are missing out on. Truth be told, life as a sheltered princess leaves much to be desired. 

The last rays of light outside start painting your room in saturated oranges and yellows; soon, you will have to attend the dreaded festivities. Maybe you should be happy, but the possibility of meeting suitors nauseates you. Finding a husband may be your duty, but you just cannot fathom it being your life anytime soon. Not when— 

A knock on your massive chamber door tears you from your thoughts. 

“Your Highness?” Comes the deep voice from behind the oak doors. “It is time.” 

You sigh. 

When you open the door, you are met with a familiar sight. Deep blue eyes and blond hair that looks like it was kissed by moonlight itself. Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment neither of you say anything. It is almost as if his gaze sweeps all over your figure, but you are not sure, as the moment is gone just as soon as it starts. 

Sir Xavier clears his throat and offers his arm to you. Tonight, he is dressed more formally than most days. Leather gloves, a dark tunic with silver embroidery showcasing the kingdom’s crest, as well as a deep blue cloak and his sword at his side. You are almost inclined to think how well it matches your own blue dress. 

You stand still for a moment longer when you rest your hand on his forearm. His other hand darts out to smooth over the sleek silk of the ribbon in your hair. 

“The color suits you, Your Highness,” is all he says with a soft smile. Your cheeks flush and it is almost as if it is the middle of summer, when days are hot and humid, and walking outside makes you feel as if you might faint. Your fingers tighten around his arm reflexively. 

It reminds me of your eyes. You think, but saying such things out loud would be unbecoming of a princess, so you settle for a simple ‘thank you’. 

Sir Xavier is your knight—your personal guard, first and foremost. But... he is also the one safe haven in your life. Friends are scarce when you are a royal, and you consider him to be your friend at the very least. Your only hope is that he considers you to be a friend of his, as well. 

His steady hand guides you into the main hall, where he passes you off into another hand that you have known since you were born. 

“Sister,” Caleb kisses your hand, not without making the gesture obnoxiously wet. He knows you hate that. “Happy Birthday.” 

You nod politely. He is trying to lighten the atmosphere, but you would really rather be anywhere else than here, where you were certain nobles would size you up, their gazes hungry for you, or rather, hungry for the opportunities you would bring them, were they or one of their sons to marry you. Even though you are not well-versed in politics—what noble lady wastes her time with such a masculine endeavor?—you do know that marriage is usually for political purposes. 

You sit next to your brother, who, in turn, sits next to your father, the King. The long table is full of exotic assortments of food and drink, a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth at the center, different kinds of fish and their corresponding side dishes forming a circle around it. Your father did not pass by any opportunity to show off the kingdom’s wealth. 

Countless nobles sit around you, all chattering with each other but paying you mostly no attention besides the obligatory birthday wishes. They peacock for your brother’s attention; he is the future king, after all. And you? Well… all you are good for is prestige… maybe an alliance. Even if there is a suitable candidate of pure intentions amongst those who attended, you know your heart would never truly be satisfied by any of them. 

Your gaze sweeps over the people who were invited for your special day. Men from significant noble families; from both in and around the kingdom. Lady and Lord Blackwood are in the midst of retelling a fantastical story about bear hunting. You are sure it is at least half made up. Their son, Cedrick, is currently trying to impress one of the musicians. 

As the gentle harp music continues, so does your gaze continue its wandering. Duke Ashcombe, an old, bearded man—no doubt a man of many riches, given his stature—is talking to the King. You are not sure whether he is here to play matchmaker or to enjoy the blackcurrant dessert. You hope it is the latter. 

Sir Ainsworth and Sir Harlowe sit opposite of you, eyeing you as if you are a piece of jewelry in a glass display, or a rare breed of ermine. It becomes especially difficult to take when their eyes quite obviously linger for a long time at your bosom. They laugh and you swear you hear them say something about ripened fruit. A shiver runs down your spine.  

“Why so stiff, Your Highness?” Asks Lord Hale, who sits to your right, and leans in with a grin. His brown hair slicked back and tied with an emerald ribbon, just like always. From this up close you can see the stubble on his chin and smell the faint trace of alcohol from his mouth. 

His arm reaches over to the nearest carafe and pours the red liquid into your chalice, making you recoil on instinct, although he seems not to notice. But before he can make you take a sip from it, another hand snatches the drink away. 

“My Princess does not drink wine; you must excuse the inconvenience, my lord.” 

Sir Xavier’s voice resounds from behind you, calm but firm, and Lord Hale lets you be for the time being, rolling his eyes at the knight. But you? You are grateful when he swaps the chalice for one with fruit juice, winking at you knowingly. You’ve never cared for the taste of wine, even when scolded during your lessons. You just could not make yourself drink it. 

Parties like that were also not something you enjoyed. Entirely too loud, with people that had better things to do than entertain the crown prince’s little sister. Your gaze lands on the suckling pig on the table, and you can’t help but think of how similar the two of you are. All you would need is an apple in your mouth, and there would be no difference. 

“You seem unwell, Your Highness.” The knight leans in and whispers. 

You press your lips together, attempting at least a small smile, but you fail. All these men are having fun, celebrating what exactly? Not your birthday, that’s for sure. The air keeps growing heavier with the smell of fermented grapes, and for a second you feel as if you’re witnessing everything from underwater. You’re drowning in the overwhelming sensations and barely register Sir Xavier leading you outside, telling Caleb that you were getting some fresh air. 

Only when he halts a few steps around the corner of the main hall do you realize that you left the table at all. You blink and look around; the sun has already set. The air is pleasant and aside from a few insects making noise, it is also quiet here. 

“You are unwell,” he says, gently but firmly holding you up. 

“I am not much of a party goer, I fear…” you say with a helpless smile, but it barely helps to lighten the mood. Sir Xavier’s frown only deepens. 

He seems to be thinking about something before he tugs on your hand. 

“Follow me,” he says in a way that does not let you argue. He leads you through a secluded path and into what seems to be a secret passageway. Your dress tugs on what seem to be plants and rocks and your heels sink into the soft, muddy earth before the fresh scent hits you. You can smell the fresh water as he leads you through the small dirt path until you reach a wooden platform. Sir Xavier rummages through the nearby shrubbery as you stand there, completely dumbfounded. 

“What are you—” 

He tugs on what seems to be a long rope, and your breath hitches when you see the small boat come into view. Or at least that is what you think it is. It’s so dark you can barely see, even though the moon is up high in the sky. 

You watch him swiftly climb onto the vessel before he turns to you with an outstretched hand. 

“Would you like to accompany me, Your Highness? Consider it to be my birthday present to the Princess.” 

Your lips part and you blink in surprise. You’ve never been in such close proximity to so much water. The thought of being on it was daunting. Yet, of course, you trust your personal guard with your life, and so you put your trembling hand in his. Even in the dark you can make out his puppy dog eyes. 

Sir Xavier helps you onto the boat carefully, and you wobble in your little heeled shoes for a second before plopping down rather unceremoniously onto the plank that is supposed to be a bench. You realize what he searched for earlier was a pair of ores. 

He removes the rope from the platform and begins to take you right into the center of the lake. Your hands clutch at the wood on the side as the boat goes into motion. It sways a lot, so it takes you a while to get accustomed to the sensation. When you accept that you are probably not going to fall into the water, you cautiously let go of the sides. 

The two of you are quiet at first. You can hear how Sir Xavier takes a breath, every time he plunges the ores into the pitch-black water. Maybe you should be unsettled by this, but it is much better than attending your own birthday party. 

“You are not usually this quiet,” he says and stops rowing once you are at the center of the lake. There is this typical expression on his face. The one he wears when he already knows the answer to something but wants to coax it out of you anyway, his head tilted and eyes soft, at least as much as you can make out in the dark. 

You shrug. “They called me a ripe fruit,” you simply say. Now that you are out of the situation, anger begins welling up inside of you. You once sneaked into the kitchen as a child and saw a pot of soup boil over. Right now, you cannot stop thinking that this is exactly how you feel. How dare they make such comments on you, with their lecherous eyes and sly smiles. Sir Xavier lets out a long breath through his nose. If you heard them say it, he most probably also has. 

“Would you allow this humble knight to take a turn at a different comparison?” He asks, looking up at you. When you don’t protest, he simply keeps speaking. 

“To me, you are like a delicate, untouched rose in spring, waiting yet to bloom from underneath the last traces of melting snow.” These words set you aflame like no other, and you feel your cheeks flush. You just hope he cannot see it. Nevertheless, you cannot help but feel lighter and smile. 

“Have I not yet bloomed in your eyes?” You ask. The words come out of you without thinking, emboldened by the privacy that the night sky offers you. If it was him, you would not mind being looked at as a woman. Your knight was always gentle with you, would even joke with you whenever you happened to have a moment in private. Did he still see you as a child? 

Sir Xavier chuckles and looks onto the water. “Always so fast to twist my words, Your Highness…” 

“So?” You press. 

He lets out a helpless chuckle again before answering. “If I had to make an assessment...? I would say you are right on the cusp of it.” Your knight’s gaze is genuine when he speaks, and you feel a faint tug in your tummy. 

It does sting a little, but you suppose it is understandable. Why would he see anything other than a little princess in you? A child that he had to protect from wild mice in the past. 

The atmosphere sinks and you sit in silence, your only companion being the chilly breeze. It makes you shiver, and you rub your arms to warm yourself. Sir Xavier is immediately alerted, of course, and, with a swift motion, he unclips the blue cloak from his back and beckons you closer. 

“You are cold, please...” he offers, and you let him wrap the fabric around you, pulling you closer. As if protecting the flower that was not quite yet blooming, shielding her from weather until it could survive on its own. It is the closest thing to what you secretly long to do, so under the guise of hiding from the wind, you lean into his broad chest. He looks away pointedly into the abyss of the lake, yet his gloved hands still hold you fast. 

Sir Xavier exhales deeply through his nose. “Your Highness is cruel,” he whispers. You don’t know what he means, but right now it does not matter to you. You are quite content in his arms, like a kitten napping in the warm embrace of its owner, and you can barely keep your hands from curling into his tunic. 

“I am not trying to be,” you say bluntly. 

“I did not say you were.” Sir Xavier’s voice is warm, so you know he is smiling. It is almost as if he is glowing when he is happy; you cannot explain it properly—you just know. His breath tickles the small hairs around your face, and you flush, hiding further in his arms. It was not exactly proper, but nobody could see you this far out on the lake. 

You are silent for a little while before speaking. “But if I am cruel, then my knight is just as.” 

His fingers flex for a short moment. “I am cruel? What makes you say that…?” 

“Telling your princess she has not bloomed yet… that sounds cruel to me.” 

His chuckle rumbles in his chest and against your ear. For some inexplicable reason your cheeks flush even deeper than before. 

“Is that so?” He asks clearly amused by your antics. You are like a sulking child that was told it was not allowed yet to sit at the table with the other grown-ups, but you think you are quite grown up in acting so. 

“Then tell me, Your Highness, what do you know of being in bloom?” 

 He was mocking you, as he so often did. Holding his three years of seniority over you as if he knew everything so much better. 

“More than you, I assure you. I am a woman after all,” you say, holding your chin high and trying your best to sound confident. 

In truth, being ‘in bloom’ was an abstract concept you could not quite grasp. There were certain benchmarks to adulthood, like the growth of certain body parts and your monthly bleeding. But you had checked those a while ago already. By this definition you would be withered by now. 

Sir Xavier raises his eyebrows in amusement, his blue eyes boring into you even in the dark of the night. “If Your Highness knows more than me, then she can surely explain to me how a woman comes to be with child?” 

You frown. “W-well… she has to be married first, of course,” you say. 

“Of course,” he echoes patiently, and you are not sure why, but it feels like mockery once more. He doesn’t say anything else, so you continue to pretend to know what you are talking about. 

“And then… when the husband embraces her in the night, she will be with child soon.” 

You are proud of what you came up with. Really, the logic was foolproof. You are not sure, how exactly the child ends up with the woman, but that was not the question. 

Your knight hums again as he listens to you. 

“Then why are you not with child yet? Are we not embracing in the night?” His voice is a low murmur next to your ear, and you shiver. You try to stay composed, but your heart races. It beats as fast as the one of a racing horse and your chest starts to heave. 

“Is it because we are not wed?” His voice is but a gust of gentle wind caressing the shell of your ear. You turn away, the heat in your cheeks suddenly too much to bear, but it only allows him to press his lips closer to your face and your ear tingles. “Or is it because you are a princess and I am a mere knight?” 

Your fingers simultaneously clutch at the fabric on his chest and try to push him away. But he is much stronger. His arms hold you fast, not maliciously; it feels bizarrely secure, and a soft whimper escapes from your throat when he whispers your name into the night, against your skin. 

“It seems to me...” his nose runs along your jaw, and something you cannot quite understand melts in you. “My Princess has never thought about what happens between a man and a woman before they embrace in a bed at night.” 

“Xavier...” you gasp when his lips ghost over a spot just underneath your earlobe. And he growls just like a wolf ready to devour its prey when he hears you so out of breath already. You are sure this should scare you, that this was the reason that you weren’t allowed to speak to men without a chaperone. But somehow... this sound sets you aflame like nothing else. A sound you have never made before slips past your lips like a sigh and a plea for more of this—whatever it was. 

His lips keep going when you press into him. They go on, sweet and soft, all over your neck, your throat, your collarbone. He kisses the part of your cleavage that is exposed, his fingers slowly sneaking upwards along the bodice of your dress until… 

A loud moan leaves you, traveling far and beyond over the lake, when his hand squeezes at one of your breasts. You clasp your mouth with one of your hands, a little confused, and when your eyes meet his you cannot help but feel a little intimidated. 

Even in the night, you can see how he looks at you… completely different from any of the looks you know of him. His pupils are wide, breathing ragged as he holds you, searching your own eyes for a clue to what you were feeling. 

“Forgive me…” he breathes when you pull away slightly. Neither of you say much else anymore as you try to make sense of what in the world has just happened between the two of you. Sir Xavier begins to row the boat back when you quietly say that you wish to go and rest. The festivities seem to still be in full swing, as the cheers of many people travel along the gentle waves of water just like your cry of pleasure moments before. The memory makes you feel hot all over. 

And just like that… he is back to being your loyal knight—as if none of that ever happened. Sir Xavier escorts you through the dirt path and the cold stone walls of the castle corridors. There aren’t too many guards around, most of them on duty in and around the main hall. You pass only two of them in your private quarters; the spot at the door is empty. 

You both stop and your hand hovers on the doorknob as you sigh. Your hair swishes when you turn around to face him again, and he blinks, a little startled by the sudden action. 

“I demand an explanation,” you say looking up at him, trying to seem driven and sure of yourself. 

“A momentary lapse in judgement. I apologize, Your Highness, I was out of line.” Xavier’s eyes are obscured by his lashes as he looks down remorsefully. “I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You are more than entitled to ask for somebody to replace me as your guard.” 

“That is not what I want, I—” 

There is something akin to understanding between the two of you when your eyes meet. Xavier takes a look at both sides of the corridor and then steps closer. His gloved hands cup your face, tilting it just right for his lips to land on yours. 

In the blink of an eye, you are melting into him. You know this. Some of the poems you have read described scenes like this. It feels like an itch you’ve had for the longest time has finally been scratched. This was what you wanted—for him to kiss you. 

“Xav—” you gasp into him, but he silences you with his lips on yours again. Your hands come up to cup his, trembling. 

Both of you breathe heavily when you part again. Xavier’s eyes are dark once more, and somehow that alone is enough to have you feel weak in the knees. 

“Stay with me…” you whisper. There is nothing worse you could think of right now than returning to your room, all alone. You need him near, want to curl up in his arms and for him to pepper the crown of your head with kisses as you fall asleep. 

But he shakes his head. “I can’t I—” he sighs and kisses you once again, as if to show you just how desperate he is to be with you. 

“If I enter your chambers, I will not be able to guarantee for anything. I do not wish to destroy a rose that has barely bloomed…” 

You look at him; face contorted in sadness. Of course, you understand. If somebody saw you like this, there would be trouble. You do not know what your punishment would be, but they would most definitely remove him from your side—maybe even your life—if they saw how he touched you. 

“I will remain here, behind the door,” he said. “And I will keep you safe, just like I always have.” 

Your ladies-in-waiting giggle behind you as you take your daily stroll along the castle grounds.  You are not sure what exactly they are talking about, because ever since that night on your birthday you haven’t been the same. 

It is hard to get ahold of Sir Xavier during the day; if he isn’t doing his duty as your personal guard—where he has been keeping his distance from you lately—he is at the training grounds, a place you are prohibited from entering, quite naturally. Though, if you pass by on one of the upper floors, you can see the training knights from above very well. It is not by mere chance that you pass by that very place on this day, you would do anything to see him. 

Sir Xavier is sparring with one of the other knights, no armor or weapons, pure fist power. You come to a halt abruptly to view their match. Your ladies behind you are not opposed either, promptly starting to talk about who of the knights they liked best. They gush and squeal, following the sparring battle eagerly. Sir Xavier moves so smoothly, it looks as if he is faster than light. When he wins, he helps up his fellow knight and makes his way to the side, where he takes off his linen shirt. 

The air leaves your lungs momentarily and it’s as if you forget how to breathe. Even from up that castle wall you can see his trained body, lean but muscular. And sweat-slicked. Thoughts that you have never entertained before start crowding your mind and infest your body, centering further south. 

Your eyes meet briefly, his gaze soft, almost clueless, and the ladies squeal in delight. You don’t have it in you to stay longer, so you leave with hastened steps, lest you jump down these walls, claiming him as the one to win your affections. 

The next time the two of you are alone together, is in the castle garden. The weather has gotten warmer, and you have taken to reading on one of the stone benches near your favorite willow tree. It is a book you already know; the list of literature available to the eyes of a princess is quite limited, after all, and frankly you are getting bored of reading the same things over and over again. But your other option is to do embroidery, but if you start embroidery now, you shall be bored of it by winter. And then winter would become incredibly dreadful to survive. 

Sir Xavier stands with a polite distance to you, overlooking the tranquil gardens. The gentle breeze that has the willow branches sway, picks up, blowing your bookmark into the wind. 

“Oh no!” you gasp and get onto your feet, about to run after it. Your knight is faster and snaps the bookmark from the air. He hands it back to you with a teasing smile and you pout a thanks. 

“Did you like what you saw the other day?” He asks suddenly when you sit back down, his voice with a hint of raspiness beneath the soft sound. There is only one thing that he could mean by that, so naturally you do the only viable thing: you lie. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you stutter into the worn pages. Suddenly, this book seems incredibly interesting to you again. 

“That’s too bad…” he says with that infuriating nonchalance of his. “I guess the Tales of the Virtuous Hearts that you are reading don’t really go over ogling shirtless knights at the training grounds…” 

Immediately, your throat gets dry. So he had seen you—as if you needed any further confirmation. You try not to show how taken aback you are by the fact, willing the heat creeping up your neck to stop. “They do not, as a matter of fact,” you retort. It is most improper for a princess to concern herself with such things.” 

If he could pretend that nothing had happened between the two of you on that chilly summer night, well so could you. Many would fight, if not kill, to be granted a kiss or even as much as a gentle touch from the Princess. And yet here was Sir Xavier, composed as ever. Maybe that night was truly a slip of judgement and nothing more? 

You don’t notice that you have slipped into a world made solely of your own thoughts until Sir Xavier’s form blocks the sun from your face. Startled, you look up at him. 

“Were you saying something?” 

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Sir Xavier smiles down at you gently. “I was inquiring whether you were interested in reading some of my favorite literature, for a change.” 

His voice is ever so soft, eyes innocent as he tilts his head slightly to the side. The motion pushes the hair on his forehead into the blue, obscuring it for just a second. 

But you are no fool. Sir Xavier knows how to appear innocent and unassuming. It is a tactic he used often with other nobles, when he wanted to have them make fools out of themselves. And now he is using it on you—how wicked! 

Sure, you could play that game, too. 

Pursing your lips, you pretend to consider it, looking around the castle garden for a while. You hum. 

“And what kind of literature would that be?” 

For a moment, you think that something flashes behind the crystal blue of Sir Xavier’s eyes, but it is gone so soon again that you think you might have hallucinated it, after all. 

“Is Your Highness familiar with The Song of the Veil?” 

You have a hard time keeping yourself from scoffing. Sir Xavier well knows what sort of texts you are allowed to read. Whatever The Song of the Veil is, it is not on the list of books that are permitted in your bed chambers or your hands—you both know that. 

“I have not.” You play along for now. Curiosity almost devours you whole, aching to find out what it is about. What kind of books does Sir Xavier enjoy? Still, you are determined to win this battle. 

“Maybe it is not worth my time. Surely, I would know of this book if it was worthy of a princess?” 

Sir Xavier’s smile is soft, sincere when he answers you, although you can never be sure with him. 

“I believe it to be very much worth your time, Your Highness. However, I am also quite sure there would be more than a handful of people trying to keep it from you.” 

Now that piques your interest. If you weren’t dying to know what he was talking about before, now he had caught you in his trap. 

You clear your throat and stand up, smoothing down any creases in your skirts. Folding your hands in front of yourself, you face your knight. The expression on your face does not betray anything, but you can feel your pulse thrumming in excitement of getting your hands on a new, possibly forbidden story. 

“I shall read it,” you say. Your voice is resolute, just the way you’d been taught all those years. Sir Xavier’s eyebrows shoot up. Did he think you’d never be interested? 

“However, as I am not allowed to borrow anything from the Royal Library that is not on the list, you shall procure it for me.” The soft, amused rumble in your guard’s chest makes your heart skip a beat. And when his eyes lock onto yours again, you can finally see the same softness in them as you did on the night of your birthday. 

When you step from the small bathing nook into your bed chambers in the evening, a simple leather-bound book catches your eye. It is not titled Song of The Veil. Instead, it says Virtuous Tactics for Virtuous Rulers on it. 

A slight frown settles in your face, causing a rather unattractive furrow to appear right between your brows. For a second you think Sir Xavier had messed with you earlier, that he was snickering to himself somewhere down the hall, happy that he had fooled you. 

But then a silken blue ribbon slips from between the pages once you pick it up. Hastily, you open the book to the marked page, looking around for any curious eyes that might be looking. However, you’re completely alone right now. 

Among the blue ribbon, you find a rose petal pressed between a piece of parchment. When you open it, you find a note clearly meant for you. 

To the rose that wants to bloom, it says. 

As promised, a copy that keeps away prying eyes. All contained poems are worth your time, although, I went ahead and marked a personal recommendation. 

It had no signature. But did you truly need one to know who wrote this? Your fingertips trace the shiny ink, weaved into elegant cursive. You didn’t know how pretty his handwriting was. 

Once the personal note is safely tucked away into one of your secret stashes, you slip underneath the cotton and fur draped over your bed. Your gaze flickers shyly over the page at first, cheeks rosy already from holding something forbidden in your hands. But you push through, forcing yourself to start: 

The Darkest Night  In the hush  Of darkest night  I see my queen  My love—my light  Your hair untied  And crown forgotten  Already bare,  You sweetly soften  Into your warmth  You beckon me  Your parted legs—  A sight to see  Rose petals give way  Like dawn’s first bloom  Warm fingers can feel  Your honeyed dew  A fragrant rose—  Your scent, it maddens  I claim your lips  How sweet, your redness  My trembling queen  You pull me near  Your pulse meets mine  A silent plea  To sink into  And make you sing  For shy you are  Slow bliss I bring  And though you still  You try to hide  Your sighs betray  Feelings inside  My hips to yours  Devoted knight  Will always bring you  Sweet delight 

With your heart thudding in your chest as if it wanted to jump out and leave you dead for good, you stare at the bottom of the page. Your face feels warm, and your throat dry, and, more importantly, it feels like liquid fire had settled right at the apex of your thighs, throbbing faintly with each line you read. 

Teeth dig in sharply into your lower lip and you draw up your knees. Your finger functions as a bookmark when you half-close the tome and press it to your chest. 

The fabric of your night dress strains against your pebbled peaks, as if teasing you, taunting you. Inadvertently, you remember the way Sir Xavier’s hand had squeezed you there. And now he was giving you a book that spoke of where else he could have done it? 

How unfair, you think as you let your head fall back and sink into the down pillow. Slowly, you turn your head towards the heavy door. Aside from your thin gown and the furs you lay in, this is probably the only thing that is keeping the two of you apart. Maybe you should call out to him? Like the queen in his favorite poem. 

And your lips actually part for a moment. You want to try it, taste his name on your tongue, now aware of how he saw you… and how you saw him. 

“Xavier…” you whimper quietly into the night. 

Then you turn to put out the oil lamp. 

Come morning you feel very jittery. In the end, you did not go to sleep until the first gentle song of early birds caught up to you. Too fascinating were the tales and poems that were contained in that little book. Did Xavier know that it would have this effect on you? 

One story in particular had caught your attention. The man and woman in there had done something you never heard of before. That in itself is not a surprise—it seems Xavier was right when he questioned how much you truly knew about ‘blooming’. You shake your head to get your thoughts on track again. 

The noblewoman had beckoned the man in the story underneath her voluptuous skirts, where he ‘gave her immense pleasure’. He kissed her between the thighs and suckled on parts you were only vaguely aware of. According to the passages in the story, there was a little bud there, and it seemed that if caressed right, it would make a woman wail in ecstasy. 

You knew that man and woman had to lay with each other to create a child, but this practice seemed to entirely miss the point. Even so, it had made your thighs clench underneath the blanket. Maybe you should slip a finger under the bedding and see if that bud existed? 

Before you can make up your mind, the heavy door swings open and your maids and ladies in waiting enter, bringing with them a gust of wind, ultimately making the decision for you. 

“Your Highness! Your face feels very warm,” one of the maids gasps when she comes to wake you. You do feel feverish, but not because you are sick. However, you cannot admit what you have been up to, so you decide to play along. You wish to stay in bed today, maybe only take a short walk to get some fresh air. 

“Could you call for Sir Xavier for me?” You ask. He should be the one to accompany you, take responsibility for your sleepless night.  

With a bit of minimal effort put into making your hair and face look presentable and dressed in a fur overcoat as to keep you from getting sick further, you are allowed into one of the secluded parts of the castle garden—one that will ensure you will not run into other nobles, the one with the willow. The Princess shall not be seen in such a state, after all. 

Your heart beats so fast when you walk alongside your knight that you feel it might reverberate along the castle walls; the fur does not help you cool down either. You desperately try to calm yourself by utilizing a breathing exercise. 

“Did you not sleep well last night, your highness?” Xavier asks slowly while the two of you circle a vibrant flower patch. 

“I… am afraid I did not have any shuteye until dawn. Thanks to your book.” You can’t see the slight quirk of Xavier’s lips when you say it, but you feel like that is what he does. 

“So you enjoyed it, I presume?” 

You are quiet for a moment, while you try to gather your thoughts about that sinful little book that now was safely secured under your mattress. 

“There is no shame in admitting that. Your devoted knight can keep a lot of secrets—including the Princess’s nightly venture into sacrilegious texts…” 

This beckons a laugh from you. “You have no other choice but…” you say. “You were the one who gave it to me.” 

“Then… have I corrupted you already?” 

You stop.

A mild wind blows around the two of you when you rise your head to meet Xavier’s gaze. The blue eyes seem calm on the surface but the longer you look, the longer you feel like there is a storm brewing behind them, like you so often think. Like the sea throwing countless sailors into the abyss, they hold you captive and want you to drown in them. 

“Which one was your highness’s favorite?” 

“The one with the skirts…” 

Xavier smiles. Doesn’t smirk, just genuinely smiles. 

“However, I fail to wrap my head around it,” you continue. “It’s… There is no way for a woman to come to be with child like this, is there?” 

Xavier chuckles and tilts his head towards a patch of wildflowers growing along one of the walls. “Not everything a man and woman share with each other has to bring forth a child.” 

You blink at him, a little confused. “No?” 

“No.” 

There is a moment of silence between the two of you before Xavier continues. “Would you like me to show you?” 

You’re speechless, jaw slack when he says that. The words from the poetry book reverberate inside your head as you try to make sense of what he is alluding to. 

“Princess…” He takes one step closer. “Do you still want to pretend? You have read the poems, have you not?” Have you understood, what I think, when I see you, is the question that lies beneath his words. 

“I— it’s just… Xavier. All of this… it’s confusing me.” 

“Then let me show you.” 

Xavier’s hand curls around your wrist. His touch is gentle but still insistent, and you feel a pleasant tingle where he touches you. You can feel his breath on your skin. It comes out irregularly. 

As if on its own, your head tilts in a nod. Before you can make sense of the situation, Xavier already pulls you by your hand. You follow him clumsily, trying to keep up with his long and fast steps until you’re completely surrounded by hanging green branches. 

Underneath the willow tree, it is like a world on its own. Nobody can see you; it’s just the two of you. Xavier gently pushes you against the thick bark and you gasp. 

“Relax, Your Highness… It’s just me.” His voice is soft and reassuring. Although, it helps only a little bit. But he is right—it is just him. Your loyal knight that you have known for three years. He is possibly the person that could understand you most. 

Xavier radiates warmth and security. Something pulls you to him, like it always had. Were you not daydreaming about him way before all of this happened? Maybe not in this specific way, but you always think about him, do you not? 

“Xavier, kiss me—” 

You can’t even complete your sentence before his lips are on yours in a searing kiss. You kissed him before, but this is new. His tongue traces the seam of your lips before slipping right past them. You whine needily and his hands have to steady you. 

“These whimpers shall be my demise,” he sighs into your mouth. You feel him wrap his arms around your thighs and lift you up, against the thick bark of the willow. The skirts of your gown aren’t as pompous as the ones from the noblewoman in the poem, so you feel it—feel him. 

“Xavier…?” 

“Your Highness is a smart girl. Surely you can figure out what this is.” 

You have an inkling. It’s what is most commonly referred to in poems as a man’s heat, or desire. Though, isn’t this also what most commonly steals away a girl’s innocence? 

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs before kissing you again. “I know how to hold back. I won’t compromise you. Although the thought of having you to myself forever is tempting.” You feel like you would not mind if it were him. 

Xavier is steadying you with only one of his hands and sneaks the other under the fabric of your dress. His palm promptly finds the gap between your thighs, as if he has done it thousands of times in the past. Your own legs bring him closer when you wrap them around his torso. 

Between the kisses Xavier gives to your lips, you can make out a proud smirk. Whether he is proud of himself or of you, you aren’t really sure. But does it matter? The way his thumb circles your aching flesh has you melting under his touch. Why has this been kept a secret from you for so long? 

“Does this feel good?” Xavier asks. His voice is soft and when you open your eyes, you can see his almost innocent expression. As if he is genuinely asking. 

“Yes.” You nod. 

“Would you like to feel something even better?” 

“Yes—” 

Promptly, Xavier sets you down onto the grass and kneels in front of you. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, you can’t help but stare at it in a daze. It makes you squirm. 

“Lift your skirts.” He smiles. 

Your trembling fingers fist the delicate material until you feel a light breeze at the wet locks between your legs. A shiver runs down your spine, and Xavier notices. 

“Do not worry. Nobody except me will see you.” 

Then he dives in, his lips pressing snugly against that sensitive bundle of nerves you read about, and you can barely hold back a scream. 

He kisses it just the way he kissed your lips a few moments ago, loving you in equal parts. Gasps and shudders escape you when he licks from between your folds up until he reaches the apex of your thighs again. The bark of the tree digs into your scalp from how hard you throw back your head. 

“My Princess…” Xavier mutters between licks. He circles the bud, flicks it gently, presses his tongue flat against it. With his long fingers he holds you open, leaves you at his mercy. And for whatever reason, this is exactly what you want to be: a princess at her knight’s mercy. 

Xavier’s nose brushes against the bundle of nerves when he looks up at you. “Your scent is intoxicating,” he says before dipping his tongue inside you and you jerk. It earns you a chuckle from him while he licks into you, laps up all the juices leaking from the inside. You’re sure it’s your desire taking a form that cannot be contained by your body any longer, pouring out of you.  

“And your taste…” he groans. The sound sends a vibration through you that makes your back arch. “Gods, you taste divine. So much better than any of my dreams could conjure.” 

You whimper helplessly, but the meaning of his words does not elude you. He thinks of you, of your taste, how you smell between your legs. Dreams of you looking like this. Xavier has wanted you like this. Your hips stutter against him in need. 

“Xavier—” 

He guides one of your hands to the back of his head and your fingers thread through the silver blond like it is second nature. When you push at it a little, he hums, satisfied. 

“Xavier—” you gasp once more. The little bud pulses and a tingling sensation begins to fill you. “Xavier, stop I — I need to use the chamber pot—”

But Xavier merely shakes his head. His fingers begin pressing and rubbing the pulsating nerves slowly, and you might actually go insane from that. You can barely hold yourself upright. “It isn’t that…” he rasps against your damp flesh. You feel his teeth graze your skin and you moan. “You can let go, nothing embarrassing will happen.” His tongue joins his fingers, circling you at a maddening pace. 

Your chest heaves—you can barely breathe. And suddenly all there is is Xavier and the way he makes you feel. The pressure in your belly builds until you can’t take it any longer. A wave of ecstasy hits you, and you can barely hold back a shriek. Your hands let go of your dress to clasp over your mouth, leaving the fabric to flow all over the knight that gave you such intense feelings. Pleasure keeps trickling down your inner thighs, but Xavier is fast to run his tongue over the traces. 

Reduced to a whimpering mess, you let him spread you, eat you out until the waves turn to small ripples and eventually stop completely. Somewhere in the back of your fogged mind, you can hear the rustling of your skirts as Xavier scrambles out of his temporary confines. 

Only when he pries away your hands from your mouth do you notice him again. He wipes at your palms and then puts his knuckles against your lips. 

“Your Highness is drooling a little…” 

Your lashes flutter as you look up at him. The blue of his eyes sparkles more under the contrast of his own flushed cheeks. Or maybe it is that loving smile that makes them even more beautiful to you. 

“A-apologies,” you whisper. But Xavier only shakes his head. 

“I have serviced my Princess well if it made her drool all over her pretty hands.” 

You let out a soft sound when he brings you close and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It seems congratulations are in order,” he whispers into your ear and kisses you deeply. “I believe you have officially bloomed.”

The fifteenth birthday always marked a noble lady’s first step into adulthood. Gone were the days in which you could play freely with your friends. Any male contact needed a chaperone. Your own brother—the crown prince—was more difficult to reach than ever before. And your ladies-in-waiting? They liked to gossip, and you did not plan to become the topic of them anytime soon. 

A sigh passes your lips when you look at your own reflection. Today marked your own coming of age. When you blink and lift your gaze towards the surface, a young woman stares back at you, hair put into waves and a ridiculously complicated hairstyle held up by pins and midnight blue ribbons. 

Your reflection is all grown up now, yet deep inside you feel you are still a little girl. The other nobles seem so much more aware of life. The things you sometimes catch the maids saying have you wonder just how much you are missing out on. Truth be told, life as a sheltered princess leaves much to be desired. 

The last rays of light outside start painting your room in saturated oranges and yellows; soon, you will have to attend the dreaded festivities. Maybe you should be happy, but the possibility of meeting suitors nauseates you. Finding a husband may be your duty, but you just cannot fathom it being your life anytime soon. Not when— 

A knock on your massive chamber door tears you from your thoughts. 

“Your Highness?” Comes the deep voice from behind the oak doors. “It is time.” 

You sigh. 

When you open the door, you are met with a familiar sight. Deep blue eyes and blond hair that looks like it was kissed by moonlight itself. Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment neither of you say anything. It is almost as if his gaze sweeps all over your figure, but you are not sure, as the moment is gone just as soon as it starts. 

Sir Xavier clears his throat and offers his arm to you. Tonight, he is dressed more formally than most days. Leather gloves, a dark tunic with silver embroidery showcasing the kingdom’s crest, as well as a deep blue cloak and his sword at his side. You are almost inclined to think how well it matches your own blue dress. 

You stand still for a moment longer when you rest your hand on his forearm. His other hand darts out to smooth over the sleek silk of the ribbon in your hair. 

“The color suits you, Your Highness,” is all he says with a soft smile. Your cheeks flush and it is almost as if it is the middle of summer, when days are hot and humid, and walking outside makes you feel as if you might faint. Your fingers tighten around his arm reflexively. 

It reminds me of your eyes. You think, but saying such things out loud would be unbecoming of a princess, so you settle for a simple ‘thank you’. 

Sir Xavier is your knight—your personal guard, first and foremost. But... he is also the one safe haven in your life. Friends are scarce when you are a royal, and you consider him to be your friend at the very least. Your only hope is that he considers you to be a friend of his, as well. 

His steady hand guides you into the main hall, where he passes you off into another hand that you have known since you were born. 

“Sister,” Caleb kisses your hand, not without making the gesture obnoxiously wet. He knows you hate that. “Happy Birthday.” 

You nod politely. He is trying to lighten the atmosphere, but you would really rather be anywhere else than here, where you were certain nobles would size you up, their gazes hungry for you, or rather, hungry for the opportunities you would bring them, were they or one of their sons to marry you. Even though you are not well-versed in politics—what noble lady wastes her time with such a masculine endeavor?—you do know that marriage is usually for political purposes. 

You sit next to your brother, who, in turn, sits next to your father, the King. The long table is full of exotic assortments of food and drink, a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth at the center, different kinds of fish and their corresponding side dishes forming a circle around it. Your father did not pass by any opportunity to show off the kingdom’s wealth. 

Countless nobles sit around you, all chattering with each other but paying you mostly no attention besides the obligatory birthday wishes. They peacock for your brother’s attention; he is the future king, after all. And you? Well… all you are good for is prestige… maybe an alliance. Even if there is a suitable candidate of pure intentions amongst those who attended, you know your heart would never truly be satisfied by any of them. 

Your gaze sweeps over the people who were invited for your special day. Men from significant noble families; from both in and around the kingdom. Lady and Lord Blackwood are in the midst of retelling a fantastical story about bear hunting. You are sure it is at least half made up. Their son, Cedrick, is currently trying to impress one of the musicians. 

As the gentle harp music continues, so does your gaze continue its wandering. Duke Ashcombe, an old, bearded man—no doubt a man of many riches, given his stature—is talking to the King. You are not sure whether he is here to play matchmaker or to enjoy the blackcurrant dessert. You hope it is the latter. 

Sir Ainsworth and Sir Harlowe sit opposite of you, eyeing you as if you are a piece of jewelry in a glass display, or a rare breed of ermine. It becomes especially difficult to take when their eyes quite obviously linger for a long time at your bosom. They laugh and you swear you hear them say something about ripened fruit. A shiver runs down your spine.  

“Why so stiff, Your Highness?” Asks Lord Hale, who sits to your right, and leans in with a grin. His brown hair slicked back and tied with an emerald ribbon, just like always. From this up close you can see the stubble on his chin and smell the faint trace of alcohol from his mouth. 

His arm reaches over to the nearest carafe and pours the red liquid into your chalice, making you recoil on instinct, although he seems not to notice. But before he can make you take a sip from it, another hand snatches the drink away. 

“My Princess does not drink wine; you must excuse the inconvenience, my lord.” 

Sir Xavier’s voice resounds from behind you, calm but firm, and Lord Hale lets you be for the time being, rolling his eyes at the knight. But you? You are grateful when he swaps the chalice for one with fruit juice, winking at you knowingly. You’ve never cared for the taste of wine, even when scolded during your lessons. You just could not make yourself drink it. 

Parties like that were also not something you enjoyed. Entirely too loud, with people that had better things to do than entertain the crown prince’s little sister. Your gaze lands on the suckling pig on the table, and you can’t help but think of how similar the two of you are. All you would need is an apple in your mouth, and there would be no difference. 

“You seem unwell, Your Highness.” The knight leans in and whispers. 

You press your lips together, attempting at least a small smile, but you fail. All these men are having fun, celebrating what exactly? Not your birthday, that’s for sure. The air keeps growing heavier with the smell of fermented grapes, and for a second you feel as if you’re witnessing everything from underwater. You’re drowning in the overwhelming sensations and barely register Sir Xavier leading you outside, telling Caleb that you were getting some fresh air. 

Only when he halts a few steps around the corner of the main hall do you realize that you left the table at all. You blink and look around; the sun has already set. The air is pleasant and aside from a few insects making noise, it is also quiet here. 

“You are unwell,” he says, gently but firmly holding you up. 

“I am not much of a party goer, I fear…” you say with a helpless smile, but it barely helps to lighten the mood. Sir Xavier’s frown only deepens. 

He seems to be thinking about something before he tugs on your hand. 

“Follow me,” he says in a way that does not let you argue. He leads you through a secluded path and into what seems to be a secret passageway. Your dress tugs on what seem to be plants and rocks and your heels sink into the soft, muddy earth before the fresh scent hits you. You can smell the fresh water as he leads you through the small dirt path until you reach a wooden platform. Sir Xavier rummages through the nearby shrubbery as you stand there, completely dumbfounded. 

“What are you—” 

He tugs on what seems to be a long rope, and your breath hitches when you see the small boat come into view. Or at least that is what you think it is. It’s so dark you can barely see, even though the moon is up high in the sky. 

You watch him swiftly climb onto the vessel before he turns to you with an outstretched hand. 

“Would you like to accompany me, Your Highness? Consider it to be my birthday present to the Princess.” 

Your lips part and you blink in surprise. You’ve never been in such close proximity to so much water. The thought of being on it was daunting. Yet, of course, you trust your personal guard with your life, and so you put your trembling hand in his. Even in the dark you can make out his puppy dog eyes. 

Sir Xavier helps you onto the boat carefully, and you wobble in your little heeled shoes for a second before plopping down rather unceremoniously onto the plank that is supposed to be a bench. You realize what he searched for earlier was a pair of ores. 

He removes the rope from the platform and begins to take you right into the center of the lake. Your hands clutch at the wood on the side as the boat goes into motion. It sways a lot, so it takes you a while to get accustomed to the sensation. When you accept that you are probably not going to fall into the water, you cautiously let go of the sides. 

The two of you are quiet at first. You can hear how Sir Xavier takes a breath, every time he plunges the ores into the pitch-black water. Maybe you should be unsettled by this, but it is much better than attending your own birthday party. 

“You are not usually this quiet,” he says and stops rowing once you are at the center of the lake. There is this typical expression on his face. The one he wears when he already knows the answer to something but wants to coax it out of you anyway, his head tilted and eyes soft, at least as much as you can make out in the dark. 

You shrug. “They called me a ripe fruit,” you simply say. Now that you are out of the situation, anger begins welling up inside of you. You once sneaked into the kitchen as a child and saw a pot of soup boil over. Right now, you cannot stop thinking that this is exactly how you feel. How dare they make such comments on you, with their lecherous eyes and sly smiles. Sir Xavier lets out a long breath through his nose. If you heard them say it, he most probably also has. 

“Would you allow this humble knight to take a turn at a different comparison?” He asks, looking up at you. When you don’t protest, he simply keeps speaking. 

“To me, you are like a delicate, untouched rose in spring, waiting yet to bloom from underneath the last traces of melting snow.” These words set you aflame like no other, and you feel your cheeks flush. You just hope he cannot see it. Nevertheless, you cannot help but feel lighter and smile. 

“Have I not yet bloomed in your eyes?” You ask. The words come out of you without thinking, emboldened by the privacy that the night sky offers you. If it was him, you would not mind being looked at as a woman. Your knight was always gentle with you, would even joke with you whenever you happened to have a moment in private. Did he still see you as a child? 

Sir Xavier chuckles and looks onto the water. “Always so fast to twist my words, Your Highness…” 

“So?” You press. 

He lets out a helpless chuckle again before answering. “If I had to make an assessment...? I would say you are right on the cusp of it.” Your knight’s gaze is genuine when he speaks, and you feel a faint tug in your tummy. 

It does sting a little, but you suppose it is understandable. Why would he see anything other than a little princess in you? A child that he had to protect from wild mice in the past. 

The atmosphere sinks and you sit in silence, your only companion being the chilly breeze. It makes you shiver, and you rub your arms to warm yourself. Sir Xavier is immediately alerted, of course, and, with a swift motion, he unclips the blue cloak from his back and beckons you closer. 

“You are cold, please...” he offers, and you let him wrap the fabric around you, pulling you closer. As if protecting the flower that was not quite yet blooming, shielding her from weather until it could survive on its own. It is the closest thing to what you secretly long to do, so under the guise of hiding from the wind, you lean into his broad chest. He looks away pointedly into the abyss of the lake, yet his gloved hands still hold you fast. 

Sir Xavier exhales deeply through his nose. “Your Highness is cruel,” he whispers. You don’t know what he means, but right now it does not matter to you. You are quite content in his arms, like a kitten napping in the warm embrace of its owner, and you can barely keep your hands from curling into his tunic. 

“I am not trying to be,” you say bluntly. 

“I did not say you were.” Sir Xavier’s voice is warm, so you know he is smiling. It is almost as if he is glowing when he is happy; you cannot explain it properly—you just know. His breath tickles the small hairs around your face, and you flush, hiding further in his arms. It was not exactly proper, but nobody could see you this far out on the lake. 

You are silent for a little while before speaking. “But if I am cruel, then my knight is just as.” 

His fingers flex for a short moment. “I am cruel? What makes you say that…?” 

“Telling your princess she has not bloomed yet… that sounds cruel to me.” 

His chuckle rumbles in his chest and against your ear. For some inexplicable reason your cheeks flush even deeper than before. 

“Is that so?” He asks clearly amused by your antics. You are like a sulking child that was told it was not allowed yet to sit at the table with the other grown-ups, but you think you are quite grown up in acting so. 

“Then tell me, Your Highness, what do you know of being in bloom?” 

 He was mocking you, as he so often did. Holding his three years of seniority over you as if he knew everything so much better. 

“More than you, I assure you. I am a woman after all,” you say, holding your chin high and trying your best to sound confident. 

In truth, being ‘in bloom’ was an abstract concept you could not quite grasp. There were certain benchmarks to adulthood, like the growth of certain body parts and your monthly bleeding. But you had checked those a while ago already. By this definition you would be withered by now. 

Sir Xavier raises his eyebrows in amusement, his blue eyes boring into you even in the dark of the night. “If Your Highness knows more than me, then she can surely explain to me how a woman comes to be with child?” 

You frown. “W-well… she has to be married first, of course,” you say. 

“Of course,” he echoes patiently, and you are not sure why, but it feels like mockery once more. He doesn’t say anything else, so you continue to pretend to know what you are talking about. 

“And then… when the husband embraces her in the night, she will be with child soon.” 

You are proud of what you came up with. Really, the logic was foolproof. You are not sure, how exactly the child ends up with the woman, but that was not the question. 

Your knight hums again as he listens to you. 

“Then why are you not with child yet? Are we not embracing in the night?” His voice is a low murmur next to your ear, and you shiver. You try to stay composed, but your heart races. It beats as fast as the one of a racing horse and your chest starts to heave. 

“Is it because we are not wed?” His voice is but a gust of gentle wind caressing the shell of your ear. You turn away, the heat in your cheeks suddenly too much to bear, but it only allows him to press his lips closer to your face and your ear tingles. “Or is it because you are a princess and I am a mere knight?” 

Your fingers simultaneously clutch at the fabric on his chest and try to push him away. But he is much stronger. His arms hold you fast, not maliciously; it feels bizarrely secure, and a soft whimper escapes from your throat when he whispers your name into the night, against your skin. 

“It seems to me...” his nose runs along your jaw, and something you cannot quite understand melts in you. “My Princess has never thought about what happens between a man and a woman before they embrace in a bed at night.” 

“Xavier...” you gasp when his lips ghost over a spot just underneath your earlobe. And he growls just like a wolf ready to devour its prey when he hears you so out of breath already. You are sure this should scare you, that this was the reason that you weren’t allowed to speak to men without a chaperone. But somehow... this sound sets you aflame like nothing else. A sound you have never made before slips past your lips like a sigh and a plea for more of this—whatever it was. 

His lips keep going when you press into him. They go on, sweet and soft, all over your neck, your throat, your collarbone. He kisses the part of your cleavage that is exposed, his fingers slowly sneaking upwards along the bodice of your dress until… 

A loud moan leaves you, traveling far and beyond over the lake, when his hand squeezes at one of your breasts. You clasp your mouth with one of your hands, a little confused, and when your eyes meet his you cannot help but feel a little intimidated. 

Even in the night, you can see how he looks at you… completely different from any of the looks you know of him. His pupils are wide, breathing ragged as he holds you, searching your own eyes for a clue to what you were feeling. 

“Forgive me…” he breathes when you pull away slightly. Neither of you say much else anymore as you try to make sense of what in the world has just happened between the two of you. Sir Xavier begins to row the boat back when you quietly say that you wish to go and rest. The festivities seem to still be in full swing, as the cheers of many people travel along the gentle waves of water just like your cry of pleasure moments before. The memory makes you feel hot all over. 

And just like that… he is back to being your loyal knight—as if none of that ever happened. Sir Xavier escorts you through the dirt path and the cold stone walls of the castle corridors. There aren’t too many guards around, most of them on duty in and around the main hall. You pass only two of them in your private quarters; the spot at the door is empty. 

You both stop and your hand hovers on the doorknob as you sigh. Your hair swishes when you turn around to face him again, and he blinks, a little startled by the sudden action. 

“I demand an explanation,” you say looking up at him, trying to seem driven and sure of yourself. 

“A momentary lapse in judgement. I apologize, Your Highness, I was out of line.” Xavier’s eyes are obscured by his lashes as he looks down remorsefully. “I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You are more than entitled to ask for somebody to replace me as your guard.” 

“That is not what I want, I—” 

There is something akin to understanding between the two of you when your eyes meet. Xavier takes a look at both sides of the corridor and then steps closer. His gloved hands cup your face, tilting it just right for his lips to land on yours. 

In the blink of an eye, you are melting into him. You know this. Some of the poems you have read described scenes like this. It feels like an itch you’ve had for the longest time has finally been scratched. This was what you wanted—for him to kiss you. 

“Xav—” you gasp into him, but he silences you with his lips on yours again. Your hands come up to cup his, trembling. 

Both of you breathe heavily when you part again. Xavier’s eyes are dark once more, and somehow that alone is enough to have you feel weak in the knees. 

“Stay with me…” you whisper. There is nothing worse you could think of right now than returning to your room, all alone. You need him near, want to curl up in his arms and for him to pepper the crown of your head with kisses as you fall asleep. 

But he shakes his head. “I can’t I—” he sighs and kisses you once again, as if to show you just how desperate he is to be with you. 

“If I enter your chambers, I will not be able to guarantee for anything. I do not wish to destroy a rose that has barely bloomed…” 

You look at him; face contorted in sadness. Of course, you understand. If somebody saw you like this, there would be trouble. You do not know what your punishment would be, but they would most definitely remove him from your side—maybe even your life—if they saw how he touched you. 

“I will remain here, behind the door,” he said. “And I will keep you safe, just like I always have.” 

Your ladies-in-waiting giggle behind you as you take your daily stroll along the castle grounds.  You are not sure what exactly they are talking about, because ever since that night on your birthday you haven’t been the same. 

It is hard to get ahold of Sir Xavier during the day; if he isn’t doing his duty as your personal guard—where he has been keeping his distance from you lately—he is at the training grounds, a place you are prohibited from entering, quite naturally. Though, if you pass by on one of the upper floors, you can see the training knights from above very well. It is not by mere chance that you pass by that very place on this day, you would do anything to see him. 

Sir Xavier is sparring with one of the other knights, no armor or weapons, pure fist power. You come to a halt abruptly to view their match. Your ladies behind you are not opposed either, promptly starting to talk about who of the knights they liked best. They gush and squeal, following the sparring battle eagerly. Sir Xavier moves so smoothly, it looks as if he is faster than light. When he wins, he helps up his fellow knight and makes his way to the side, where he takes off his linen shirt. 

The air leaves your lungs momentarily and it’s as if you forget how to breathe. Even from up that castle wall you can see his trained body, lean but muscular. And sweat-slicked. Thoughts that you have never entertained before start crowding your mind and infest your body, centering further south. 

Your eyes meet briefly, his gaze soft, almost clueless, and the ladies squeal in delight. You don’t have it in you to stay longer, so you leave with hastened steps, lest you jump down these walls, claiming him as the one to win your affections. 

The next time the two of you are alone together, is in the castle garden. The weather has gotten warmer, and you have taken to reading on one of the stone benches near your favorite willow tree. It is a book you already know; the list of literature available to the eyes of a princess is quite limited, after all, and frankly you are getting bored of reading the same things over and over again. But your other option is to do embroidery, but if you start embroidery now, you shall be bored of it by winter. And then winter would become incredibly dreadful to survive. 

Sir Xavier stands with a polite distance to you, overlooking the tranquil gardens. The gentle breeze that has the willow branches sway, picks up, blowing your bookmark into the wind. 

“Oh no!” you gasp and get onto your feet, about to run after it. Your knight is faster and snaps the bookmark from the air. He hands it back to you with a teasing smile and you pout a thanks. 

“Did you like what you saw the other day?” He asks suddenly when you sit back down, his voice with a hint of raspiness beneath the soft sound. There is only one thing that he could mean by that, so naturally you do the only viable thing: you lie. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you stutter into the worn pages. Suddenly, this book seems incredibly interesting to you again. 

“That’s too bad…” he says with that infuriating nonchalance of his. “I guess the Tales of the Virtuous Hearts that you are reading don’t really go over ogling shirtless knights at the training grounds…” 

Immediately, your throat gets dry. So he had seen you—as if you needed any further confirmation. You try not to show how taken aback you are by the fact, willing the heat creeping up your neck to stop. “They do not, as a matter of fact,” you retort. It is most improper for a princess to concern herself with such things.” 

If he could pretend that nothing had happened between the two of you on that chilly summer night, well so could you. Many would fight, if not kill, to be granted a kiss or even as much as a gentle touch from the Princess. And yet here was Sir Xavier, composed as ever. Maybe that night was truly a slip of judgement and nothing more? 

You don’t notice that you have slipped into a world made solely of your own thoughts until Sir Xavier’s form blocks the sun from your face. Startled, you look up at him. 

“Were you saying something?” 

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Sir Xavier smiles down at you gently. “I was inquiring whether you were interested in reading some of my favorite literature, for a change.” 

His voice is ever so soft, eyes innocent as he tilts his head slightly to the side. The motion pushes the hair on his forehead into the blue, obscuring it for just a second. 

But you are no fool. Sir Xavier knows how to appear innocent and unassuming. It is a tactic he used often with other nobles, when he wanted to have them make fools out of themselves. And now he is using it on you—how wicked! 

Sure, you could play that game, too. 

Pursing your lips, you pretend to consider it, looking around the castle garden for a while. You hum. 

“And what kind of literature would that be?” 

For a moment, you think that something flashes behind the crystal blue of Sir Xavier’s eyes, but it is gone so soon again that you think you might have hallucinated it, after all. 

“Is Your Highness familiar with The Song of the Veil?” 

You have a hard time keeping yourself from scoffing. Sir Xavier well knows what sort of texts you are allowed to read. Whatever The Song of the Veil is, it is not on the list of books that are permitted in your bed chambers or your hands—you both know that. 

“I have not.” You play along for now. Curiosity almost devours you whole, aching to find out what it is about. What kind of books does Sir Xavier enjoy? Still, you are determined to win this battle. 

“Maybe it is not worth my time. Surely, I would know of this book if it was worthy of a princess?” 

Sir Xavier’s smile is soft, sincere when he answers you, although you can never be sure with him. 

“I believe it to be very much worth your time, Your Highness. However, I am also quite sure there would be more than a handful of people trying to keep it from you.” 

Now that piques your interest. If you weren’t dying to know what he was talking about before, now he had caught you in his trap. 

You clear your throat and stand up, smoothing down any creases in your skirts. Folding your hands in front of yourself, you face your knight. The expression on your face does not betray anything, but you can feel your pulse thrumming in excitement of getting your hands on a new, possibly forbidden story. 

“I shall read it,” you say. Your voice is resolute, just the way you’d been taught all those years. Sir Xavier’s eyebrows shoot up. Did he think you’d never be interested? 

“However, as I am not allowed to borrow anything from the Royal Library that is not on the list, you shall procure it for me.” The soft, amused rumble in your guard’s chest makes your heart skip a beat. And when his eyes lock onto yours again, you can finally see the same softness in them as you did on the night of your birthday. 

When you step from the small bathing nook into your bed chambers in the evening, a simple leather-bound book catches your eye. It is not titled Song of The Veil. Instead, it says Virtuous Tactics for Virtuous Rulers on it. 

A slight frown settles in your face, causing a rather unattractive furrow to appear right between your brows. For a second you think Sir Xavier had messed with you earlier, that he was snickering to himself somewhere down the hall, happy that he had fooled you. 

But then a silken blue ribbon slips from between the pages once you pick it up. Hastily, you open the book to the marked page, looking around for any curious eyes that might be looking. However, you’re completely alone right now. 

Among the blue ribbon, you find a rose petal pressed between a piece of parchment. When you open it, you find a note clearly meant for you. 

To the rose that wants to bloom, it says. 

As promised, a copy that keeps away prying eyes. All contained poems are worth your time, although, I went ahead and marked a personal recommendation. 

It had no signature. But did you truly need one to know who wrote this? Your fingertips trace the shiny ink, weaved into elegant cursive. You didn’t know how pretty his handwriting was. 

Once the personal note is safely tucked away into one of your secret stashes, you slip underneath the cotton and fur draped over your bed. Your gaze flickers shyly over the page at first, cheeks rosy already from holding something forbidden in your hands. But you push through, forcing yourself to start: 

The Darkest Night  In the hush  Of darkest night  I see my queen  My love—my light  Your hair untied  And crown forgotten  Already bare,  You sweetly soften  Into your warmth  You beckon me  Your parted legs—  A sight to see  Rose petals give way  Like dawn’s first bloom  Warm fingers can feel  Your honeyed dew  A fragrant rose—  Your scent, it maddens  I claim your lips  How sweet, your redness  My trembling queen  You pull me near  Your pulse meets mine  A silent plea  To sink into  And make you sing  For shy you are  Slow bliss I bring  And though you still  You try to hide  Your sighs betray  Feelings inside  My hips to yours  Devoted knight  Will always bring you  Sweet delight 

With your heart thudding in your chest as if it wanted to jump out and leave you dead for good, you stare at the bottom of the page. Your face feels warm, and your throat dry, and, more importantly, it feels like liquid fire had settled right at the apex of your thighs, throbbing faintly with each line you read. 

Teeth dig in sharply into your lower lip and you draw up your knees. Your finger functions as a bookmark when you half-close the tome and press it to your chest. 

The fabric of your night dress strains against your pebbled peaks, as if teasing you, taunting you. Inadvertently, you remember the way Sir Xavier’s hand had squeezed you there. And now he was giving you a book that spoke of where else he could have done it? 

How unfair, you think as you let your head fall back and sink into the down pillow. Slowly, you turn your head towards the heavy door. Aside from your thin gown and the furs you lay in, this is probably the only thing that is keeping the two of you apart. Maybe you should call out to him? Like the queen in his favorite poem. 

And your lips actually part for a moment. You want to try it, taste his name on your tongue, now aware of how he saw you… and how you saw him. 

“Xavier…” you whimper quietly into the night. 

Then you turn to put out the oil lamp. 

Come morning you feel very jittery. In the end, you did not go to sleep until the first gentle song of early birds caught up to you. Too fascinating were the tales and poems that were contained in that little book. Did Xavier know that it would have this effect on you? 

One story in particular had caught your attention. The man and woman in there had done something you never heard of before. That in itself is not a surprise—it seems Xavier was right when he questioned how much you truly knew about ‘blooming’. You shake your head to get your thoughts on track again. 

The noblewoman had beckoned the man in the story underneath her voluptuous skirts, where he ‘gave her immense pleasure’. He kissed her between the thighs and suckled on parts you were only vaguely aware of. According to the passages in the story, there was a little bud there, and it seemed that if caressed right, it would make a woman wail in ecstasy. 

You knew that man and woman had to lay with each other to create a child, but this practice seemed to entirely miss the point. Even so, it had made your thighs clench underneath the blanket. Maybe you should slip a finger under the bedding and see if that bud existed? 

Before you can make up your mind, the heavy door swings open and your maids and ladies in waiting enter, bringing with them a gust of wind, ultimately making the decision for you. 

“Your Highness! Your face feels very warm,” one of the maids gasps when she comes to wake you. You do feel feverish, but not because you are sick. However, you cannot admit what you have been up to, so you decide to play along. You wish to stay in bed today, maybe only take a short walk to get some fresh air. 

“Could you call for Sir Xavier for me?” You ask. He should be the one to accompany you, take responsibility for your sleepless night.  

With a bit of minimal effort put into making your hair and face look presentable and dressed in a fur overcoat as to keep you from getting sick further, you are allowed into one of the secluded parts of the castle garden—one that will ensure you will not run into other nobles, the one with the willow. The Princess shall not be seen in such a state, after all. 

Your heart beats so fast when you walk alongside your knight that you feel it might reverberate along the castle walls; the fur does not help you cool down either. You desperately try to calm yourself by utilizing a breathing exercise. 

“Did you not sleep well last night, your highness?” Xavier asks slowly while the two of you circle a vibrant flower patch. 

“I… am afraid I did not have any shuteye until dawn. Thanks to your book.” You can’t see the slight quirk of Xavier’s lips when you say it, but you feel like that is what he does. 

“So you enjoyed it, I presume?” 

You are quiet for a moment, while you try to gather your thoughts about that sinful little book that now was safely secured under your mattress. 

“There is no shame in admitting that. Your devoted knight can keep a lot of secrets—including the Princess’s nightly venture into sacrilegious texts…” 

This beckons a laugh from you. “You have no other choice but…” you say. “You were the one who gave it to me.” 

“Then… have I corrupted you already?” 

You stop.

A mild wind blows around the two of you when you rise your head to meet Xavier’s gaze. The blue eyes seem calm on the surface but the longer you look, the longer you feel like there is a storm brewing behind them, like you so often think. Like the sea throwing countless sailors into the abyss, they hold you captive and want you to drown in them. 

“Which one was your highness’s favorite?” 

“The one with the skirts…” 

Xavier smiles. Doesn’t smirk, just genuinely smiles. 

“However, I fail to wrap my head around it,” you continue. “It’s… There is no way for a woman to come to be with child like this, is there?” 

Xavier chuckles and tilts his head towards a patch of wildflowers growing along one of the walls. “Not everything a man and woman share with each other has to bring forth a child.” 

You blink at him, a little confused. “No?” 

“No.” 

There is a moment of silence between the two of you before Xavier continues. “Would you like me to show you?” 

You’re speechless, jaw slack when he says that. The words from the poetry book reverberate inside your head as you try to make sense of what he is alluding to. 

“Princess…” He takes one step closer. “Do you still want to pretend? You have read the poems, have you not?” Have you understood, what I think, when I see you, is the question that lies beneath his words. 

“I— it’s just… Xavier. All of this… it’s confusing me.” 

“Then let me show you.” 

Xavier’s hand curls around your wrist. His touch is gentle but still insistent, and you feel a pleasant tingle where he touches you. You can feel his breath on your skin. It comes out irregularly. 

As if on its own, your head tilts in a nod. Before you can make sense of the situation, Xavier already pulls you by your hand. You follow him clumsily, trying to keep up with his long and fast steps until you’re completely surrounded by hanging green branches. 

Underneath the willow tree, it is like a world on its own. Nobody can see you; it’s just the two of you. Xavier gently pushes you against the thick bark and you gasp. 

“Relax, Your Highness… It’s just me.” His voice is soft and reassuring. Although, it helps only a little bit. But he is right—it is just him. Your loyal knight that you have known for three years. He is possibly the person that could understand you most. 

Xavier radiates warmth and security. Something pulls you to him, like it always had. Were you not daydreaming about him way before all of this happened? Maybe not in this specific way, but you always think about him, do you not? 

“Xavier, kiss me—” 

You can’t even complete your sentence before his lips are on yours in a searing kiss. You kissed him before, but this is new. His tongue traces the seam of your lips before slipping right past them. You whine needily and his hands have to steady you. 

“These whimpers shall be my demise,” he sighs into your mouth. You feel him wrap his arms around your thighs and lift you up, against the thick bark of the willow. The skirts of your gown aren’t as pompous as the ones from the noblewoman in the poem, so you feel it—feel him. 

“Xavier…?” 

“Your Highness is a smart girl. Surely you can figure out what this is.” 

You have an inkling. It’s what is most commonly referred to in poems as a man’s heat, or desire. Though, isn’t this also what most commonly steals away a girl’s innocence? 

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs before kissing you again. “I know how to hold back. I won’t compromise you. Although the thought of having you to myself forever is tempting.” You feel like you would not mind if it were him. 

Xavier is steadying you with only one of his hands and sneaks the other under the fabric of your dress. His palm promptly finds the gap between your thighs, as if he has done it thousands of times in the past. Your own legs bring him closer when you wrap them around his torso. 

Between the kisses Xavier gives to your lips, you can make out a proud smirk. Whether he is proud of himself or of you, you aren’t really sure. But does it matter? The way his thumb circles your aching flesh has you melting under his touch. Why has this been kept a secret from you for so long? 

“Does this feel good?” Xavier asks. His voice is soft and when you open your eyes, you can see his almost innocent expression. As if he is genuinely asking. 

“Yes.” You nod. 

“Would you like to feel something even better?” 

“Yes—” 

Promptly, Xavier sets you down onto the grass and kneels in front of you. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, you can’t help but stare at it in a daze. It makes you squirm. 

“Lift your skirts.” He smiles. 

Your trembling fingers fist the delicate material until you feel a light breeze at the wet locks between your legs. A shiver runs down your spine, and Xavier notices. 

“Do not worry. Nobody except me will see you.” 

Then he dives in, his lips pressing snugly against that sensitive bundle of nerves you read about, and you can barely hold back a scream. 

He kisses it just the way he kissed your lips a few moments ago, loving you in equal parts. Gasps and shudders escape you when he licks from between your folds up until he reaches the apex of your thighs again. The bark of the tree digs into your scalp from how hard you throw back your head. 

“My Princess…” Xavier mutters between licks. He circles the bud, flicks it gently, presses his tongue flat against it. With his long fingers he holds you open, leaves you at his mercy. And for whatever reason, this is exactly what you want to be: a princess at her knight’s mercy. 

Xavier’s nose brushes against the bundle of nerves when he looks up at you. “Your scent is intoxicating,” he says before dipping his tongue inside you and you jerk. It earns you a chuckle from him while he licks into you, laps up all the juices leaking from the inside. You’re sure it’s your desire taking a form that cannot be contained by your body any longer, pouring out of you.  

“And your taste…” he groans. The sound sends a vibration through you that makes your back arch. “Gods, you taste divine. So much better than any of my dreams could conjure.” 

You whimper helplessly, but the meaning of his words does not elude you. He thinks of you, of your taste, how you smell between your legs. Dreams of you looking like this. Xavier has wanted you like this. Your hips stutter against him in need. 

“Xavier—” 

He guides one of your hands to the back of his head and your fingers thread through the silver blond like it is second nature. When you push at it a little, he hums, satisfied. 

“Xavier—” you gasp once more. The little bud pulses and a tingling sensation begins to fill you. “Xavier, stop I — I need to use the chamber pot—”

But Xavier merely shakes his head. His fingers begin pressing and rubbing the pulsating nerves slowly, and you might actually go insane from that. You can barely hold yourself upright. “It isn’t that…” he rasps against your damp flesh. You feel his teeth graze your skin and you moan. “You can let go, nothing embarrassing will happen.” His tongue joins his fingers, circling you at a maddening pace. 

Your chest heaves—you can barely breathe. And suddenly all there is is Xavier and the way he makes you feel. The pressure in your belly builds until you can’t take it any longer. A wave of ecstasy hits you, and you can barely hold back a shriek. Your hands let go of your dress to clasp over your mouth, leaving the fabric to flow all over the knight that gave you such intense feelings. Pleasure keeps trickling down your inner thighs, but Xavier is fast to run his tongue over the traces. 

Reduced to a whimpering mess, you let him spread you, eat you out until the waves turn to small ripples and eventually stop completely. Somewhere in the back of your fogged mind, you can hear the rustling of your skirts as Xavier scrambles out of his temporary confines. 

Only when he pries away your hands from your mouth do you notice him again. He wipes at your palms and then puts his knuckles against your lips. 

“Your Highness is drooling a little…” 

Your lashes flutter as you look up at him. The blue of his eyes sparkles more under the contrast of his own flushed cheeks. Or maybe it is that loving smile that makes them even more beautiful to you. 

“A-apologies,” you whisper. But Xavier only shakes his head. 

“I have serviced my Princess well if it made her drool all over her pretty hands.” 

You let out a soft sound when he brings you close and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It seems congratulations are in order,” he whispers into your ear and kisses you deeply. “I believe you have officially bloomed.”

xavier, one of the six possible love interests from the otome game love and deepspace, was next to you. there was barely any distance between the two of you, with him sitting close enough for you to feel his warm breath hovering by your ear.

close enough to feel his plush lips almost touching your heated skin.

“i–”

your feverish daze was cut short by the game interface blinking to life before your eyes, the well-known blueish rectangles of xavier’s route appearing in your field of view.

[meat skewers.]

[cotton candy.]

in the grand scheme of the game, it didn’t matter whether or not you paid attention to xavier’s question. the system was always there to guide you, popping up the two possible directions available for your festival date with xavier and effectively rerouting your previous unrestricted actions.

all these just to follow the necessary game path.

“what will it be, my star?”

xavier hummed once more as he gathered your hands into his, calloused fingers stroking the soft skin of your palms. this was one of the few actions the love interests do to allow you, the player, time to pick your choice.

such mannerisms were previously presented as words on the screen, mere descriptions; but since you have been transported into the realm of the game, you were automatically dragged into live pending sequences.

you were also automatically exposed to very realistic intimate interactions.

“hm?”

his voice was a gentle, warm vibration against your cheek, and it made your mind short-circuit. you were not wobbly because of the choices in front of you, as you were already accustomed to them, but because of the way his lips moved so delicately near your skin… you could almost taste the promise of his kiss, the one that usually happens during your third date with the love interests.

-> [meat skewers.]

    [cotton candy.]

you tipped your head back, pretending to look at the darkening sky, pulling away from xavier just enough to clear your thoughts and make a selection.

“meat skewers.” you finally responded, the words feeling like a forced script on your tongue, your true voice mingling with a more mechanical tune as you choose the most favorable option for xavier.

it always felt strange when choosing options from the system, as if your lips articulated the words without your mind participating. like a robot, just executing commands.

“meat skewers it is.” xavier smiled shortly, unaware of the game dominating his very being, exiting the animation he was forced into while you contemplated your two choices.

his fingers brushed yours briefly one last time, like a promise to return soon, before he melted into the crowd, leaving you alone on the park bench, beneath the sparkling aura of the pre-show fireworks.

the silence he left behind wasn’t as comfortable as it should’ve been — it was thick, heavy, similar to the air before a tumultuous storm.

why were you feeling so uneasy all of a sudden?

nothing noteworthy was supposed to happen during this date. it was too early for your relationship to be tested, too early for it to even have a solid, romantic label. only the lingering chance of a first kiss haunted the scenario, but even that was not certain, only determined by your choices and the affinity with xavier at the end of the chapter.

so what ruined the joyful atmosphere of the festival?

as if on cue, the answer made its presence felt. a pressure materialized behind you, familiar and yet terrifyingly uncanny, causing a shiver to prickle down your spine and blow goosebumps all over your skin.

you would learn soon that the what was actually a who.

“so you prefer saltiness now?” the eerie voice murmured into your ear, closing into you just like xavier’s. it was not warm like his though; it was cold, cutting, with a palpable sheen of malice thrown over it. “i remember you said you loved sweet things...”

is that–? impossible.

“am i wrong, my pearl?”

you fully whirled around at the familiar nickname, the short skirts of your dress flapping against your thighs from the sudden movement, completing half a turn and facing the other side of the park.

impossible.

it couldn’t be him, you thought to yourself while shifting your position. there was no way for rafayel, another one of the love interests, to be present during your date with xavier. there was no way for rafayel to appear, at any place or point in time, in xavier’s route.

there was no way for rafayel, whose route you’ve already finished, to subtract himself from the system’s rules and plunge into another route.

it must all be a glitch.

but your eyes, cloudy with confusion, struck the body frame of your previous love interest: rafayel qi was now standing before you, adorning an outfit you were well-accustomed to. by pure chance or something else you were arduously denying, his body was wrapped in a full-body attire that you’ve purchased...

as a matching set with your current dress.

glitch, glitch, glitch–

his smile was the same you remembered — gentle, charming, perfect, curling into an irresistible grin that evoked memories of love and devotion. but his eyes were strangers to yours. they were dark, hollow, like two pieces of charred coral; the pinks and blues and purples were nowhere to be seen, swallowed by the obsessive black of his pupils.

“rafayel?” your voice cracked, uncertainty and caution clawing at your throat, voicing out his name in order to identify him. was he really rafayel? “what are you doing here? this... this isn’t...”

your route, you wished to say, but didn’t, a tiny voice in your head stopping you from causing more errors by exposing the actuality of the otome game.

his expression didn’t falter at your inquiry, but it no longer offered warmth and comfort. his lips turned into a thin, cruel stretch, perverting the two rosy petals you used to kiss with passion in your previous run.

he was smiling at you like a cheshire cat, mockingly, condescendingly.

“what am i doing here?” he echoed, his voice a dark purr against the festive, talkative crowd. he took a step forward, his shoes hitting your own polished heels, and you instinctively drew them in, pushing back from the ground and anchoring your feet away from him.

“i’m cleaning up a mess. that’s what you are, isn’t it? a little, needy mess who got bored and decided to play with the next man she finds.”

his vitriolic words fell over your shoulders like acid, burning your skin with shameful accusations, and drawing a loud gasp from your lips. even the flowy material of the dress felt heavy now, pressing down on your chest and making the previous romantic thump beat at an alarming, frightening pace.

“what are you–? i didn’t–” you stammered, your mind racing with a million thoughts, trying to piece together what was going on.

this wasn’t in the script. nothing about this was.

rafayel was supposed to stick to his route, not overtake xavier’s.

“sweetheart… you know i hate liars.” he snapped, the purr vanishing into a venomous hiss. his hand shot out, fingers closing around your wrist like a steel band, adamant on not letting you run away from him again. “so don’t lie to me.”

“i–i d–don’t understand.” you mumbled, lips trembling, words slurring inside your mouth. your frantic eyes were jumping from rafayel’s frowning face to the harsh grip he had on your wrist, trying to find an explanation for his unusual behavior.

trying to bypass all this as a mere glitch.

that was the only possibility for this scene.

the crowd around you remained blissfully unaware of the nightmare unfolding in your corner of the festival. laughter and chatter swirled like colorful ribbons through the air, punctuated by the occasional crackle of a firework testing the darkening sky. none of them noticed the way your pulse hammered against your throat, or the way rafayel’s fingers tightened around your wrist like a handcuff snapping shut.

“ah, rafayel, please–” you tried to reason with him, but your voice wavered with uneasiness. “you’re hurting me.”

bringing up your perilous state, the way his fingers dug so harshly into your skin it bruised — it had to be enough to bring his softer side to the surface. and it looked fruitful at first, with his grip loosening significantly… but he didn’t release you. instead, he tilted his head, studying your face with an expression so cruel, it caused your stomach to drop.

it was the look of a collector examining a prized possession that had been carelessly handled by someone else.

“hurting you?” he repeated, and there it was! that familiar cadence in his voice, the one that used to make your heart flutter during his route. but now it sounded wrong, twisted into something acrid. “i would never hurt you, my pearl. i love you. i’ve loved you since the moment you first appeared in my world.”

his free hand came up to cup your cheek, and you flinched. the gesture was so reminiscent of the gentle rafayel you’d fallen for during his route, the one who painted sunsets for you and whispered sweet nothings by the sea. but this palm was cold against your heated skin, and his thumb traced your cheekbone with a possessiveness that made your skin shriek in fear.

“but you....” he continued, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper at your recoil. “you’ve been very, very bad, haven’t you? playing with another man, leading him on. letting him touch you.”

“i didn’t–” you started, but the words died in your throat.

what could you possibly say? that you were following the game’s mechanics? that none of this was real? the interface flickered in your peripheral vision like a silent reminder of the system governing this world.

but rafayel was standing right in front of you, loud and solid and seething, proof that the system’s rules meant nothing anymore.

“the festival.” rafayel murmured, glancing around at the oblivious crowd. his smile returned, but just as a faux stretch of the lips. “how romantic. xavier chose fireworks for your date?” he laughed, not expecting an actual answer from you; he was just highlighting the evidence of your betrayal.

“i would have chosen something more... intimate. a private gallery, perhaps. just the two of us. no crowds. no interruptions.”

your eyes darted around desperately, searching for an escape. the game interface flickered again, glitching at the edges of your vision. you saw xavier’s icon blinking in the corner, signaling his return — unlike rafayel, he was trapped on the path the game had scripted, with a few more minutes to overcome before reaching your current spot.

3 minutes remaining.

if he were to get here, you’d be locked in an animation.

if he were to get here, rafayel would be expulsed from the picture.

if he were to­–

“why so hopeful, my pearl? aww, is your knight in shining armor close?” he leaned into you, his tall frame blocking the light from the closest street lamp and drowning you in shadows. his snarl was visible from miles away, yet he felt the need to grip your face and drag you closer; your weirdly smushed lips were almost touching his bitter smile.

2 minutes remaining.

“no, no, no, we can’t have blondie ruining our fun again!”

“wait, raf–”

his fingers on your wrist went solid again, as if made from the strongest metal, clutching your arm at once and forcing your entire being up and away from your park bench. you struggled against his grip, pulling and hitting at his hand with all your might, but nothing seemed to work on rafayel.

fueled by possessiveness and jealousy, his digits nestled deep into your flesh, blooming deep bruises in their wake as he dragged you further and further away from yours and xavier’s spot.

“rafayel, stop! please, where– why–”

but he was silent… or silenced, his jaw locked tight in what looked like self-imposed restraint. he was holding himself back, legs speeding up as they dashed between the sea of people at the festival, a clear goal dominating his mind.

but what? what was rafayel chasing so arduously that he couldn’t even lash out at you?

“rafayel, let’s talk, please!”

the system spoke in rafayel’s stead.

2 minutes remaining… -> event on pause.

warning! you are too far from the designated event area. please return to your spot.

the words appeared in glowing blueish text, and you almost lost all the air in your lungs. was that his goal — to go as far away from the event spot so xavier would never progress on his return?

“w–what did you do?” your voice trembled as you asked, bracing your legs and forcing your heels to root into the ground. the jagged cobblestone pieces came to your rescue, allowing your heels shelter and aiding you in stopping rafayel’s incessant stride.

“please let me go.” you tried to break free from his harsh grip again, forcing yourself to meet his blown-out eyes. they were so dark now, the beautiful gradient you loved so much replaced by something fathomless and hungry. “you’re scaring me. this isn’t you.”

“not me?” his chuckle was sharp, hostile. “oh, sweetheart. this is exactly who i’ve always been. you just never had to see it.” he stepped closer, his hand lifting your wrist closer to his face, forcing it to cup his cheek in a loving gesture. “i was so patient with you. so gentle. i gave you my heart, my everything. and what did you do? you ran to another man’s arms the moment you grew bored.”

“that’s not how it happened–”

“you abandoned me.” his voice cracked, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the rafayel you knew — the vulnerable artist who painted his feelings into every canvas. “and you want to do it again.” but his voice grew in intensity once more, as if the vulnerability from before was just a slip-up.

rafayel acted fast, caging you with his entire body, searching for your free hand with his own unused one. to take hold of both members and have you fully succumbing, at his mercy.

rafayel acted fast, but his situational awareness lessened. that’s why he didn’t intercepted your move.

that’s how he ended up with a stinging slap across the face.

your palm throbbed with the impact, fingers tingling from the force of the contact. rafayel’s head had snapped to the side, his cheek blooming with an angry red mark that stood out against his pale skin. for a moment, neither of you moved. the world seemed to hold its breath around you, the festival sounds fading into a dull hum.

“you are not the man i loved.”

the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, trembling with a mixture of fear and fury. your chest heaved, every breath feeling like shards of glass scraping against your lungs.

“ha, ha, ha, ha…”

rafayel slowly turned his head back towards you, and what you saw made your blood run cold. the red mark on his cheek was already beginning to darken into a bruise, bulging at the inner press of his tongue. but his expression wasn’t one of pain. no, it was something far more terrifying.

he was smiling.

“you little minx.” he spat, hand finally freeing your wrist to feel around his affected cheek. “you’ll regret this.”

he mumbled some more threats, but you were no longer there to listen, already turning around and picking up the pace. you stumbled slightly on your heels, something between adrenaline and terror latching onto your body, and you decided on the spot to discard them for the greater good — meeting with xavier at your spot as fast as possible!

bare footed, only with your thin tights protecting your soles, you ran between the people celebrating the firework festival, twisting and turning between the groups and mixing in with the crowd. but you made the mistake of turning back, to check on rafayel and see what putrid plan he was pursuing.

and to your surprise, rafayel wasn’t chasing you. he was simply standing there, watching you flee with that same unsettling smile, his vengeful hand raised to carefully touch the bruise forming on his cheek. it was as if he was savoring the moment, relishing in the chase.

in the way you ran away so so scared.

his behaviour was unsettling… but so were the surroundings.

“what??”

the people around you… they weren’t moving anymore. a vendor was frozen mid-laugh, his hand extended towards a customer who was equally still, her mouth open in delight that would never be voiced. a child running past was suspended in mid-stride, a sparkler frozen in his raised hand.

they had all stopped. like someone had pressed pause on the entire world.

the event, you realized with dawning horror. you were not in the right spot, so the entire world was on pause.

did rafayel knew about this?

… there was no point in asking him that.

so you pushed through the frozen crowd, your feet lapping against the cobblestones in a rhythm that felt far too loud in the sudden silence. the bench, the one you’ve occupied at the beginning of your date, was in sight. as long as you got back to the spot where xavier had to return with the meat skewers, to where the scene was supposed to continue, the world would return to normal.

and maybe rafayel would disappear.

maybe this nightmare would end.

you were twenty feet away. ten feet. your hand reached out towards the stone slats of the bench, fingers stretching with excitement and relief–

an arm hooked around your waist, and a hand clamped over your mouth before you could react.

2 minutes remaining… -> event on pause.

you were yanked backwards, your tights-clad feet scraping against the cobblestones as rafayel dragged you behind the nearest festival stall. the painted wood of the booth loomed above you, colorful banners advertising games and prizes frozen in the fluttering lull of a dead wind.

“shh, my pearl.” rafayel murmured against your ear as he pressed your back further into his own body, his breath hot and uneven against your agitated pulse point. “you didn’t really think i’d let you get away, did you?”

you thrashed against him, your muffled screams swallowed by the palm pressed firmly against your lips. his other arm was an unmoving belt around your waist, pinning you against his chest. you could feel his heartbeat through his shirt — rapid, erratic, nothing like the calm, composed rhythm you remembered from his route.

“stop fighting me.” he hissed through gritted teeth, irritation palpable in his voice. the hand blocking your mouth descended, choosing to catch your chin and turn your head to the side. “you can’t escape me, no matter how much you try.”

and then–

“ugh!”

you felt the rough wooden surface of the stall bite into your back as rafayel spun you around, the world blurring into a smear of festival lights and frozen faces. the impact knocked the breath from your lungs, and before you could stabilize yourself, his hands were on your waist — gripping, crushing, claiming.

“go awa–” you started, but the words dissolved into a choked sound as his mouth descended on yours.

there was nothing gentle about it. no tenderness, no hesitant exploration like the soft kisses from his previous self. he was conquering you. his lips crashed against yours with a fury that turned your knees to jelly, and when you tried to pull away, his hand shot up to tangle in your hair, holding you in place with merciless precision.

this wasn’t him. this wasn’t the rafayel you loved.

but his tongue pressed against the seam of your lips deliciously, demanding entry, and some traitorous part in you allowed him in. he swallowed your whimper as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with possessive strokes that left no corner untouched, no part of you unclaimed.

“you were mine first.” the words were purred against your lips, barely coherent, lost in the wet sounds of the kiss. his teeth grazed your lower lip, tugging at it hard enough to make you gasp. “you chose me. you loved me. and then you–”

he broke the kiss abruptly, but his hands didn’t relent. one stayed fisted in your hair, tilting your head back at an angle that bared your throat to him. the other began its slow, devastating journey across your body, dancing over your collarbone, cupping the swell of your breasts, molding down the curve of your waist until his fingers dug into the dip of your hip.

“then you just decided you wanted more.” his voice cracked, and for a moment, the mask of cruelty slipped to reveal something raw and bleeding beneath. “you woke up one morning and erased me like i was nothing.”

“that’s not it.” you started, but his hand pulled at your hair harshly, cutting off your protest with a whimper.

“quiet.” the single word was sharp enough to draw blood. “don’t soil your pretty lips with lies, sweetheart.”

his hand moved from your hip to your thigh, gripping the visible tights, where your dress had ridden up. his fingers dug in, painfully so, offering pressure that drew another high-pitched moan from your throat. it was hard to resist him, with his lean body pressing you into the wood of the stall, his scent flooding your senses, his warmth seeping through your thin dress like a fever you couldn’t shake.

with his cock tenting in his pants, poking at your legs with every move.

“rafayel.” his name came out as barely a whisper, broken and trembling, and you couldn’t tell if fear was the only thing fueling it.

“shh.” he cooed as he leaned in, pulling the roots of your head further into the stall and forcing your wet lips to be on display. “i’m going to make you remember. i’m going to make you remember exactly who you belong to.”

his mouth found yours again, and this time he was adamant in changing your mind. his hand also continued their exploration, mapping every curve of your body with the desperation of a man who had been starved. fingers traced the line of your spine, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. he gripped the fabric of your dress, bunching it upwards inch by inch, until your bottom half was fully exposed.

only your skin-coloured tights and your panties keeping your frail dignity.

“you’re mine.” his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat, wetting the skin in their wake and prepping it for marking. “i spent so much time learning every sound you make, every place you like to be touched. i’ve memorized the way you shiver when i kiss you–”

his mouth found the spot just below your ear, the place that always made you gasp during your previous escapades. and you gasped now too, a sharp inhale that betrayed you completely.

“there.” his voice was triumphant, dark with satisfaction, wet lips curling into a smirk against your skin. “i knew you remembered. i knew you couldn’t forget.”

his teeth punctured the sensitive flesh of your neck, and your hands, which had been frozen at your sides, finally moved. but not to push him away or fight… your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching it with the same desperate intensity he was showing you, pulling him in and silently begging for his lips on your throat.

“raf, ah– please.” the words escaped before you could stop them, a broken confirmation that made him pull back just enough to meet your hazy eyes.

“you just needed a stimulant.” his tongue slipped out to circle the bite mark, smearing the evidence of his ministration across your skin. “to remind you that you can’t just leave me. you can’t choose someone else. you’re mine, my pearl. you’ve always been mine.”

his lips found yours again, and this time you kissed him back unprompted.

somewhere in the chaos of fear and confusion, the muscle memory of his route had taken over. your body remembered him even when your mind was screaming that this was wrong, that this wasn’t how the game was supposed to go.

and he felt it. he tasted it.

“there she is.” he breathed against your lips, a mingle of relief and pride. “there’s my sweet girl. i knew you were still in there.”

his hand left your hair, sliding down to grip your waist as he pressed you harder into the stall. the wall creaked behind you, and somewhere in the frozen distance, you heard the faint crackle of a firework that would never explode. even with his body molded against yours, with the heat of him seeping through your dress like scorching fire, the system called once more.

screaming about your abandoned event.

“xavier–” you mumbled out loud as the icon blinked to life briefly, and immediately regretted it.

rafayel’s grip tightened the moment his name was let out. his eyes flashed with something dangerous, and the soft warmth of the moment shattered like glass.

“don’t...” he hissed, a threat and a warning at once. “don’t you dare say his name while i’m kissing you.”

“n–no, i just–”

“shut it.” he cut you off with another kiss, a shorter yet more punishing press of his lips. he looked like he wanted to devour you whole. “you don’t get to play on both ends. you don’t get to be a needy whore and then expect mercy.”

his hand returned to your tights, digging his nails into the thin material… and effectively ripping it open with a whirring sound.

“ngh, raf–”

you let out as his hands came down on you, slapping the bare, meaty flesh and letting it giggle beneath his calloused palm. then he crawled higher, his fingers tentatively grazing the edge of your flimsy underwear, taunting you. you were trembling beneath him, in newfound fear and scorching pleasure, a strangled sound catching in your throat from the sudden turn of events.

“kissing is not enough, huh?” his lips hovered over yours, so close you could feel the movement of them as he spoke. “you need more, a deeper reminder of our love.”

deeper had an entirely different twist; you could tell from the way his right palm spread over your lower tummy, thumb nestled at the base of your pussy while his pinky finger reached up, towards your belly button.

“am i wrong, my pearl?”

.

.

.

“n–no, rafayel.”

the pause stretched between you, and rafayel’s smile returned at your compliance — that smug, knowing smile that made your stomach flip.

“exactly.” he murmured. “that’s exactly what i thought.”

his pinky pressed harder against your navel, punctuating the deepest spot he was to reach, and you felt the heat of his promise seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. his left hand, which had been gripping your thigh with bruising intensity, relaxed its hold, allowing the pads of his fingers to inch higher.

passing the jagged material of your ripped tights and zeroing into your drenched panties.

“fuck, you’re so wet already.” he breathed, his eyes raking over your face, cataloging every micro-expression with predatory precision as he finally touched you where you wanted. “all this just from a few kisses?”

his hand traveled higher, palm flattening against your pussy through the damp fabric of your panties. the pressure was maddening: just enough to make you feel it, not enough to give you what you craved. your hips twitched involuntarily, pushing into his hand and seeking more.

his smile sharpened into a cruel curve at your needy movements.

 “ah–ah.” he tutted, clicking his tongue at your eagerness. “behave, my pearl. good girls wait. good girls beg.”

heat flooded your cheeks at his command, a mixture of humiliation and desire swirling around your head. your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white with the effort of holding yourself together.

but the pulsing feeling between your legs spoke louder than logic.

“please.” you mouthed between whines, a quiet surrender you dreaded and loved at the same time. “ngh–”

press.

“please what?” his thumb found your clit through the soaked cotton, pushing down in a slow, torturous circle. your breath hitched, a broken little sound escaping your throat. “use your words, sweetheart. i know you can. you had plenty of them earlier, didn’t you? chatting away with xavier.”

his name was like a blade, sharp and venomous, cutting into you in the most degrading ways. you felt the shift in him immediately: the playful cruelty from before hardened into a darker version, a version that made your body stutter with a different kind of fear.

“i–” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp pinch to your clit. your sentence was turned into a sharp gasp, your head tilting backwards and hitting the wood with a loud thud.

“i changed my mind.” he said between gritted teeth, voice deceptively soft against his visible dissatisfaction at remembering xavier. “you don’t get to speak right now. not after what you did.”

his fingers found the waistband of your panties once more, and with a swift, brutal motion, he pulled them aside. cool air kissed your exposed, sensitive flesh, and you shivered violently, your legs trembling beneath you.

“you stood there…” he continued, his thumb tracing the seam of your folds, parting the slick lips fully and letting your swollen clit peek out. smothering your arousal all over your skin as if marking territory. “holding his hand. smiling at him. like you belonged to him. like you forgot who you really belong to.”

his middle finger dipped lower and found your entrance, slipping in just enough to make you jolt, then retreating before you could clench around him. a frustrated whimper escaped your lips, and he laughed at your desperation.

“did you think about this?” he approached your pussy again, two fingers gathering against your gaping hole, not entering, just resting there, taunting you. “did you think about xavier touching you the way i’m touching you now? did you imagine his fingers inside this dirty little cunt while you held hands?”

“no.” the denial came out breathless, desperate, your chest rising and falling again and again. “rafayel, please, trust me–”

“liar.” he spat the word, and his fingers plunged inside you fully without warning. you choked on a moan, your back arching off the rough wood of the stall as he pumped them in and out with punishing speed. “you’re such a liar, sweetheart. but i can fix that; i’ll fuck the lies right out of you.”

his fingers curled inside you, finding that gummy spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. and you sobbed his name — a broken, pathetic sound that only seemed to fuel his fury. his thumb found your twitching clit once more, resuming its harsh circles as he drove you towards climax.

“you’re mine.” he growled against your throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin with the intention of marking. “say it. say you’re mine alone.”

“i’m–” your voice fractured as his fingers hit deeper and deeper. “i’m yours, rafayel, please–”

“begging again, my pearl?” his pace slowed all of a sudden, turning cruel and teasing, his fingers dragging against your walls with calculated slowness. “tell me what you want, sweet girl. and maybe — maybe — i’ll give it to you.”

your mind was a hazy, a blur of pleasure and humiliation that overlapped and combined dominating your very being. the pressure was building in your core, a coil tightening with every stroke of his fingers, every rasp of his voice against your skin.

you were close, so close.

“please let me cum.” you pleaded, the words spilling out like a confession. “please, rafayel, i need it, i need–”

“and what makes you think you deserve it?” he withdrew his fingers entirely, leaving your pussy empty and aching. a choked sob of protest tore from your throat, nails scraping at him, but he ignored you, choosing to grasp your thigh with his slicked hand. “what makes you think you deserve to cum after parading yourself in front of xavier?”

his hand jumped away from your leg, only to come back down harder — as a cutting slap.

“it doesn’t matter whose fingers are inside you as long as you finish, hm?” his breath fanned hot against your ear as he spilled a plethora of vitriolic words, prodding once more at your dignity and loyalty. “i might have to fuck you after all. break in your tight little cunt and make sure you remember me for good.”

“ugh– raf– please–”

“you like that, don’t you?” he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze a storm of dark possessiveness. “dirty fucking whore.”

the heat of his body was prominent against your semi-naked frame, a searing line of possession that dug and scorched your exposed skin with every touch. his left hand, firm and demanding, curled around your thigh, grasping your asscheek and hoisting your leg high against his hip. exposing you fully to the cool, frozen air of the festival.

the rough wood of the wall bit into your shoulder blades harsher in the new position, a somewhat grounding pain against the overwhelming ache of his touch.

“look at me, sweetheart.”

you felt why, then.

the thick, heavy shape of his cock, still confined by the straining fabric of his dress pants, was an undeniable intruder that nudged against your inner thigh, opening you for him. a choked gasp escaped your throat when it made contact with your abandoned cunt, your hips twitching involuntarily towards the thing that was to pleasure you immensely.

“tsk, tsk, tsk.” he clicked his tongue, a soft, chiding sound that reverberated through the quiet of the glitched game.

but you whimpered more, your hips bucking against his bulge, desperate for any friction. there was no relief to be earned though.

only a cruel chuckle.

“so pathetic, my pearl.” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate purr. with your leg nicely wrapped around his hip, he removed his hands from your lower half, rerouting to your neglected upper body. with delicate fingers, respectful for the dress that matched his outfit, he unbuttoned the clasps hiding your cleavage. letting his hungry eyes devour your tits.  “such a perfect little whore. and all mine.”

rafayel guided his aching fingers to your perky nipples, grasping the hardening nubs and pinching just enough to hear you cry out, just enough to see your back arching in ecstasy.

“now…”  with a final squeeze of your tits, he set them free, allowing them to poke out the unbuttoned v-cut of the dress. “i’m going to give you what you want. but you’re going to take every inch of it, and you’re going to thank me for it. understand?”

“y–yes.” you breathed, almost on autopilot, no longer able to discern what was happening. you just needed relief. “yes, rafayel.”

at last, his attention moved down to his waistband. with a teasing motion, he unbuttoned his dress pants and pushed them down, freeing his bare cock to the air. it was thick and heavy, the tip flushed a deep, angry red, glistening with a hefty amount of precum. his balls sat heavy at the base, partially hidden by purple pubic hair.

“oh, shit!”

he grasped his aching length, giving it a few tentative pumps as he positioned himself above your cunt.

and you watched, almost drooling, as he dipped the head between your folds, teasing your engorged clit with a slow, languid drag. the sensation was electrifying, stimulating the nerves that have been denied relief just a few moments ago.

you moaned and shook, your body trembling in anticipation.

“such a needy thing.” he crooned, his voice laced with a mixture of disdain and adoration. “look at you, shaking for my cock. you’ll take it so well, won’t you? you’ll take it like you always did, sweetheart.”

“mhm– will, raf–el.” you confirmed, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “please fuck me. please, i can’t– i need you inside me, please–”

he positioned the mushroomy head of his cock at your entrance, the pressure a promise of the fullness to come. you held your breath, your entire body screaming for him to finally, finally thrust inside. but as he went to push into you, your ruined panties, still bunched to the side, slipped down and blocked your entrance.

“fuck!” he hissed, the curse blooming on his lips in an instant. his eyes, dark and stormy moments before, now burned with an incandescent rage.

in a flash, his sleek dagger materialized in his hand, its blade suspiciously stained with something crimson and ominous. it was the same blade you’d seen him wield before, a weapon that was always used in battle.

what was he–?

with a furious grunt, he dragged your panties forcefully to the side, digging the material into your hip… to pin them against the wooden wall. and then, with a savage lunge, he plunged the dagger through the fabric, trapping them to the wood.

the sound of the blade biting into the wood resonated loudly, a sharp, violent crack that echoed across the system of the game.

“ngh, ah–”

the panties were now held hostage by his dagger, the blade so close to your heated skin you could feel the danger of bloodied cuts and scratches. but the looming danger also bubbled that nefarious arousal in your tummy — the act was so possessive, so corrupting.

rafayel had literally pinned your underwear to the wall with his bloody blade, a macabre trophy of his ownership.

“there.” he grunted, hoping no other obstacle would appear. “now the way is clear.”

as if nothing happened, his hand returned to your thigh, hoisting it higher against his hip, his grip rough and unwavering. he lined himself up with your entrance once more, the tip of his cock nudging against your parted folds.

there was no more teasing, no more slow torture. this time, he was going to take what was his.

“eyes on me, sweetheart.” he commanded, his voice reaching a desperate growl. his orbs, swallowed by the black of his lustful pupils, stared into your matching eyes, full of a possessive fire that needed to be quenched. “i want you to watch me fuck you stupid.”

and with that, he thrusted inside.

he filled you in one slick, brutal stroke, stretching your walls wide around his thick cock, making your tummy bulge visibly from the intrusion. the sensation was irresistible, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that stole the air from your lungs. you cried out, your nails digging into his clothed shoulders as he began to move. his pace was punishing and relentless from the very first thrust, wishing to leave his imprint on your poor pussy.

“fuck.” he groaned, his head falling forward to rest his forehead against yours. “so tight. so fucking perfect, just like i remember it. this pussy was belongs to me.”

he didn’t wait for you to adjust, didn’t give you time to stabilize yourself. he pistoned into you with a desperate, animalistic need, each jut of his hips driving you harder against the rough wood of the stall. the sound of his sensitive skin slapping against yours filled the air, a filthy, wet rhythm that was punctuated by your broken moans and his husky grunts.

“r–raf, so good.”

the dagger vibrated with every thrust, ringing next to your hip as a reminder of rafayel’s devotion to you. your ruined panties were tight against your skin, soiled by your combined arousal, stretched beyond possibilities by the bloody knife. the sight of them — a symbol of your most intimate and vulnerable side, pinned there by his sturdy claim at ownership — was quite representative of the relationship between you two.

“that’s right.” he praised, his hand moving from your thighs to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at where you two were connected: your battered pussy greedily devouring his slobbering length. “taking my cock just like you should. this is all you’re good for, isn’t it? being my perfect little cocksleeve.”

tears bloomed across your waterline, his stinging words prickling at you, but you still nodded, unable to form words against his verdicts. his thumb, still sticky from fingering you, found your clit once more, rubbing figure eights that pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“please.” you choked out, your voice a ragged sob. “please, rafayel, i’m so close. please let me–”

“you can cum when i tell you to.” he cut you off, snarling at your unceasing, ungrateful requests. he slowed his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper, more precise, hitting your cervix repeatedly. “but first, i want to hear you say it again.”

“say wh–hat?” you gasped, your mind too hazy to remember what was he hinting at.

“tell me who you belong to.” he demanded, his hand digging into your jaw to make you more attentive. “tell me who this cunt belongs to.”

“you.” you sobbed, the word broken and desperate, tears freely falling across your cheeks and cascading down his hand. “you, rafayel. i’m yours. this pussy is yours, it’s all yours, please–”

“good fucking girl.” he purred, and his voice finally shimmered with satisfaction. humming in approval, he resumed his brutal pace, slamming into you with renewed vigor. “now cum. cum for me. let me feel you lose yourself to me.”

the command was all you needed. your orgasm crashed over you like a humongous wave, your body convulsing against his as you cried out his name. your inner walls clamped down on his cock, milking him dry as he continued to thrust through your climax, his own release not far behind.

“thank you, tha–k y–u, thk u–”

“fuck.” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. “fuck, yes. that’s it. take it, take every last drop.”

hot spurts of seed flooded your insides, rafayel successfully reclaiming what was once his. his hips didn’t stop even after reaching climax, balls tightening yet unceasingly slamming against your pussy as he sought your overstimulation.

alas, his movements gradually slowed until he was just holding himself inside you, his lips pressed against yours, feeding on your whines.

the silence that followed was broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the soft rustle of the clothes as they fell back into place. he pulled out slowly, his cock slipping from your oversensitive flesh with a squelching pop, creamy cum escaping soon after. in spite of the ministrations you’ve suffered, you whimpered at the loss, at the feeling of emptiness that was almost as overwhelming as the fullness you’ve experienced seconds ago.

“now you get it, my pearl? no matter what you do…” his gaze was still intense, still possessive, as if his fervor wasn’t quenched. “or what you say…” he then looked at the dagger, still pinning your panties to the wall.

with all your trembling and quivering, the material encouraged the blade to cut into the panties — they were utterly ruined, dissected at the seam, only relying on the back section. yet, even cut up, the dagger was sturdy, pinning the remnants of your panties nicely into the wall.

“you cannot escape me.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

“does it feel good, puppy?”

“ssshooo good, th- thank you.” you smile and keep squeezing, running your hand up and down on his swollen cock. his words are slurred, his voice is raspy and broken, and he is a complete mess. he’s sweating, panting, begging you with his completely blown pupils.

you’ve been at it all day with him. he’s eaten you out at least four times and fingered you to completion at least twice already, while he’s came even more. he’s very sensitive today.

of course, you both knew it would happen. your new monthly routine is finding out what day the full moon falls on- it just so happens, tonight is a blood moon.

you’re not sure how it works exactly, like with most of his wolfy things, but you do know any type of full moon makes him rut. a blood moon seems to make it worse.

on normal rut days, valko starts the day antsy. he’s quick to annoy, needier, and sulkier. but that’s all. evening is when the real fun begins. the marathon the two of you partake in until the moon is no longer full and high in the sky.

but today, he woke up hard. he had jerked off twice within an hour and realized he needed to call you.

“can… you come over early for tonight? like now?”

“what? it’s 10 am.”

he had simply hung up and sent you a video of the carnage. his leaking, angry knot and the surplus of cum on his abs. he made sure to include the bottom of his face so he could smile at you through the camera as you look at the mess he made.

nevertheless, you came. and seeing the state of him- his desperate eyes, his disheveled hair, the absolute mess of a house he had made… you knew you had to take him back home.

that’s where all of your supplies are.

his smell deprivation pills, his blindfold, his gag, his ear covers, and his ropes.

he may be in an intimidating size body, but the man within is anything but. especially with you.

having one of the first experimental bio-cores in deepspace history had opened a lot of doors for you. you had met a lot of different, powerful people- people looking to become even more powerful by manipulating protocore energy. valko is one of those people.

but… your first time meeting him had been a full moon. he had gotten one whiff of you and had to go to the bathroom to calm down. twenty minutes of his absence later, he swiftly got your number and left the business party.

six months later, you have a set routine of seeing which days he will be uncontrollably horny on.

you’re strictly friends. you’re busy, he’s busy- and he’s an idiot. he’s loud, clumsy, overbearing… and sweet, silly, goofy… extremely hot and great at sex.

the hybrid thing was a surprise, sure. but once you got past the weirdness of seeing a tail as big as you attached to him, it became much easier to handle. you even think his hybrid form is cute now.

as for the hybrid form sex… yeah, it’s insane.

his genetics already give him a humongous dick, but his knot? another world. his stamina? never ending.

so, you did what any girl would do: say yes to become fuck buddies with a ridiculously hot, ridiculously foolish man.

by his second rut with you, you learned how to handle him: the less control he has, the better.

he has to be tied up. if he’s not, he misbehaves. it must be ropes, because he will use his evol to bend handcuffs and escape. he has to have a gag, or he bites when you get too close. he has to blindfolded and have noise cancelling headphones because… it’s just really hot to see him not know what’s coming.

he had also given you his prescription for smell deprivation pills. ruts not only enhance his energy and stamina, but his senses. he feels, tastes, hears, sees, and smells everything ten times more intensely.

it’s currently 8 pm. you’ve only had breaks to eat lunch and dinner and to shower between messy, filthy, mind-numbing fooling around- no actual sex, yet. his knots can take up to an hour to come down, so you wait until the end of the night.you’ve been just been toying with him. he’s tied up completely- thick ropes along his joints, medium sized ones along his abdomen and limbs, and thin ropes wrapping delicately around his cock and balls (again- just because it’s super hot). he has the gag around his neck for now, drool dripping onto his chest and down his throat. he has his blindfold on, but you’ve taken off the ear covers to keep talking to him.

you give his cock a final squeeze and kiss his cheek. “you wanna cum again?”

“please, ‘m so close, please-”

“i know, shh. i’m going to put your things back on and make that happen, okay?”

“thank you, thank you, thank you soo much, ‘m so close, ‘m gonna bust everywhere ‘cause of you.”

“mhmm. stop talking and open your mouth.” he’s so obedient, letting you shove the plastic gag back in his open mouth. you’ll have to get a new one soon, he’s left teeth marks and indentations all over it. once it’s secured, you slip his ear covers back on. you kiss his cheek again and climb onto his lap. you’re lowering on top of him, ready to grind and cum for the first time using his dick for tonight, when there’s a knock at your door.

you freeze. no one should be here right now. you gingerly lift yourself off of him, sulky since you didn’t even get to have a seat, and scramble to dress yourself. poor, helpless valko doesn’t know any better as he sits, waiting for you to do good on your promise of making him cum. he’ll survive.

you fix your hair and wipe off any messy makeup. you’re a little flushed, but whoever it is probably won’t be able to tell. it’ll probably just be a solicitor.

at 8 pm? unlikely.

you shut the door behind you and scuttle to the front door. you peek through the peephole and immediately wish you hadn’t.

“piiiips. we know you’re in there.”

“surprise.”

it’s zayne and caleb. your childhood best friend turned doctor and… foster brother. sure, you’ll call him that. it’s hard to explain. you grew up together as siblings, but… a few unsibling-like things had a habit of happening in your teenage years. puberty and whatnot. then he went to flight school and started his own life- away from you.

“you know we can see your shadow, right?” zayne says and pushes up his glasses. you look through the window- sure enough, your shadow is clear on the outside ground. fuck.

you unlock the door.

“what are you two doing here.”

“you seen it yet?” caleb’s walking inside, pushing past zayne and letting himself in. you scoff, but open the door wider as an invitation to zayne. he steps in wordlessly.

“seen what?”

“werewolf moon!” the w word makes your stomach fall into your ass. you’re so caught off guard, you can’t make a reply other than a shaky “what?” as you shut the front door.

“a blood moon. it’s when the earth is directly between the sun and moon. it makes the moon red.” zayne rattles on. caleb is inspecting your living room. there’s no signs of valko (you think?), but if there are, caleb is sure to find them. he looks up at you as he finally plops onto the couch, seemingly content with his investigation. “looks super cool. wanna see? brought my telescope.”

“of course you did. i’m kinda busy right n-”

“with what?” caleb interrupts snarkily. he’s smirking, staring at you with his legs spread wide open on your couch. you scowl while zayne adds, “you don’t look too busy.”

“yeah, well, i am, so… yeah. maybe tomorrow!”

“you know the moon changes every night, right?”

“you know what i mean.” you grumble. caleb stands up and starts walking around again, walking with more… purpose. your heart leaps as you follow after him not so secretly. you have to almost run to keep up with the distance he’s making so fast. zayne has already caught on to your weirdness; he’s following behind you as well.

“you should’ve called or something. you knew this was happening, didn’t you, space boy?”

“nah. too far for me.” caleb peeks down the hallway and you want to scream. you hear footsteps behind you and realize zayne has snuck up a lot closer on the two of you. he walks past you and catches up with caleb- who is leading the way deeper into the hallway. you have to stop them.

“guys, i’m busy, please- we can go look at it, i just have to wrap some things up, so just give me a mi- no, no, no- don’t go in there!” they arrive in front of the room holding valko. you’re too far away to stop them, and they could not care less about the urgency in your voice.

caleb shoves zayne into the room, and they both stumble inside. your heart sinks. you knew it was a bad idea letting them in- you’re sprinting to the room, where they’re being completely silent.

“guys?” you call out behind them. they’re facing away from you, staring at valko. their acquaintance, valko, with ropes wrapped around every curve of his body. valko, with a gag, blindfold, and ear covers on. valko, with his humungous knot leaking cum and throbbing between thinner threads of rope. looks like he had made himself cum in the few minutes you were gone. valko, with furry ears and a tied up, furrier tail as big as you.

“i… uhhh, i-”

“what… is this?” zayne says steadily. you've never seen this look on his face before. he’s staring at you, eyes wide and mouth parted in… disgust? you swallow and look at caleb, who’s still staring at valko, expressionless- which is way worse than angry. oh god.

“ummm, can we- can we talk outside, maybe?” your voice is shaking. you wrap your hands around each of their wrists and yank them out of the room, then shut it and stand between them and the door. you force a smile to the 2 shocked men towering above you.

“uhh, in the living room. okay, yeah.” you pull them away from the room. they still haven't spoken. how are you going to explain this? the three of you are standing around awkwardly, too aware of the slight groaning coming from the other room.

“is that… that foolish chairman?” zayne’s voice is the first to break the silence. your face gets impossibly hotter.

“holy shit- yes it is!” caleb starts laughing. he doesn’t stop; he even starts to double over from laughing. you feel dead inside.

“let’s just sit down.” you offer and quickly take a seat. caleb follows you, still hysterically laughing, while zayne keeps standing with his arms crossed.

“the one that… went viral for getting stuck in that door?”

“yes! and- and he was- he was speaking at- and- and he-”

“he spilt the entire quart of water all over the table. they had to restart the whole thing. and he owns it. he owns the goddamn company and ruined the entire livestream.”

you know exactly what they’re talking about. the video of him entering a hotel which had a revolving door. in a full, 3 piece suit, this 6’2 man had looked absolutely terrified at the door. he entered it, realized no one else was coming with him, and pushed the door open. when he was fully enclosed, he kinda… started banging on the walls of the door? yanking the handlebar of the door, kicking it, trying to push it the other way… until someone entered the opposite space of the door and pushed it until he was free. he had exited, shaken his head, wiped off his shoulders, and went back to his cool exterior (it didn’t fool anyone).

as for the second one, it had been a meeting for his company. it was a livestream for a new tech addition when valko had clumsily knocked over the quart of water on the table. it went all over the table- the papers, the wires, the computers… yeah, they had to restart the livestream.

“zayne, please sit down. caleb, shut up.”

“were those real? the ears and the tail?”

finally, someone asked. you look at zayne and motion towards the couch, and he reluctantly sits. caleb is still laughing; he has tears in his eyes.

“guys, you can’t tell anyone.” you plead. there’s silence.

“they are?”

“he’s seriously a hybrid? no wonder he’s an idiot.” caleb’s voice is shaky, but he’s calmed down enough to where he can contribute to the conversation. you sigh and nod. “a wolf hybrid.”

“so if he’s… half wolf… how did he not smell us?” zayne asks. his voice is slightly less annoyed now.

“there’s a pill for that. sometimes his senses are too strong and he needs it.”

“is that why he’s all… tied up?” oh god. they had seen that too. caleb’s face is suddenly still, the only hint of his laughing fit is his red cheeks. he’s staring at you accusingly, heatedly. you swallow.

“uhh. he just gets too… strong.” you don’t want to have to explain further.

“why ropes? wouldn’t… handcuffs work better?”

“his… evol can bend them.”

“the freak has evol too?” zayne mutters and looks towards the closed door. caleb squints and asks, “with metal? that’s fucking stupid.” it’s the tone he uses when he’s jealous. you nod.

“so are the two of you together?” that makes you laugh. you feel slightly less stressed- until you see their matching, unhinged expression. you make yourself stop laughing.

“definitely not. he just gets like this during full moons.”

“yeah? is that what he told you?” zayne says calmly. he’s saying it the same way he says smartass comments to you, and you know he’s doing the same thing now.

“seriously! it makes him… energetic. and if he’s not doing this, he’s off… murdering innocent cows as a full wolf.” you realize how stupid it sounds. you have to explain more so the pair won’t think valko is taking advantage of you (even though he’s the one currently tied up…), so you do.

“the full moon makes him rut, kind of like heats, you know? he gets really energetic, strong, and his senses get even better. he just becomes really… emotional. he’s always in some type of wolf form during it- like this when he’s… doing this, and his full one when he's terrorizing livestock.”

“so a horny wolf hybrid, or a murderous wolf?” zayne says.

“yeah! exactly! easy choice, right?” you laugh nervously as zayne narrows his eyes at you. caleb growls, “someone needs to shoot that damn dog.” and you huff.

“we’re just friends. we only do this when he ruts.” you’re tired of their judgy glances. “can’t a girl just have some fun?”

“not with that.” zayne says, eyes glaring at you heatedly. caleb nods, then asks, “is his dick always that big?”

you stop breathing. yep, they had seen that too. “no, not usually. that’s called a knot. it happens… after he…”

“okay, that answers that.” zayne says so you don’t have to finish the sentence. you’re all adults; you really don’t want to have to spell it out. you can tell they want to ask more questions, but you really hope they don’t. but in true caleb fashion, he does.

“and… he likes it?” caleb says curiously. you roll your eyes.

“yes, actually. very much so. what, you wanna watch?” you say it as a joke to lighten the mood, to calm the situation so they can be on their way. but instead of recoiling, his eyes light up. he smiles and nods, gaze boring into yours.

“yeah, actually, i do. i’m curious. how does my pipsqueak dominate that tank of a dude?” you glare at him incredulously and look to zayne, who shrugs with a bored expression.

“i’m curious about his anatomy in wolf form.”

no. fucking. way.

“pff. bro is curious about his cock.” caleb snorts.

“no. she called it a knot- like dogs, if you didn’t kn-”

“i know how dogs fuck.” caleb snaps. he stands up and starts walking towards the door. you’re scrambling after him, shaking your head and repeating “no no no no”.

“what? you said you diluted his senses. it’ll be fine if we come and watch.”

“i- i just wanna make sure he’s okay with it first. i don’t want him to find out you two saw him and get angry.” the thought of valko turning his embarrassment into violence or contempt towards caleb or zayne truly scares you. you don’t want to see any of them fight. you’re not entirely sure who would win- caleb has his robotic arm and evol, while zayne has his evol. they both have guns, but you assume valko does too.

“you’re worried about us?” zayne asks, a hint of a smile on the corner of hood mouth. you roll your eyes. “fucking obviously. he’s a beast.”

“that you’re friends with benefits with.”

“well, yeah, but… that’s different. just- just wait out here, okay?”

you offer another pleasing smile to the two of them and back into the room backwards, never taking your eyes off of them. you shut the door and sprint to him. his knot has finally gone down, but his cock is still hard and leaky. it’s bobbing within the ropes give. so cute.

you set your hand between his ears to tell him you’re here. he jumps at first, but then his tail starts fighting against restraints. you slip off the noise cancelling ear covers and rub his ears between your fingers gently.

“hi, puppy.” you coo softly and ungag him. he yips and says, “gone too long.” he’s sweating and due for another shower (his third one today), and you’re sure leaving him by himself for fifteen minutes contributed to that. you pet his head in an attempt to calm him down.

“i know. some of our friends came by-”

“tell ‘em go away!” he cuts you off immediately with a shout. he’s thrashing in his restraints, whimpering and trembling under the ropes. “hush. they’re more my friends than yours, so they won’t be leaving.” you say sternly and trail your down to his lower back.you give a tug on the knot in the back, the one wrapping around and between his pecs and shoulders, and he whimpers again.

“whyyyyyy!”

“i want them to stay.” you tell him and wrap your hand around the base of his tail. he’s whining, thumping it as hard as he can unhappily.

“but- but wha’ ‘bout me?”

“what about you? i know you can entertain yourself.” your other hand flicks the tip of his cock, making him buck his hips. “you made that obvious.”

“don’t want to. want you to.” you sigh heavier than you need to.

“you’re asking a lot of me, valko. i’ve been holed up with you all day. you’ve already came how many times? do you even know?” you wrap your hand around his dick and loosely tug. it’s wet and throbbing in your palm.

“don’t care, want more.” he says drunkenly and tries to fuck your hand. you let go and put your hand on his chest.

“i’m sure you are, greedy boy. but if i can’t have what i want, neither can you.” you pick up the gag, but he shakes his head and pouts.

“we- we planned this!”

“boo hoo. poor puppy.” you go to put the gag back in, but he uses all of his strength to keep his mouth out of your reach.

“ple- please don’t leave, i’ll do anything, please, please-” you let go of the gag and yank on his hair, pulling his head away from his body forcefully.

“do you mean that?” you say slowly, staring into his hazy eyes, and he nods desperately.

“anything?” you repeat and slightly tug on his scalp.

“don’t leave me, please, need you so bad, need you here with m-” you’ve heard enough. you shove the gag back in and pick up the blindfold. you hold it in your hands and lean down to his ear.

“would you let them watch us?”

he lets out a strangled, pretty sound and starts nodding. he tries to talk around the gag, but it’s muffled and pure noise pollution, so you wrap the blindfold back over his eyes. he’s whimpering in the back of his throat, but doesn’t fight the ear covers. you give him a kiss on the cheek and turn around to go get the others- but they’re already here. they’re standing in front of the door, staring at you in surprise. you stare back wordlessly.

“wow.” is caleb says as you blush furiously. never in a million years did you think you would have to explain this to them, nevertheless let them watch. it’s so embarrassing.

“how long have you-”

“whole time. hiii puppyyy.” caleb mocks boyishly and you groan. your hands fly up to cover your face as zayne wastes no time in asking, “so that’s his regular penis?”

you groan again, hands still on your face, and nod. footsteps come toward you, and caleb is wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

“don’t be upset, pips. if i had a chance to become a bdsm master of a puppyboy, i wouldn’t give it up either.”

“shut up! that’s not-”

“then what are those?” zayne cuts you off and points to the open chest on the table. it’s revealing your miscellaneous items: a few feather wands, clamps, some rings, and a couple of vibrators. you had forgotten about that.

“you’re running a sex dungeon. my little sister is running a sex dungeon.”

“you want to watch your ‘little sister’ have sex with a dog?”

“okay, both of you shut up!” you shove caleb away from you, unable to control your annoyance anymore. they shouldn’t even be here!

“yeah, don’t call her that.” caleb grumbles at zayne and crosses his arms. you point to caleb.

“you- shut up! i’m not running a sex dungeon, and don’t call me that!” you point to zayne.

“and you! he’s not a dog, and don’t call me that!” caleb’s grimace has been replaced with a smirk, and zayne is watching you expressionlessly. neither of them are taking you seriously. you groan in frustration.

“maybe this is why i do this with valko! because he actually listens to me!”

you were just joking. really.

neither of them take it as a joke.

caleb makes the first move. he takes you by the collar and drags you closer to him, even lifts you up a little bit so he can put your noses together. he’s staring at you meanly, lips in a straight line and eyes almost dead.

“when have i… ever not listened to you?” his other hand loops around your lower back and pulls you closer, then the hand on your collar moves to your jaw. you can’t breathe.

your fronts are touching! he hasn’t hugged you in a way where that happens in years- maybe a decade. but now, he’s directly slotted against you, letting you feel the stiff muscle growing in his pants against your abdomen. oh.

“ca-” you try to talk, but he shakes his head and cuts you off.

“no. answer me. when have i ever not listened to you?”

“i was- was just joking! ha ha, it was a joke!”

“you find it funny, zayne? at all?”

“not really.” zayne is much closer to you than he was before. you hadn’t realized, but he’s now behind you. he’s petting your head and laying your hair flat down your back gently. you feel- no, you are trapped between them. their gazes are heavy, serious, and unyielding. you’re a caged animal- just like the one you caged up in the corner a few feet away.

“in fact, i don’t think anything about this as is funny. you letting some wild mutt ravage you while he makes you think you’re in control… you poor, dumb girl.” zayne’s voice is the lowest you’ve ever heard it. his hand clasps around the nape of your neck, and you gasp. caleb’s hands are on your hips, keeping you sandwiched between them. he’s still staring down at you, annoyed and pressing his erection against you.

“aren’t you ashamed of yourself? getting fucked by some mutt?” zayne seethes against the top of your head. his grip on your neck is tight and iron.

“guys-”

“i’ve been so good to you all these years… and you let a dog fuck you before me?” and zayne’s mouth is on your neck. his hand wraps around the front of your neck, squeezing your throat while he sucks on your nape.

“unfortunately for you, i’m not some stupid dog. you can’t boss me around like you do him.” zayne mumbles against your skin.

this is the last thing that should be happening. but you don’t want it to stop. their grips on your body, his tongue on your skin, the stiff pokes behind you and in front of you- you’re melting between them. you feel helpless, but you don’t mind.

“i should get dibs, anyway.” caleb mumbles before he leans forward, basically inhaling your mouth into his. you hadn’t kissed him in years, not since… you had been 18, and he was 19. before he had left for good. It was gentle and hesitant, and so sweet. this one was nothing like that.

it was desperate, rough, messy. one hand lets go of your waist and slides under your chin while zayne continues kissing your neck. you open your mouth wider for him and lean back against zayne’s chest, who barely groans against your skin.

“what do you think? can we have a turn?” zayne mumbles and licks. you’re dizzy, swimming in their touch and caleb’s mouth, and you can’t respond. it doesn’t matter to zayne.

“or are you saving your cunt for the mutt?” caleb growls in your mouth at zayne’s words and bites your bottom lip. you try to shake your head, but caleb’s grip won’t let you.

“that would be such a waste.” zayne’s touch disappears, and his footsteps walk away. caleb wraps both arms around you, cradles your head in his hands as he manhandles you more. the thought of seeing what zayne is doing is so far away, so foggy from caleb’s kiss.

then the barking starts.

you try to look away, but caleb keeps you still. he starts walking backwards, taking you with him until you fall backwards onto the empty bed. he’s on top of you, moving his hands from your head to your abdomen, hips, chest- then your throat. he finally pulls away- he’s wrecked. flushed cheeks, blown pupils, bitten lips. you’re lost in his trance when there’s another muffled bark. oh right, valko. and zayne! where is zayne?

you find both of them together in your line of sight from the bed. valko is still strapped to the chair, but zayne is standing in front of him, running one of the feather wands along his contracting abs. he looks almost analytical as the hybrid trembles and cries behind the gag.

“no- don’t look at them, look at me.” caleb is pulling off your shirt, leaning into your chest and inhaling. “only me. just look at me.” he mutters and scoops your breasts out of your bra. oh god, he’s sucking on your tits- he’s biting and sucking and licking and running his tongue over your nipple. you watch him as he does, then his eyes meet yours. you can see his smile grow around your boob.

there’s another heartbroken howl- but you don’t want to look. not with caleb gazing into your eyes so strongly. all of your attention is on him- you can let zayne do his experiments for a bit. just while caleb does all of the things you dreamed about back when there was a wall separating you.

he suddenly raises up and takes you with him by wrapping his arm underneath your waist. he lets go of your breast and leans up to kiss you again.

“feel how messed up you got me? this is your fault.” he ruts his hips upward to press his erection between your legs. you hadn’t realized, but you desperately need attention there; the sopping mess you’ve made is extremely uncomfortable. you want them off.

“leb, please-”

“please what?” his eyes light up at your request. he rubs against you again and tilts his head down at you.

“you have to ask. ask your gege for what you want.”

“this. i want this, caleb.” you grab his print through his shorts. his eyes are excited and deranged as they bore through yours.

“that wasn’t asking, rotten girl. ask me.”

you don’t know why he would be any less annoying than he usually is. he’s taunting you, holding you up by your lower back until he unclasps your bra. his eyes fall from yours to your chest, and he begins his attack again.

you take this chance to check on valko and zayne- oh. valko’s knotted the air again. his skin is hot and red, especially where the ropes are wrapped around him, and his mouth his open around the gag, his tongue lolling out and drooling spit. zayne has placed two clamps on both of valko’s nipples and is still waving the wand over him- now, his messy, sticky thighs. there’s cum even in the feathers.

it’s way hotter than you thought it would be. you didn’t think zayne would be as into it as he is- into valko as much as he is. it’s cute, watching them play.

you wince when there’s another bite around your breast. caleb is glaring at you, throwing daggers upwards with his eyes.

“eyes. on. me.” he squeezes your nipple with his teeth inbetween words- the stinging brings tears to your eyes and you nod quickly. he laughs at your reaction and licks from your chest up to your chin, along your jawline and to your ear, then sucks it into his mouth.

“i’ll give you anything you ask for, y’know that, right? so just ask, mei.” his voice is wrecked and persuasive; it makes you sob. you can’t hold yourself back anymore- you send your hands towards his shorts again and cries, “can you fuck me?”

“oh,” he laughs. he’s looking at you with pure glee. “of course, my sweet girl. anything for you.” he lays you on your back and slips off your shorts and panties; he whistles at your spread legs.

“i was wonderin’ why you didn’t want anything else, but now i see that you’re done waiting. wolfy couldn’t satisfy you?” his palm falls on your inner thigh, and- oh. oh, he slips in two of his fingers. your legs spread wider as he laughs. “so wet. how long you been this wet?”

“caleb- hurry-”

“i know my whore meimei isn’t telling me what to do. not after ruining her pussy with that thing’s cock.” a third finger enters, all of them flush with his knuckle, and you spasm. he clicks his tongue and starts fucking you with his fingers- roughly, meanly.

“caleb.” zayne calls, and for the first time, caleb looks away. he tilts his head at zayne, who points at valko’s, now knot at full sixe.

“if she’s had that inside her,” zayne looks at you. he’s calm as he stares into your eyes, smiling dangerously. caleb’s fingers have even paused inside of you.

“then she can definitely fit both of us.”

“a… at on-”

“yes. at once.”

no, you definitely can’t- what is he saying? you’re shaking your head while caleb laughs excitedly.

“of course. if your pussy’s already been stretched by that, we can stretch it even more.”

“nonono-”

“me first. you’ll take my cock first, then zayne’s, then together, yeah?”

“wait. i want her to take out his gag first.” caleb takes out his fingers and rolls you off of the bed, where zayne catches you under your arms. you’re deadweight from the sudden manhandling, but you pull yourself up with zayne’s shoulder, his hand on your lower back to lead you over to the chair. your hand is shaking as you pull the gag out- he’s yelping immediately.

“thank you, thank you- feels so good, thank you-” you cut him off by leaning forward and kissing him. you feel him stiffen underneath you as his eyebrows furrow. he’s pulling on his restraints and trying to pull his head away from you when he mumbles, “taste different. why?”

“it’s okay, val, just stay still.” you whisper back, and he has a full body shiver.

“can i knot you yet? ‘m tired of not having anything, please, i’ll be good-”

“not yet. be patient.” then zayne is pulling you backwards, spinning you around and bending you over the bed. you grunt from his force, then jump from caleb’s cock suddenly sliding against your core. he gives you two full length slides before entering you quickly, his hands on your hips holding you in place. he fucks the air out of you, panting and laughing in disbelief.

“god, you’re tight. just sucking me in. hear that? listen.” one of his hands find your mouth and covers it with his palm, compacting your body between his hips and hand. you hear the squelches of your pussy, the slaps of his balls, his desperate grunts against your back- you’re close. you’re so frustratingly, annoyingly close- you slip your hand between your thighs to twirl your clit between your fingers, but a hand stops you. when did zayne get besides you? he smiles softly at you, mocking you, and wags his finger in front of his face.

“no touching. you’ve had enough fun, surely, after playing with the mutt all day? just take what we give you.”

caleb’s getting bigger inside. he sticks his fingers in your mouth and leans back to fuck you harder and angle his cock upwards, and that’s all it takes for you to fall apart. he’s hitting that spot over and over again, gripping your hip harder and losing control of his vocal chords. zayne is still watching the two of you, completely clothed, with a serene smile on his face.

you shatter, explode, combust on caleb’s cock. he’s cooing behind you, humming, mumbling, “there we go, atta fuckin’ girl, cream your gege like the rotten girl you are.” his filthy words make it more intense. you’re still riding your orgasm out when he picks you up off of the bed, limbs dangling in the air, and carries you to valko. your legs are on either side of his head atop his shoulders, and you’re starting to fall so you wrap them around his head and grab onto his hair. one ear is between your fingers as he devours your pussy without question. he’s groaning, bucking in his chair, slurping you up. caleb lets go of you- you assume his evol is keeping you steady as you ride valko’s face vertically.

“look at you, making him taste your brother’s cock from your pussy. you’re so cruel, darling.”

“looks like neither of ‘em mind too much.” caleb adds. you’re just focused on how valko’s canines brush against the most sensitive parts of you with the utmost gentless and care, how his tongue fucks your entrance with desperation. his moans are vibrating your nerves perfectly- you’re getting close again. your hips have a mind of their own as you chase that high again- and you’re ripped away. strong arms lift you off his face and onto your jelly legs, but zayne helps you stand. he stares at you with wide, shaky eyes and says, “get back on the bed, darling.”

he sounds… kind of scary? his words are quiet and slow, but one hundred percent confident. you stumble towards the bed. you look at caleb going through your toy chest curiously, dick still hard and wet. your mouth opens and closes as you try to form words- your brain is hazy and foggy after being used by caleb. he's better than you even imagined. and you imagined a lot.

zayne lets go of valko and begins walking over to you, finally taking off his shirt. his skin is flushed red down to his chest and starts again at his heavenly v-line. does it go even lower? you’re staring straight at his tent, eyes hooded and tongue salivating. he gives you a small smile once he reaches the edge of the bed, and he taps the mattress.

“crawl to me.”

you do.

he’s so handsome, just looking down at you. he’s smiling, caressing your cheek with gentle precision when he whispers, “take off my pants.”

you’re unbuttoning his pants quicker than you would like to admit. you hear caleb laugh and valko ramble about wanting to be set free completely, but you’re focused on zayne. zayne and his leaking, throbbing cock that pops out if his briefs. he stares down at you and whispers, “suck it.”

you could cum again just from his words. you lick your lips and nod, then lean your head forward and take the tip into your mouth. it’s heavy, warm, salty on your tongue- you want more. you suddenly gag when zayne snaps his hips against your face- he likes that.

so much so, that he puts his hands on your head to keep you there while he fucks your throat in sharp thrusts. you’re gargling, choking, trying to breathe through your nose. caleb whistles while zayne huffs quietly, bucking his hips so your nose nestles in his pubes every time.

twenty seconds of fucking your face later, and he shoves you backwards. you fall backwards on the bed, yelp when cool hands drag you by your ankles- then you’re being lifted up again. zayne picks you up, spins and sits on the edge of the bed with you facing him. his knitted eyebrows, grimacing lips, and heated gaze go straight to your pussy.

“i can’t believe you’ve been wasting yourself on that mutt.” he mumbles and holds your face. you would roll your eyes if you weren’t spread bare to him, so you just whimper as he leans to kiss you. his kiss is slower than caleb’s, but not gentler. the pace doesn't last long; he’s taking in deep breaths every time he pulls back so he can kiss you for longer, keeping your head still in his hands. he moves his hands to your hips and pulls you closer, then he lifts you up. his cock is velvet against your clit, silk as he slides it down until he plunges inside. you almost scream. you think he’s about 8 inches, just a little but longer but thinner than caleb. it’s making you insane- how he moves his hips against yours. how he rolls them slowly and finishes sharply, how he keeps the most perfect, steady pace.

“how… are you so tight?” he grunts, furrowing his eyebrows and wincing every time you're flush with him.

“right? just wait until she cums.” caleb is completely conversational- where even is he? you haven’t been paying attention to the others- why is valko so quiet? that’s never a good sign. you try to crane your neck to look behind you, but zayne has one hand on your jaw to keep you still.

“stop worrying about him.” he grumbles, but you keep trying to look. a quiet valko means a thinking valko and a thinking valko usually leads to bad things.

“no- just- just what time is it? is it 10?” neither of the men who hear you answer- you’re not sure what caleb’s doing, but zayne is busy strategically, delicately rearranging your guts. you were planning to give valko another pill at 10 to make sure he wouldn’t get overwhelmed, but-

“zayne li? caleb xia?”

goddamn it.

“looks like it wore off.” zayne says matter of factly and licks up the front of your throat. he grips your waist tighter, his hips snap rougher. you can hear the hybrid’s fighting and cries as zayne starts to split you open.

“hey! hey! i wanna hear! and see! hey! one of you two jerks get me out! it smells like sex! hey!”

“d- don’t- don’t-” you stutter out. zayne exhales something like a groan through his nose and looks at caleb.

“take off his things.” he says lowly. you’re shaking your head, but zayne covers both of your cheeks with his hands and forces his thumbs in your mouth. he spreads your mouth widely and looks at you as if you created life itself. he grips your jaw and starts jackhammering upwards into you.

you don’t want them to take off valko’s blindfold, or his noise cancelling ear coverings. the fact that he knows who they are is bad enough, but cucking him? that’s too far.

right?

“no… way. what the fuck! i wanna do that! hey! untie me! hey, caleb, untie me!”

it sounds like his blindfold is off.

“oh my god, can i just muzzle him again?” caleb complains. valko growls from his restraints and barks, “i should be doing that! i wanna fuck her! go away!”

his annoying taunts seem to make zayne go faster. does he like being watched? or does he like pissing off valko?

“shut up, dog. she’s busy.” caleb taunts. you already know how valko will react before he does: thrashing and snarling.

“caleb, come on, man, just- just untie me- imagine if it was you! come on! untie me!”

“i think it’s my turn. haven’t you had her all day, mutt?” zayne calling him that is hotter than you thought it could be. he still has his thumbs in your mouth, spreading it out as wide as it can go as he holds onto your head.

“what? what the fuck! no, it’s my turn! my turn!”

“i think he’ll only listen to his master, pips. tell him to shut up.” caleb adds snarkily. zayne hasn’t paused his thrusts to speak; he forces you to listen to the three of them while he’s rabbiting under you, rendering you unable to speak. you guess you take too long to answer, because zayne moves one hand to the back of your head to yank on your hair.

“va- alko, pl- please, just- just be good. fuck, just be good for a minute-”

“tell him you’re busy since he can’t seem to understand that.” his voice is so mean and low in your ear.

“i’m- i’m busy.” you try to say around zayne’s thumb. he gives you a look that makes you feel like you did a good job, even if most of your words were almost unintelligible. valko howls at your rejection.

“be busy with me! caleb, untie me! hey- no- no-” caleb is reaching his hand towards valko, and you shout, “he bites, caleb, be care-” zayne shuts you up by slapping his cold hand against your ass again. his voice is stern as he whispers, “stop talking to other men when i’m fucking you.”

the size of him, the words he’s saying, that look of amazement and hatred he’s giving you, is too much. you look at him, mouth parting around his thumb in an attempt to speak, but he nods and replaces his thumb with his two front fingers.

“i know, darling. i can feel you getting close. are you gonna milk me like you did with your brother? or is that only the ‘family special’?” him laughing at you, mocking you, humiliating you sends you over the edge. you burst around him, and the force of your convulsions mixed with his punishing thrusts make you stop breathing. he removes his fingers from your mouth and wipes them down your chin, neck, all the way to your naval. he smiles sweetly at you as you twitch and tremble in his lap. you’re basking in your orgasm until-

“heyyyy! untie me!”

“oh my god,” caleb sounds truly annoyed now, but you’re too boneless and exhausted to care. zayne picks you up off of his cock, making you squirm in his arms, and he lays you down flat on the bed. he stands up- he’s in the same state as caleb. or, all of them since valko’s knot has gone down. extremely hard.

“remember what your gege said? first him, then me, then… both of us.” you roll over on your back and sit up, bringing your knees up slightly. having one predator’s eyes on you isn’t scary when he’s tied up, but these two aren’t. zayne’s face is anything but short of losing control, while caleb is past it. he passed it when you came on his cock with his name on your lips. his cheeks are flushed, hair sweaty and mussed over his forehead, violet eyes determined and never looking away from you.

“when did that happen! that’s not ha-”

“shut up, valko.” you say it the weakest you ever have, but it works. his words die in his throat as he whines.

“oh. right. the dog.” zayne sighs and brings his fingers up to his temple, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he lays onto the bed next to you. he scoops his arm underneath you and brings you closer. he turns so he’s spooning you, pushing his cock between your ass sternly.

“we don’t have to if you don’t want to. but i think you would be doing a grave injustice to us… have you really let that knot inside you? don’t lie.” his other hand wraps around you, and both of his hands start to fondle your breasts. he’s squeezing you so hard, you won’t be surprised if there are handprint bruises.

“just twice.”

“just twice? and how long were you stuck like that?”

zayne would ask that. you grumble, “until we woke up.” and he laughs.

“soaking this mutt’s knot all night… fucking filthy.” he says and bites your shoulder. you wince- partly because it’s true. you want to keep focusing on the heaviness of him against you, but there’s… growling? a steady stream of snarls that make zayne turn around and you sit up and-

valko is free. the ropes are dangling off of his shoulders and hips as he stares straight at you, accusingly and completely too pent up. his chest is rising and falling, hands flexing at his sides. caleb is squinting at him, unsure if he wants to subdue him or not. it’s kinda funny, the two of them standing so close together, stark naked.

“valko, come here.” he doesn’t eye caleb or zayne, he walks straight to you rigidly. he climbs on the bed, swishing his tail as he kneels in front of you. you scratch his head softly.

“go get your collar and leash.” he nods and hops off the bed on all fours, bounds to the toy chest and rummages through it with his hands. he leans his head down and retrieves his objects with his mouth and brings them back. you open your palm so he can drop it into your grasp, and you scratch his head, then the bottom of his chin. his tail is thrashing wildly. both of the other men are watching his doglike mannerisms incredulously.

“missed you.” he mumbles. you rub your thumb over his bottom lip and hum. you let go and wrap the leather collar around his veiny neck, then secure it and clasp his leash on.

“i’ve been here the whole time.” you tell him and set your palm back on his cheek, holding the leash with your other hand.

“you were over here. you weren’t playing with me earlier.” you laugh. zayne is behind you again, rubbing the nape of your neck forcefully. he’s watching valko, you realize. how he’s kneeling with his arms out in front of him, nuzzling into your palm. you see caleb walk up behind him.

“no, i wasn’t. who do you think it was?”

“don’t care. they were meaner than you. didn’t like it.” caleb is directly behind valko now, staring between his back and your eyes. he’s thinking of doing something- something to ultimately annoy you.

“don’t tell lies, mutt.” zayne says throatily. valko whines before he growls, snapping his head backwards. caleb has his tail in his fist, staring at him curiously with a wicked smile.

“you’re not a very good owner, are you?” zayne mutters, and his hand wraps around your throat to pull you backward onto his thighs forcefully. you wince, but yank the leash towards your chest. the growls are replaced with a choke, whine, and the force of his body slamming against the bed. zayne chuckles, looking down at you as caleb climbs onto the bed next to valko and over to you. he leans his back on the headboard while zayne gives your throat intermittent squeezes.

“pips,” caleb says, and you raise your head to look at him. his lips quirk into a smile as he pats his bare thigh. “come ride me.”

zayne releases you, and you sit up to crawl to caleb. your entire body is sore, a dull ache settling in your bones as you climb on top of his lap. his hands land on your waist and squeezes. you’re still holding the leash in your hand.

you rock your hips, sliding his cock against your swollen pussy, shivering from the look he gives you as he smiles and taps his fingers on your skin.

“stop teasing.” he mumbles and leans forward to kiss you. you listen to him, wrap your other hand around the base of him, and devour him. he groans, wraps his arms around your lower back and keeps his hips still. he scoots forward until he’s flat on his back, pushes pillows behind his head and watches you roll your hips. it doesn’t feel as good as it can- you need more of him. you plead him with your eyes, but he just laughs and pulls your back towards him until your chest is pressed against yours.

then a cool hand sets on your ass. spreads it apart and-

“wa- wait-” zayne’s tip is slotted against caleb’s length, pressing into your already full entrance. you shake your head as it slowly presses harder, deeper- until he’s fully inside. he doesn’t listen to your pleads of no, and caleb doesn’t let up his grip on your back. the push, the pressure, the stretch of them together- you’re crying into caleb’s pecs. the room is filled with the mix of valko’s incessant whining, zayne’s barely controlled grunts, caleb’s heavy pants, and your whimpers.

“we’re basically,” zayne groans wildly when he pulls out and enters you again, the force shifting you around caleb’s dick. zayne’s flush against you as bites your neck and finishes his sentence with, “knotting you.”

valko cries, and the leash is ripped from your hand. you can’t even try to get it back- you’re too full, too stimulated- and there’s another sharp whine. zayne is holding valko’s leash, his face mere inches away from the three of you while he kneels on the floor. you hear his intense sniffing.

“do you know what they call… female dogs used for breeding?” zayne mutters and gives you another mean thrust. the question makes your stuffed pussy clamp around them as caleb begins to barely move underneath you, setting his chin on the top of your head. zayne raises upward, no longer squeezing you between him and caleb, and grabs your hair. he yanks your head backwards, making you arch your back and wail into the air. caleb starts desperately pounding inside of you as zayne does the same. “answer, darling.”

“bi- bitches!”

“mhm. bitches. so what does that make you?” his hand lets go of your hair and moves to your scalp- he yanks you harder. caleb raises up and wraps his mouth around your breast- and then the other breast is engulfed. you look down- valko’s here. zayne is still holding his leash, but he’s on the bed next to the zayne-caleb sandwich and biting into your breast, staring up at you with needy eyes and furrowed brows.

“bite her harder, mutt. get her to answer me.” zayne says, and valko does. you’re crying, gasping between sobs as you say, “a b- bitch! makes me a bitch!” zayne chuckles as caleb groans, his hand wrapping around your throat and squeezing. something is getting bigger inside of you, how are you not splitting open? it feels so good, so suffocating- you’re going to cum again. before you can, caleb does.

“yeaaaah, that’s my- my good bitch, mei. take our big fucking knot.” hearing caleb call you that as he shoots inside of you and doesn’t stop thrusting truly make you explode. you feel like your pussy is going to suction off their dicks, you cum so hard. it affects both of the men inside of you, caleb’s slow, clumsy thrusts and zayne’s punishing ones. he lets go of your hand and puts both hands on your ass and spreads your cheeks apart. is he- he’s putting a thumb in your asshole. he’s filling you up all of the way, meanly shoving his thumb until his first knuckle.

“should we stay inside after, like the mutt does?” caleb isn’t even moving anymore, just staring up at you with wild eyes as zayne fucks you harder.

“my turn next.” valko is still sucking on your other breast, hovering over caleb. you shake your head because there is no way you could keep this fuck-a-thon going. especially since zayne hasn’t stopped bullying your womb. before you can form a verbal response to either of them, you’re being kissed. you can tell it’s valko by the strength and desperation, and the slight nips on your bottom lip. you’re already seeing stars when caleb presses his hand on your abdomen, where the two of them are. your pussy clenches harder, and zayne shoves his thumb deeper in your asshole. the overstimulation has stopped hurting, it’s started feeling really good- you can’t even breathe from valko’s assault of your mouth.

“fuck,” zayne grunts and slams against you, releasing his cum inside to mix with caleb’s load. you feel somehow fuller than you do when valko knots and creampies you. it’s warm, hot pressure inside of you, filling you up and keeping you fuzzy.

zayne slides out, then picks you up by your hips and lifts you off of caleb. ropes, globs of cum fall out, and the triple loss of their cocks and cum make you squirm. you hear valko’s tail thumping as you’re set onto your knees- then a hand spins you and pushes you onto your back. your head is on caleb’s thighs, and he wraps his hand around your jaw and slides his thumb in your mouth. then valko is between your legs, holding them up and staring excitedly at your pussy. zayne stares down from above you, hazel eyes blown. “you heard him. his turn next.”

and then valko pushes inside.

his huge cock feels not as huge, considering the mess the other boys had made. but he isn’t any gentler than he usually is on his rut. his hands are on your hipbones, pulling you down every time he thrusts into you to make sure he’s flush. he’s whining in the back of his throat, panting and squeezing your hips tightly. “so good. so wet inside. gonna finally fuckin’ knot you, made me wait all fu- uckin’ day- now- i- i gotta fill you up,” he screws up his eyebrows and fucks you further in the mattress, yipping and biting his lip, staring at you desperately.

“breed her, mutt.” zayne’s voice is throaty as he says- no demands it. where even is he? you follow the leash to behind the two of you, but you can’t raise up to see. not with caleb’s firm hand on your face and valko’s mating press destroying you. you already know zayne is watching- probably where valko is sliding in and out. the thought sends you to your… ninth? orgasm between the three of them all day. you have to be insane, your pussy will not be working after today- you’re sure of it. you feel more cum shoot inside of you, hear valko’s pathetic cry and know he’s done. despite the multiple knots he’s had today, it takes the normal time before he’s plugging you full, but he’s not done growing. he’s yelping against the side of your neck opposite of caleb’s hand. you’re going insane, melting between the three of them as his knot grows.

“oh, wow. not a drop is leaking out.” zayne mumbles, amazed. caleb laughs and pinches your cheek.

“best pussy everrr, still so tight, i’m gettin’ you so full. i’m bigger than them, right? my knot’s real, pup, it’s real a- and right there inside you, fuuuck,”

“don’t get cocky. she still has two more holes.” caleb says, and you feel like you might pass out from even thinking about that. caleb or zayne fucking your face while the other one shoves inside your ass- all with valko’s stupidly big knot stretching you out…

“not tonight.” zayne says. you feel relieved until you realize what that means… not tonight, but eventually. valko is barely able to hold himself up anymore; he’s just laying on you as caleb holds your face.

“let her on top, dog. she wants to kiss us.” valko’s flipping the two of you over after caleb’s order, shifting his knot deeper into your guts as you straddle him. you open your eyes to see the three of them lined up on either side of you and valko, staring at you with hooded eyes. caleb brings his hand up to your face while zayne slides his hand on your lower back, and valko begins to suck and kiss your breasts. when did the others put their briefs back on? that’s not fair.

zayne kisses you first. he’s gentle, licking your lips and sucking on your bottom lip before letting go and barely brushing his lips with yours to tease you. he laughs at your expression before pushing your chin the other way- to caleb. his kiss is firmer, sharper from the addition of teeth. but you welcome it all the same. he holds your face and zayne’s hands are still circling the curve of your back as valko’s messy sucks slow to a stop. when caleb lets you go to catch your breath, you realize valko’s asleep.

it’s early for him to fall asleep, but you aren’t complaining. let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.

“i think this was a great watch party.” caleb suddenly says stupidly. you can’t stop yourself from laughing. zayne rolls his eyes.

“it’s still there if you really wanna see it.” caleb says. what a fucking nerd.

“maybe tomorrow night.” zayne says condescendingly, mocking your response from earlier. he’s rubbing your back gently and kisses your cheek.

“shut up.” you grumble at him, shifting until you’re able to lay comfortably on top of valko. you stretch you arms, letting the two kiss and touch you softly.

“what? you wouldn’t call our blood moon watch party a success?” zayne teases. you scoff. “definitely not. didn’t even get to see it.”

“don’t act like you’re really disappointed. i think the only one truly disappointed is caleb.”

“so what if i wanted to see a super rare, super cool werewolf moon? who cares about caleb, right?”

you shove your palm in his face to shut him up.

“so, same time next full moon?” zayne’s question rattles you, and you expect him to be joking, but when you look at him… his face is completely serious. you swallow as caleb nods his head up and down.

“definitely. right, pips?”

these boys are going to ruin you, but you’re… not too mad about it. if it means more nights squished between these sexy, caring men who want to ravage you- who are you to put a stop to it?

you sigh and nod shakily, almost embarrassed. “fine. whatever.”

“that’s my good meimei.” caleb kisses your forehead while zayne brings a cup of water to your mouth. when did he even get that?

“rest up, darling. we’ll try to not let the mutt wake you when he gets up.” despite how you don’t really want to listen to him and go to sleep, the consequences of doing enough fucking for a week in 13 hours has caught up to you. the thought of both of them being there when you wake up also sounds incredibly appealing. your limbs are heavy, and the warmness you feel between the three of him is lulling you into sleep. you take a sip of the water and lay on top of valko’s snoring head. if it wasn’t so relaxing, you would listen to the questions popping in your head, all about your future relationships between the three of them.

but sleeping between the important men in your life- the ones that mean everything to you… you can’t seem to find the energy to be worried. they know what you want, what you need, and you trust them endlessly.

guess that answers your question, right?

you sleep the best you have in years; you don’t have to wonder why.

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he’s made you cum seven times within the three days and two nights, all with his fingers except for the one you reached on his thigh. every one of your orgasms hammer at his control- he wants nothing more than to take everything. but he’ll be patient with you. for now.

he would guess he has a total spent time of four hours with his fingers probing inside you, analyzing your expression with every nudge. seeing how you react to this pace or that one, how your tight pussy clenches even tighter when he talks to you, how you move your hips when you get close because you’re his greedy girl.

he has you pinned underneath him, caressing the side of your face as he smiles down at you. he’s been touching, rubbing, mouthing on you for at least an hour. both of you are sweaty and pent up- his balls are starting to feel heavy and tight. every time he tries to slide a finger inside of you, you squirm and shake your head.

“what? i know you want more, cause i do, too.”

you’re so sweet. you nod sheepishly before saying, “it hurts.”

you’re too sweet to him. too good for him. he wants to see how ruined he can make you.

“yeah? your little pussy still raw from last night?” he smiles and softly says, “let gege take a look.”

your protests are completely unheard. he lifts himself off of you and travels lower- where his face needs to be. your panties are soaked; he can’t stop himself from licking a stripe up the entirety of the wet spot. your hips shift away from the friction, and he hooks his fingers around the fabric hugging your hips and pulls down. a thick string of your slick snap once your panties pass your knees; his control snaps with it. he can’t keep only using his fingers.

he dives in between your thighs and audibly slurps against your folds. you taste so sweet, you feel so soft. he stares up at you from under his disheveled hair, gazing between your tits with your juice everywhere under his nose. the expression you give him is more than enough confirmation. he needs more of you.

“ha, yeah,” he almost feels bad when he gets a proper look between your legs. he laughs and mutters, “poor baby was rubbed raw. so fuckin’ cute. guess i should make her feel better, right? i’ll be gentle. i promise.”

he doesn’t have to use his fingers to touch you. seeing you this close up, this ruined for him… he’s not leaving without getting the full experience.

“your gege wouldn’t hurt you. no, not at all. a good gege would take real good care of you, yeah? right?” he’s spreading your thighs open, digging his fingers deeper into your thighs. “stop squirming. how else am i supposed to be gentle?”

you don’t say anything else, so he leans in again to run his tongue along your bare, open pussy. he sucks on your clit, then basically unhinges his jaw to devour you further into his mouth. your fingers nestle against his scalp, and he lets go of you with a pop. drool and slick is getting everywhere; he doesn’t mind.

you’re more relaxed now, enough to gaze into his eyes and mumble, “you like it?” he hums a laugh and kisses your thigh before responding, “fuck yeah.”

he’s tracing every part of your open pussy, wrapping his tongue under and around the fingers thrusting inside. he’s trying to commit your taste to memory, like he’s done with his fingers and how you feel. you’ve stopped trying to push him out and have resorted to your legs directly over his shoulders, voice calling out for your gege every time his knuckles are flush against you.

it drives him insane. you make him want to never come back up for air.

“cay- caleb- st- stop, wait, seri- seriously!”

“stop talking. i’m not talking to you, mei, i’m talking to her.” he gives the gentlest bite on your clit to enunciate his point, and you dry heave a sob. “i’m tryin’ to listen to her. be polite.” he returns between your legs.

“no, caleb, s-something’s gonna happen, quit!”

“something’s supposed to happen, dummy. i’m done getting interrupted.”

you’re squeezing his fingers so tight. your voice is desperate and shaky- you’re close. he wants nothing more than to taste it straight from the source as he makes you reach that point. he’s drinking, slurping, lapping up and down your sopping pussy. your legs are trembling; he can’t stop, not when you’re so close. even if you’re sobbing out for him to stop, that you already came, you’re gonna pee on him- pee on him?

he definitely isn't stopping now.

the only downside to eating you out is that he isn’t able to talk you through it. he’ll have to play around more with you to figure out how to make you squirt with his fingers- or his cock? just the thought of you not only stretching around him, but gushing- he wants nothing more than to tell you how good of a meimei you’re being for him, that you taste even better than he imagined, please please please squirt on his face-

he’s never been so close to cumming without any touching. he’s positive that if he wasn’t so focused on keeping the pace of his tongue, he definitely could cum in his briefs just from this. the two of you have time, after all…

“oh, f- fuck- i’m-” you don’t finish your sentence, you finally let your pussy do the talking instead. he cups his mouth around your pussy again, staring up at you while you squirt directly into his open mouth and arching your body inward from the force of your orgasm. once he’s satisfied with his fill, he pulls away, even slurping up his drool so he doesn’t waste any, and lets the rest of your release gush across his face, his neck, until it weakly pulses out of your wet, raw pussy.

you’re gasping and twitching, flexing your fingers and toes as he licks his lips and sits up. he’s breathing as heavily as you are, staring down at your flushed, teary, adorably embarrassed expression.

“my meimei tastes so sweet. all for your gege.” he pulls off his shirt from his collar and crawls on top of you. you’re not even looking at him- he doesn’t mind. he wraps his arms around you to pull you close and peppers kisses over your annoyed face.

“told you i was gonna pee.” you grumble.

“mhm. and i told you how good you taste.” he kisses you on the mouth now, sticky and sweet from his… adventure. you kiss him just the same.

“need some water? i’ll be back. then it’s round two, pips.” you roll your eyes at his flirty wink before he gets up. when he comes back, you’re still spread bonelessly on the bed, staring at the door. waiting for him.

round two, indeed.

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he would feel guilty if your intentions were truly as innocent as your act. but he knows that you’re fully aware of your effect on him when you get like this- that he’ll do pretty much anything you ask.

a part of him is reminded of when the two of you were kids- your past bossy, bratty personality that would aggravate him unrelentingly.

the other part of him can't focus on anything other than your needy, whiny, absolutely suffocating touchiness. the pleading saucer eyes you give him with every look, the five extra seconds you leave your skin pressed against his with every touch, the unwavering and halflidded gaze that’s specifically reserved for him.

that’s how you get him in this situation every time you drink. by abusing your power over him and using it to get whatever you want. he’ll give you anything you ask for- especially when you bat your eyelashes and whine, “please, gege?”

not that he’s complaining. it would be impossible for him to complain about you gagging and drooling over his cock, staring up at him with glazed, unfocused eyes. you’ve been at it for 20 minutes already- slurping around his length and licking up from his balls to his tip. you’ve gotten him close 4 times, and each time you let go and giggle at him, mumbling some variation of, “‘m not done, ge. don’t cum yet.”

your drunkenness makes the blowjob entirely too sloppy- the edges of your teeth keep dragging along his length and making him wince from the mix of sharp pain and building pleasure. he has one hand cupping your slack jaw between his legs, the other gently holding the back of your head.

“pips, seriously-” you hum around him, and it vibrates his cock in your mouth- he groans and bucks his hips against your face. you hollow your cheeks and begin to rhythmically suck, moving your head up and down; the force of your suction pushes spit out of your mouth, sliding down to collect on his balls. what a fucking sight.

you let go with a pop and smile at him, all dazed and teary eyes. your face is flushed and covered in drool, but you still look delighted. you’re beautiful.

“i’m havin’ fun. stop getting close.” he rubs your chin and tilts his chin down at you.

“you’re torturin’ me, baby.”

“so? you really wanna cut me off?” you swallow him up again and attempt to say around his length, “but i love my big brother’s cock soooo much.”

“you’re fuckin’ filthy.” he groans and uses the palm flat against your head to grip your hair at the root. you giggle and let go again, then wrap your hand around the base of him. he can’t even feel your palm over the barrier of spit you’ve made. he looks down at you as you shake your ass in the air and press your cheek against his erection.

“want it inside me. can you do that for me, gege?” you slur, pouting and sliding your hand up his length before slapping it against your face. you’re ruining him.

“ask me again properly. i don’t wanna take advantage of my meimei when she’s like this.”

you give him a wicked grin and raise up to all fours, then clumsily stumble to the top of his lap. you lazily grind his cock against the wet front of your panties.

“wanna hear me say it? okay.” he sets his palms on your hips, supporting you as you lean your entire weight against his shoulder. your lips are underneath his ear- you’re licking and biting for a good 30 seconds. his grip on you is tight enough to keep you directly above him, grinding your pussy in his lap. you let go of his neck with a smack and bring your lips back to his ear.

“i want my big brother’s cock to fill me up so he can cum allll inside me.”

that’s all he needed. he slips one hand between your thighs, uses his thumb to slide your panties to the side, and releases the hold on your hips so you can slam yourself flush against him. your reaction is electric; your loud, pornesque moan and the immediate, messy jackrabbiting your hips make him just want to fuck you properly.

you’re babbling as you try to find a good rhythm on top of him. your attempt is adorable- you can barely hold yourself up. he wraps each of his hands around each of your tits and squeezes, staring up at you with hooded eyes.

“pussy’s so fuckin’ wet. just what you needed, yeah?” you nod your head and set both hands on his chest to hold yourself up. he can hear the squelches the two of you are making- he wants to hear even more.

“feel it, gege? feel your sister’s pussy squeezing you so tight?” you get so nasty when you drink. he’s obsessed with not only your honesty, but your eagerness to be filthy like this. all for him.

“mhmm,” he lets go of your breasts and wraps his hands around each of your thighs. your blissful expression switches to a grimace as you slap his chest with more force than needed.

“stop sittin’ there and do something!” he scoffs. guess you got sick of your erratic and clumsy bounces. he knows it would take longer for him to cum with you trying as hard as you can in your state, but he doesn’t mind; he needs a break after you used him like a lollipop for half an hour.

“beggars can’t be choosers, dummy.” he rubs the inside of your thigh with his thumb and laughs at your angry pout.

“fuck! me! fuck! me! fuck! me!” the slamming you do between every word might snap his dick in half if you land wrong. still, your effort is cute. if he wasn’t worried about leaving the state of his dick in your drunken hands, he would see just how long you could keep it up.

“my sweet, useless girl. so fucked up you can’t even ride me right. need gege’s help?”

“yes, caleb, come on-” he clicks his tongue.

“nu uh. ask like you did earlier. be sweet and polite for me.”

“pleaaase, gege, please fuck me, wanna cum on it so bad,” you fall forward to press your chest against his and roll your hips quickly and shallowly. you start to mouth on his throat again.

“my gege fucks me so good. gets so dee- ep! feels so much better when you take care of me, right? come on, caleb, pleaseeee fuck me into the mattress an’ make me cum with gege’s cock, ‘s all i need, ge, please, i’ll-”

he’s heard enough. he already feels like he’s going to explode from your tangent, but by the clenching your pussy is doing, he can tell you’re not too far either. he grabs your waist and raises up to flip the two of you, ultimately taking you with him so he can pin you between his body and the bed. your entire body reacts through twitching, screaming, kicking as he earnestly thrusts inside of you. he doesn’t stop; he has to give you what you asked for.

“go on, pips. keep tellin’ me how bad you need it.” he breathes out between grunts, pressing his palm into your abdomen. you’re squeezing him so tight; he wants to make you even tighter. he leans backward on his knees, holding you against him with one hand on your back. the angle sends him even deeper; he’s definitely not going to last long like this. and with this new perspective of being underneath you, tits bouncing as he fucks into you roughly, he’s right on the edge.

“cu- um insi- inside me, gege, i need it-” you look down at him, drool spilling out of the side of your open mouth and tears pooling in your eyes.

“i know you do. and i gotta give my sweet- fuck, sweet little sister everything she needs, yeah?” his words kickstart your orgasm- your pussy starts to spasm, swallowing his cock further as you start to thrash uncontrollably on his lap.

“gooood girl- milk your gege, baby, fuuuck yeah,” he starts to shoot at the peak of your orgasm- he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you in a bear hug. you’re shivering, trembling, damn near wailing as he slowly rolls his hips against yours, sending more cum through your cervix with every thrust.

your limbs and pussy are spasming even after he’s fully finished, so of course he keeps gently fucking you. he wants to take everything you have to give. he lays you back down flat on the bed, releasing his hold on you so he can hold himself above you while you ride out your orgasm.

you’re not even looking at him. your eyes are shut, face slowly falling more relaxed. and then you’re limp.

no way.

“pips. hey.” he shakes your shoulder. your chest continues to steadily rise and fall; your mouth opens dumbly. did you really fall asleep that fast? that doesn’t make him feel any better about doing this with how drunk you are. he shakes your shoulder again and slides out from between your thighs. before he can continue his attempts, you slap his arm roughly. you crack your eyes open and scowl.

“clean us up. i wanna sleep naked. don’t wake me up.”

he scoffs at your bossy demand. regardless, he crawls up to get you a warm towel from the bathroom. when he comes back, you’re snoring with every deep exhale. after he wipes the two of you off and climbs into bed with you, you roll over to face him and wrap your arms around him. you grumble against his chest and nuzzle further. he kisses the top of your head and asks, “what’re you sayin’?” you raise your head up quickly and try to enunciate each word through your sleepy slurs.

“get hard so i can cockwarm you.” you don’t wait for him to respond; you nestle back in between his pecs.

he shouldn’t be shocked by your order considering everything else you’ve said, but he is. it also makes his now relaxed cock jump. he maneuvers your leg to wrap around his hips so he can slot his tip against your still sopping pussy. you give him a pretty smile and nod as one last confirmation.

yeah, he loves it when you’re drunk.

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last time, you had chosen a romance movie- complete with a sex scene, in which the poor guy was staring past the tv for the entirety of. you could see with how red his cheeks had gotten and how his palms laid over his crotch that he had finally gotten the idea in his head.

but he never acted on it. even when you scooted closer and laid your head on his shoulder, nuzzling and whispering, “this is a good movie, right?”

“yep, totally!” his voice had even sounded strained. but nothing else happened.

okay, not a romance then.

you grab the snacks and alcohol from your kitchen and set it on the table. valko is looking up at you before shooting forward and saying, “nice, you got my choco pretzels!” he hauls at least 3 into his mouth and chomps them messily.

“mhm. it’s a scary movie. is that okay, val?” his face drops. you cock an eyebrow at his sudden, forced smile. “that’s fine!”

he doesn’t say anything more, but his frenzied eyes speak for itself. you hold your laughter back while you turn off the lights and grab a few blankets. he still hasn’t requested a different movie as you take your spot next to him, so you crack open a can of beer and start the movie.

within fifteen minutes, he has resorted to sitting on the floor, hand wrapped around your ankle. his eyes are trained on the screen, mouth parted in his focus. it would be cute if your goal wasn’t to get laid.

you reach for your second beer now that you’ve finished the first, and you still aren’t sure he’ll accept your advances. you drink it considerably faster, but your leg is gripped and jostled by him reacting to a jumpscare. some of the alcohol in your can is forced out and drips down your wrist.

“fuck- sorry! that was so scary.” he shudders, staring up at you through his glasses. you shrug, set down your can, and bring your wrist up to your mouth. you stare into his eyes and lick the spilled liquid up from your skin. you’re starting to feel your desire outweigh your fear of rejection.

before you can see how he reacts other than his usual dumbstruck stare, your front door opens.

you shoot up on your feet. none of your roommates should be home- they would’ve texted you; they know your plan!

“whose car is outside, pips?” your skin chills from the the familiar voice, partly annoyed and partly playful.

“do you have a boyfr-” you slap your palm over valko’s mouth.

“no- shut up. it’s just… just my brother.” you seethe. the living room is past the kitchen, where the front door is, so you have time to stop him. you take your hand off of valko’s mouth and put your finger over your lips to tell him to be quiet. he nods quickly.

you keep the movie playing and leave, walking into the kitchen.

arrogant and tall, caleb is standing in front of your now locked front door. he’s wearing a white and orange skyhaven shirt, now cut into a tank, and black cargo pants.

“what are you doing here. you’re supposed to be in skyhaven.”

“woah. that’s not a nice face.” he smiles- not his usual, happy one. it’s rueful and annoyed. you dodge his outstretched hand and cross your arms. his hand still finds the top of your head, ruffling your hair. you scowl as he tuts, “god forbid i take my finals early so i can surprise my meimei.”

“what did i say about coming by unannounced.” he shrugs, smiling and completely unaffected by your unhappiness. he’s looking around your kitchen, scanning the counters and tables and the ground- valko’s big fucking shoes!

“something about not doing it. luckily, gege’s word is final. and gege disapproved. so whose car?” he steps further into the kitchen- purposely taking a big step over valko’s shoes.

“my roommate’s. she’s out with friends.” you know it doesn’t work. caleb probably knows what cars your roommates drive. he flicks his eyes back to yours and asks knowingly, “yeah? those her shoes too?”

“caleb, get out!” you try to push him out the door, but he sidesteps you and begins pathing to the living room. “nah. where is he.”

“are you serious-” he spins around and leans down to your level as his hand wraps around your wrist.

“are you seriously letting over guys who i haven’t approved of?” he’s staring into your eyes with a mean stare, his face stern and serious.

“he’s just a friend, you freak!” he narrows his eyes and straightens. another forced, cold smile darkens his face.

“then i’ll be his friend, too. that’s fine, right?”

yeah, you’re not winning this fight. he’s always been such a freak about relationships- not that you haven’t been a pain to his, regardless if they were romantic or not. any girl around your caleb is nothing more than a threat.

you follow him into the living room, where valko is still sitting on the floor, engrossed in the scary film. when he notices caleb’s frame, he scrambles off of the floor and stands there awkwardly. he scratches the back of his head as caleb stares him down.

“uhh- hi, i’m valko yin! you’re her- her brother, right? we were just watching this movie- it’s kinda scary, but-”

“is that what she told you?” caleb cuts him off. his voice is barely deeper than it is when he’s just with you- he’s such a loser, trying to act tough in front of your potential suitor. he always does. valko cocks his head.

“she didn’t tell me anything about the movie. maybe she’s seen it before, but it doesn’t seem too com-”

“no. that i’m her brother.”

“caleb, shut up.” he is single handedly going to ruin your month long attempt of getting fucked into the mattress- like he’s done with all of your relationships your entire life. just for him to romantically, sexually tease you before leaving to attend the academy.

“oh. yeah!” valko answers.

“well, it’s-”

“complicated.” caleb cuts you off. he gives you a knowing, cocky smile before looking back at valko’s confused expression. you want to strangle him.

“like steps?” he asks. for once, caleb chooses to do the right thing by not answering him. instead, he points to the empty and open cans on the table.

“you drinking?”

“nooo way. that’s for parties.”

caleb turns to you. his jaw is clenched, and his violet eyes are still narrowed and dark.

“yeah, mei. that’s for parties. or did you need some liquid courage?”

“caleb!” you groan. he is insufferable. he’s no longer looking at you possessively, but at valko smugly.

“valko, right? how many times you been over here?”

“three, i think? i would invite her over, but my roommates are fucking animals.”

“have you fucked her yet?”

there’s three seconds of silence before you shout, “what the fuck, caleb!” and the jerk only laughs. valko’s face reddens the fastest it ever has; you can’t even meet his gaze after caleb asks that.

“i guess not. that’s probably why she busted that out.”

“you’re the worst.” you complain, shoving past him and sitting on the couch. this is so typical of him. all you get from him is another conceited shrug.

“is she not your type? just tell her now. i dunno if she would give up. she might just turn herself into a drunk slut tryin’ to get in your pants.”

you cover your face with your hands. you wish you could disappear. or that caleb would.

“i… don’t have sex with drunk girls.”

“so she’s not your type?”

“i- i didn’t say that.” he sounds so sheepish and small.

“soooo, what then? look at what she’s wearing, dude.” oh god.

“please shut up.” you groan. it’s just a pajama set of shorts and a spaghetti tank (the built-in bra is too tight, and the shorts are too short).

“i don’t really pay attention to… to that stuff.” valko says. of course he doesn’t.

“so you don’t wanna fuck her?”

“i didn’t- i didn’t say that!”

“hear that, pips? you might get lucky after all.” caleb laughs teasingly. you hate how he’s able to get such a rise out of you- you rarely get to get your revenge.

“yeah? you’re gonna go back to skyhaven?” you grumble in your palms. he doesn’t comment on your snarkiness as he sits down next to you and pauses the movie. “be nice.” he says steadily and pats the top of your head to ruffle your hair. “i’m helping you, right? i just wanna make sure my little sister gets what she wants.”

what you want, your ass. he wants to humiliate you, to ruin you for anyone other than him. he’s always been selfish, even greedy at times. so have you.

“i don’t need your help.” you take your hands away from your face to glare at caleb, who pouts mockingly.

“no? then why hasn’t he fucked you yet?”

“do- do you want me to leave?” valko asks dumbly. he’s facing the two of you, hands in fists on each side of him. you groan as caleb snorts. you refuse to let this go his way. to let another boy get scared off because of his possessive tendencies.

“no. i don’t.” both of them give you a surprised look at your answer- you don’t care. not about the possible rejection or your burning embarrassment. not anymore.

you blink at valko and tap the open spot next to you on the couch. “come here, val.”

caleb stiffens next to you as valko obeys and sits next to you. you set your hand on his thigh; his eyes turn wide and unsure at the contact. you face him and run your palm over his skin softly, batting your eyelashes. your finger dips under the seam of his shorts. even though your heart is racing, you want to keep going. the look in his eyes drives you to.

“you really couldn’t tell?” you ask softly. he has that bewildered look on his face: mouth open and eyes shocked. he shakes his head dumbly, and you squeeze his thigh. caleb’s hand lands possessively on your waist, so you lean closer to valko.

“am i your type?” you whisper. the air between the two of you is electrifying. you swap your gaze from his parted lips and his focused eyes as he nods again. you’re close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

you turn to caleb and sneer, “see? i don’t need your help, ge.” his tongue juts from behind his cheek in frustration, and you bump your nose against his to whisper, “i can fuck any guy i want.”

his attempt to kiss you is admirable, but you’re faster. you lean back and shake your head at him, which only deepens his grimace as his hand flexes on your waist.

you can’t embarrass him in the way he embarrasses you, but you can annoy him in other ways. and this mix of taunting and torturing is something you never knew you needed.

you turn back to valko- his eyes are dazed and near pleading. you squeeze his thigh, and a whine comes from the back of his throat. his expression is wrecked already- his tilted glasses aren’t helping him. it’s all the confirmation for your next action.

you kiss him- partly because he looks like he’ll start crying if you don’t, but also to piss caleb off. you feel the latter’s hand tense on your thigh as you squeeze your fingers around valko’s jaw, keeping him still as you slowly kiss into his mouth. he tries to grab your face, but you intercept his hand with your other one to lower it back onto his lap. he cranes his neck to deepen it, brushing his canines against your tongue and whining.

it’s better than you imagined. you’re warm, dizzy, drunk from his kiss.

he whines in your mouth when you drop your hand from his jaw to ultimately pull away. his eyes are wide and wanting, framed by furrowed eyebrows; his skin is flushed after the considerably short kiss. he leans forward again, but you shake your head and smile coyly. his pout is adorably sad.

caleb’s eyes are burning a hole in the back of your head, so you turn to look at him. he practically jumps on you. both of his hands attach themselves to your face, and the force of his body pushes yours back- closer to valko. another hand settles around your hip as caleb licks into your mouth. he devours you, really. and you let him, angling your head to fit against his so he can make out with you as close as possible. his grip on your face isn’t letting you breathe; you have to put your hands on his chest to push him away. despite the considerably scary look on his face, he lets you return him to his original position of sitting up straight next to you. his violet eyes are dark, narrowed at you, trying to gauge just how far you’ll go with the two of them.

you’re not too sure yet.

sandwiched between the two of them, you’re on fire from your want for both of them. you turn to look at valko, whose eyes have widened and glazed over, still staring straight back at you. you brush your hair over the sides of your neck and straighten your back, then turn to look caleb expectantly. after flickering his eyes between yours, your lips, and your neck, he wordlessly leans in to start kissing the side of your throat. you crane your neck to give him more room while valko’s hand runs up your lower back. you flick your eyes up to valko’s amber eyes and lean your head back- giving him access to your nape as well.

the feeling of both of their mouths on your skin sends butterflies through your veins. you’re tingling between your legs, burning underneath caleb’s hand rubbing your thigh and valko’s hand slipping under your shirt. caleb is kneading the fat of your thigh with every open mouthed kiss he leaves on your neck. you feel the softness of his tongue on one side, the sharpness of valko’s teeth scratching along the other. you cup their chins in each of your hands and pull them back towards your face. caleb peppers kisses over your cheek while valko continues his kissing with tongue on your other cheek. once you’ve pulled them closer to you, the three of your noses bump against each other clumsily. you feel both of their lips on yours- you guess they also feel each other’s lips, because valko’s upper body zips backward. caleb does the opposite. instead, he leans closer to your face, shielding you, and narrows his eyes across from valko, who laughs unattractively, embarrassed.

“what?” you ask sweetly. caleb looks unimpressed- how he does when he’s trying to hold back his anger. as usual, he knows what you’re planning. you smile and swivel your head back to valko, who’s bright red and staring dumbly. you tilt your chin down at him and purr, “you don’t wanna kiss us?”

“you… uhh- are you… serious?” his dilated eyes are stuck on yours.

you stick your palm out and beckon your fingers towards him. he knits his eyebrows together, but reluctantly, slowly sets his chin in your palm. you turn back to caleb- he’s immediately kissing you, breathing you in and gripping your thigh. you pull valko towards you, until he’s centimeters away from you and caleb’s connected mouths. you pull away from caleb to let valko join, when caleb mutters, “does it look like she’s joking?”

then you’re kissing both of them again. valko’s mouth is hesitant, while caleb’s doesn’t react when his lips press against the other man’s. you feel both of their tongues swipe against your lip, so you open your mouth further to meet their tongues with yours. you go from being on top, between, and underneath the mess of tongues.

you’re lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. both of their eyes open at the loss of your mouth on theirs. caleb’s eyes are stuck on yours, while valko’s are on your mouth. their chests heave erratically.

biting your lip, you lower their chins back to your neck. they either both get the point or are unable to stop themselves from reattaching their lips to your skin. you preen from the contact and roll your neck to give them more access.

the pair is playing tug of war- and you’re the rope. caleb’s palm on your cheek pulls your head back towards him, and he starts kissing you before you can open your eyes. valko starts to suck, sneaking in bites and making you shiver. one hand is on the free side of your neck, another is on your waist.

this is definitely not what you were planning when you invited valko over, but you’re not mad.

you turn away from caleb, ignoring the hazy, angry look he gives you, and pull valko’s chin up- he seems to have gotten the hang of the situation, because he attaches his mouth to yours easier. caleb grunts, probably rolling his eyes, and presses his lips against your nape and bites- jerk. you react by opening your mouth wider, which valko takes as a sign to stick his tongue further in your mouth. then caleb’s kissing along your cheek again, shoving his face next to you and valko’s to rejoin the kiss.

you need a break. the effect of your racing heart rate mixed with the lack of oxygen might actually make you pass out. you set your hand on the side of their faces and pull away. this time, valko doesn’t back away; they keep the tips of their noses touching. their faces are clouded with lust.

you have an idea.

you pull their chins even closer together. you give a smile, hoping and pleading the two with your eyes. you’re not confident they’ll follow through, but they do. caleb narrows his eyes at you, but looks at valko- his eyes, his lips. valko does the same.

you watch in amazement as their mouths finally clash together, clumsy and rough. valko’s hand runs from your waist to your other thigh and squeezes. you let go of their chins and lean back on your elbows, watching the two men start to make out. caleb’s hand stays on your face, but his other hand wraps around valko’s wrist.

their kiss is aggressive. one of valko’s hands raise from your thigh and sets it on the side of caleb’s throat. they’re fighting to keep the other one still, swallowing each other’s mouths desperately.

you could definitely get used to this sight: two huge, beefy guys grabbing and mouthing at each other right in front of you.

for the first time, you feel left out. even if caleb’s hand is on your cheek and valko’s is on your thigh, you want more. you sit back up and take both of their wrists in your grasp to set them on either sides of your chest.

even with the contact, they don’t stop. valko’s making more needy noises, and caleb’s fingertips are migrating to your scalp, slightly pulling at the roots as he opens the eye facing you to meet your gaze. the asshole smirks into the kiss before letting go.

“happy now?” he asks condescendingly as valko attempts to catch his breath. caleb’s hand starts to massage your breast; you’re not sure if valko has even realized. you shake your head in an answer to him, and he scoffs.

“riiiight. you wanna get fucked, don’t you?”

god, yes.

he laughs at your honest expression before leaning back to kiss you again. you’re suddenly lifted into the air, and his hands land on the bottom of your ass to hold you against his chest without breaking the kiss. you ball one hand in his shirt, the other in his hair. you assume he’s carrying you to your bedroom, and you assume the scurrying you hear is valko following.

“you wanted him, right?” caleb mutters in your mouth. of course he would be a jerk about this too. you exhale once he lowers you onto your back, eyeing him as he takes off his tank by the back of the collar. his abs constrict from the motion.

“c’mon. you can’t turn your brain off, yet, pips. tell gege how you wanna get fucked.” he’s hot enough to make you forget why you were even annoyed with him, that you’re the one supposed to be doing the toying. the prominent print in his shorts and his muscular body is enough to make you melt into a puddle of need.

“d- doggy, i want doggy.” he gives you a cocky smirk before nodding at the other side of the room- valko. he looks at him, who is still fully clothed and standing awkwardly, and says, “you heard her.”

“re… really?”

“dude. you’re really testing my patience.”

so valko starts to undress. he’s as, if not more, muscular as caleb- a cadet. his shirt is first to go, then his shorts. he clumsily trips out of them before making it to the edge of the bed. he pushes up his glasses, staring down at you with his chest heaving and desperate eyes. the massive bulge in his briefs makes you think twice about skipping the foreplay.

caleb’s hands wrap around your jaw, turning your face to rub against the outside of his thigh. he tilts his chin down at you and rubs his thumb on your bottom lip. before you can focus on his lust filled gaze, a mouth wraps around your inner thigh, paired with a tongue and sharp pricks of teeth. your back arches off the bed as your shorts are finally pulled off.

“gotta eat you out- can i, please?” his voice is wrecked against your thigh. you nod in caleb’s grasp, and cool air hits the mess between your legs immediately. it doesn’t last long- valko attaches his mouth around your pussy, flattening his tongue and licking between your folds. you instinctively buck against his face, but his palm pins your lower abdomen to the bed. the both of them are keeping you still with their holds on you, forcing you to lay there and take the pleasure he’s giving you with his tongue.

valko is, as usual, messy. the mixture of drool and everything that’s dripping out of you is leaking onto the bed, past your thighs and down his chin. he’s favoring his tongue on the spots that make your squirms intensify. his fingers are spreading your thighs apart; he’s so close to your core, his nose is grinding against your clit. caleb’s hands are still caressing and petting your face as he stares down at you with glazed eyes. his fingers tighten around your jaw at the same time valko plunges his tongue inside of you and slurps loudly- it sends you over the edge. your entire body convulses, and neither of them let up. caleb laughs at your orgasm while valko moans against your pussy.

you’re still twitching when valko pulls away and flips you over by his hands on your hips. caleb’s fingers wrap around your roots to maneuver your face until you’re mouthing at his bulge.

“still wanna get fucked?” valko asks throatily, squeezing the fat of your hips before palming your ass.

“of course she does, that wasn’t enough for her. present that cunt, pips.” you arch your back to push your ass against him, and he whines again once your bare pussy meets his clothed erection.

“so pretty. would’ve fucked you before, i jus- jus’ didn’t know- fuuuuck,” you hear the unpeeling of his briefs, and then the tip of his cock is pressing your entrance.

“so wet. so fuckin’ good. want it, right? tell me you want it.” caleb squeezes your cheeks together, effectively forcing your lips into a pucker. he smiles down at you to wordlessly communicate one fact- he’s back in control. you’re fuzzy and throbbing from your orgasm, warm and needy for the guy you’ve been trying to fuck for weeks, you don’t care about you and caleb’s stupid game anymore.

“answer him, mei.” caleb lets go of the hold on your aching cheeks, allowing you to say, “please, please fuck me, val-” you would keep rambling, but his cock fully silences you. he doesn’t enter you slowly or softly, but all at once until his skin is flush with your ass. he’s huge- maybe even bigger than caleb? you can’t tell much of anything like this, with caleb’s hand pulling you by your hair and valko’s stifling cock.

“holyyy sh- iiit- it’s okay, right? couldn’t go slow, ‘m sorry, had to get inside, have to fuck you-”

“she’s lovin’ it. this is just what she needed, isn’t it?” caleb’s taunts seem to spur valko on. he starts thrusting faster in your heat, gripping your ass tighter and whimpering from behind you.

you’re not going to last long like this. you place your hands on caleb’s thighs to steady yourself, and he forces the back of your head closer to his clothed crotch. you mouth at his print before clawing your fingers around the top of his briefs. he tilts his head down at you questioningly.

“oh, wow. you still want more?” you nod at his words and wrap your lips around his trapped erection. he winces and pulls at your scalp. “this is why i can’t leave you alone too long, mei. you get so fuckin’ slutty without your big brother to take care of you.”

your pussy clenches around valko as caleb unrolls his briefs, finally guiding your head to his cock. you cup your tongue around his length, sucking as valko continues his punishing thrusts. caleb’s hand tightens against your scalp, effectively taking control of your pace of the blowjob.

“‘m close, baby. gonna- gonna make me cum, fuck, please make me cum- pussy’s so fuckin’ good- let me cum inside you, please-” you deepen the arch of your back in response. caleb is no longer holding back- he’s fully fucking your face, staring down at you and scrunching his eyebrows in pleaure. valko’s cock seems to be growing inside of you as he moans and cries, dragging against your walls and pressing every spot. spit is forced out of your mouth by caleb’s thrusts, who grips your scalp and stutters his hips.

you cum for the second time, this time suctioning around valko’s dick as he stays flush against your ass, howling and whimpering as he decorates your insides generously. a raspy groan leaves caleb at the two of you, but you can’t focus on anything with valko continuing to move his hips slowly, somehow making you messier than before and pressing even deeper. caleb’s violet eyes seemingly glow as he joins valko by finishing inside of your mouth. you’re helpless, squished between the two of their cocks, tingling and numb all over from the intense sensations they’ve given you, and swallow around him. caleb groans and keeps your head flush with his hips, forcing you to breathe deeply through your nose before he lets go of your scalp. you pull away and start gasping in an attempt to get your breath back.

valko’s hands run up your sides before he pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and ruined. he wraps his arms around your sides and hugs, pressing his chest against your back before kissing your nape softly. caleb runs his palm over the top of your head before leaning down to kiss you properly. your mouth tastes purely of caleb, and you relish in it as he licks into your mouth. valko’s hands press into your abdomen as he rubs his cheek on your back. you feel your toes twitch between the pair of men mouthing on you. when caleb pulls away, he cups your jaw and smooths your hair, smiling at you how he always does- like you’re everything and more to him. valko straightens off of you and clears his throat.

“so… i’m guessing he’s… actually your boyfriend? not your brother?” this again. you roll your eyes before answering the question every guy who meets the two of you asks first.

“it’s-”

“complicated.” caleb finishes for you. you narrow your eyes at him, but he only shrugs and presses his mouth to yours again to keep you from complaining further.

sure. that’s one way to put it. whatever gets you laid.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁⊹ ₊ . ݁

"Thomas."

"—I will owe you forever, I will name my firstborn after you, I will—"

"I'll go."

So here you are. The door is unlocked, which means he knows you are coming or he has simply stopped caring about basic security, and with Rafayel it could be either. You let yourself in and the smell hits you first—turpentine, salt air, and a metallic undertone that clings to the house when he has been working for days without opening a window. The curtains are half drawn. Canvases everywhere. Leaning against the walls, stacked in the corner, one propped against the leg of the kitchen table for reasons you cannot begin to guess. A few look finished. Most do not. One near the window still has wet paint on it, deep blues bleeding into reds at the center, colors so saturated they look heavy.

You find him on the couch.

He is half sprawled across it with one arm thrown over the backrest and the other resting across his stomach, still in the same white shirt he had on two days ago when you dropped off food he has probably forgotten to eat. It is unbuttoned too far, sleeves shoved up, the fabric wrinkled past saving. His hair is a disaster. There is a faint sheen at his temples.

He doesn't look up when you come in.

You drop your bag on the nearest clear surface, which takes a moment to locate, and walk over.

“Rafayel.”

Nothing.

You move until you're standing directly in his eyeline."Thomas is losing his mind because you won't answer your phone, and apparently that's now my problem too. He called me four times. Four, Rafayel. I am not your secretary."

He blinks. Slow, like the signal has to travel a long distance before it arrives. His eyes finally move up to yours and the color in them is slightly off from usual. There is too much color on his face too. High on his cheekbones, a flush that had no business being there in the middle of the afternoon.

"You look terrible," you say to him.

The corner of his mouth makes an attempt at something"That's not a very nice thing to say."

"What's going on? Are you sick?"

"I'm fine." his voice is rougher than it should be "The paintings will be ready. Tell Thomas to calm down."

But his face does something when he finishes the sentence—the flush deepens fast, color rushing up his neck—and he turns his head away and brings his arm up over his eyes like the light has suddenly gotten worse. Or like he has decided you have seen enough of his face.

You watch him for a moment.

"Rafayel."

"I'm fiiiiiine," he says again, quieter. Still behind his arm. The tips of his ears now pink. "You can go. Really. I just need another hour."

He doesn't sound like he needs an hour. He sounds like he needs a week and possibly an IV drip, and the arm covering his face is now pressing slightly harder.

You pull the low table out of the way and sit on the edge of the couch near his legs. The apartment holds its quiet around you.

"How long have you been like this?"

Nothing.

"Was it like this yesterday?"

Still nothing.

"Rafayel, I'm going to start guessing and I'm going to keep guessing out loud until you answer me. I have a lot of time and nowhere to be."

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist to check his pulse and the second you touch him, he sucks in a breath and goes stiff beneath your hand. It wasn't surprise. You'd touched him before. This was different.

He pulls his arm back. The flush on his face has gone from concerning to alarming, deep red climbing all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Don't," he presses his arm back over his eyes "Please don't touch me right now."

"What do you mean? You just flinched like I burned you." you lean closer, trying to get a look at his face, which he is now actively shielding. "Rafayel. What is wrong with you? Is this an Evol thing? Did something happen? Do I need to call a doctor?"

"No." flat and immediate."No doctors."

"You are burning up!"

"It's not a normal fever." He curls slightly away from you, toward the back of the couch, and on a normal day it would be funny but his voice has gone rough enough that nothing about it is funny right now. "It'll pass. It always does."

"Raf" You keep your voice even. "Tell me what's happening."

He peeks at you from between his fingers. One eye, glassy and annoyed. “I’m an artist. We’re supposed to look tragic. It’s part of the look.”

“You’re part of the ‘about to pass out on your own couch and give me a heart attack’ look.”

He drops his hand with a dramatic sigh and flops further into the cushions like the weight of your existence is personally offending him. “You’re cruel. Coming into a man’s home, insulting his artistic suffering, and for what? So Thomas can sleep better at night?"

You crouch down beside the couch so you’re closer to eye level. Up close the heat rolling off him is worse. His skin looks damp at the hairline. You reach out without thinking and press the back of your hand to his forehead.

For a few seconds the apartment is quiet enough that you can hear the distant crash of waves through the open doors. Then he makes a soft, offended sound in the back of his throat and tips his head away, but not before you feel how warm he really is.

“It’s just… residual inspiration. Very intense residual inspiration.” He waves a vague hand at the half finished canvases. “I was in the middle of a breakthrough and then life decided to be rude. Happens to the best of us.”

You stay crouched there, unimpressed. “When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee or paint water?”

“I had some grapes. Possibly yesterday.”

You straighten up and plant your hands on your hips. “Get up.”

He stares at you like you just suggested he set his favorite brushes on fire. “Excuse me?”

“Get up. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk.” He repeats the word slowly, making sure you understand the gravity of what you've suggested. "When every bone in my body is requesting a soft death on this expensive couch. You want me to walk?”

“Yes. Fresh air. Ocean. Moving your legs like a person"

He throws an arm over his eyes again. “I should have never given you that spare key.”

“You didn’t give me a spare key. I stole it last month when you refused to answer the door for a week.”

“…That tracks,” he mutters.

You lean down, catch his wrist, and tug. Just enough to make it clear you’re not leaving without him. He resists for show, then lets himself be hauled into a sitting position with a long groan that would have been more convincing if he didn’t immediately lean into your space like the proximity was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Shoes. Now. Or I call Thomas and tell him you’re dying.”

That gets his attention. He looks up at you, eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Rafayel stares at you, weighing the threat.

“Fine. But if I collapse on the sand, you’re carrying me home. Bridal style.”

“Deal.”

Getting him vertical takes longer than it should. He sways once, catches your shoulder, and mutters something about gravity being a personal enemy today. You wait him out, steady, until he seems relatively solid on his feet. He shoves his feet into a pair of scuffed loafers without bothering to tie them properly, grabs a light jacket from the back of a chair, and follows you toward the door with the air of a man being led to his own execution.

Outside the air is cooler, the walk down toward the shore is quiet at first. You keep half a step behind him in case he decides to run for it. He doesn’t. He just walks with his hands shoved in his pockets, head tipped back like he’s trying to convince the sky to take pity on him.

After a few minutes the silence starts to feel intentional.

“You’re hovering,” he says without looking at you.

“I’m making sure you don’t faceplant into the ground.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that earlier while looking like a Victorian orphan with consumption.”

He shoots you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth twitching “You’ve been spending too much time with Thomas. You’re starting to sound like him. Next you’ll be scheduling my meals and color coding my paint tubes.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

The path curves and the beach opens up ahead of you, all pale sand and clear water. The tide is low. The air smells cleaner out here. Rafayel slows as soon as his shoes hit the sand.

“I hate sand,” he complains. “It gets everywhere. Inside my shoes and between my toes"

“You live by the ocean.”

“I live by the view. The view does not require contact with the sand.”

You keep walking. He follows, grumbling under his breath the whole way, but the color in his face looks a little less alarming now that he’s upright and moving. The sea breeze seems to help. Or maybe it’s just the distraction of having someone to complain at.

You end up near the waterline where the sand is firmer. Rafayel stops, kicks off his loafers with unnecessary drama, and digs his toes into the wet sand and you do the same. The water feels cold when it reaches your ankles. He hisses.

“Its cold, the ocean is being rude today.”

“Everything is rude today according to you.”

“You didn’t have to come, you know. Thomas worries too much. I would have eventually crawled out of the couch and finished the paintings. Maybe.”

You bump his shoulder lightly with yours. “Next time just answer your phone so I don’t have to play rescue mission.”

He is quiet for a moment. The waves keep rolling in, soft and steady. Then he says, almost too low to catch“Maybe I like it when you show up.”

You glance at him. He’s looking out at the water, expression carefully neutral, but the tips of his ears have gone pink again.

Before you can decide what to do with that, something catches the light near the edge of the tide line.

A pale shape, half buried in the wet sand a few meters ahead. Not a shell or glass.

You frown and walk toward it. Rafayel trails after you, curiosity overriding whatever lethargy is left.

“What is it?” he asks.

You crouch and dig it free carefully. It’s a protocore, small and pure white. Not the usual colors you’ve seen before. This one looks almost unfinished, like someone carved a piece of moonlight and left it on the beach for the tide to find.

It pulses once against your palm.

Rafayel goes still beside you.

“That’s…” He trails off, eyes fixed on the white glow in your hand. “I’ve never seen one like that.”

Neither have you.

The pulse happens again. Stronger this time. The air around the two of you tightens, like the moment before a storm breaks.

You look up at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The second his fingers brush the white protocore everything changes.

A sudden pull that yanks the air out of your lungs and folds the beach in on itself. All of it collapses inward like someone is sucking the world through a straw. You feel Rafayel’s hand close hard around your wrist a split second before the ground disappears.

Then you’re falling.

You hit something green and scratchy with enough force to knock the breath out of you. Leaves slap your face and twigs dig into your back. Somewhere to your left Rafayel makes a noise that is half groan, half pure offense.

“Ouch—my hand—”

You push yourself up on your elbows, leaves stuck in your hair, heart hammering against your ribs. The protocore is still clutched in your hand, warm and faintly pulsing like a second heartbeat. Rafayel is sprawled half on his side in the same bush, one arm flung out, the other cradled against his chest. He looks personally betrayed by the existence of shrubbery.

“What the hell was that?”

He sits up with a wince, shaking leaves out of his hair. “I barely touched it and the universe decided to throw us into a hedge. Rude. Extremely rude.” He flexes his fingers, scowling. “I think I scraped my palm on a leaf."

You scramble to your feet, brushing dirt off your clothes, and look around.

The beach is gone.

Instead of open sand and ocean you are standing at the edge of a garden that looks like it belongs on the cover of an architecture magazine.

You are inside a mansion.

A full, sprawling mansion of pale stone, all clean lines and floor to ceiling glass, the kind of place that makes expensive sound like an understatement. Balconies wrap around the upper floors. Somewhere behind the structure you can hear the faint splash of water.

Rafayel stares.

Then he says, very quietly, “Oh no.”

“What?”

He is already moving, shoving through the bushes with far less grace than usual, heading for an open side door a few meters away. You follow because what else are you supposed to do. The protocore is still in your fist.

Inside is cool and quiet and smells faintly of citrus. The entryway alone is bigger than most people’s apartments. Polished floors. A vase of white flowers on a console table. Everything is spotless, lived in but somehow still perfect.

Rafayel walks straight to a side table near the door like he knows exactly where everything is. He picks up a folded newspaper that has been left there, glances at the front page and freezes.

You step closer. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer. He just turns the paper so you can see the date printed in bold black letters at the top.

Two years ahead.

Exactly two years.

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.

“That’s not possible,” you say “Protocores don’t— they don’t do that.”

He flips the paper open, scans the headlines like he’s hoping the date will change if he looks hard enough.

“This is one of my properties. I bought it last year as an investment. It wasn’t even finished yet. The pool wasn’t installed. The gardens weren’t—” He stops, swallows. “This isn’t supposed to exist yet.”

You look down at the white protocore still glowing faintly in your hand.

His eyes track the movement and he reaches for it again, fingers outstretched—

A sound cuts through the quiet, coming from the back of the house. Something that might be water. Or someone moving.

Both of you go still.

“That should be the pool,” he says after a second"Or where the pool apparently already is.”

You glance at him. “We should leave.”

“We should.” the newspaper is still clenched in his other hand. “But if this is actually… if we really are two years ahead…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. Curiosity already written across his face.

You move together, quiet, following the sound through the open plan living space and out through a set of wide glass doors that lead to the rear terrace. The pool is exactly where the sound suggested— huge, water so clear it looks like glass.

And there, on a sunbathing chair is Rafayel.

Not the one standing beside you.

Another one.

He is half reclined, one leg bent, the other stretched out. A large sketchbook rests against his thigh. Charcoal smudges his fingers. He is wearing only a pair of dark swim shorts that sit low on his hips, and his skin is flushed a deep, uneven red across his chest, shoulders and the high points of his cheekbones, like he has been sitting in the sun for too long, or like something under the surface is running too hot. His hair is slightly damp, pushed back from his face. He is completely focused on the page in front of him, his fingers moving in long strokes.

Present Rafayel makes a sound beside you but can’t look away.

The drawing is… not subtle. Even from this distance you can see the curve of a bare hip, the arch of a spine, the suggestion of breasts. A woman. Naked. Rendered with intimate details that make your stomach twist. Future Rafayel’s hand moves again, refining the line of a thigh, and the flush on his skin seems to deepen.

Present Rafayel’s fingers close around your upper arm, hard.

“We need to go,” he's trying to tug you back "Right now. This is— this is private. This is extremely private and we are not supposed to be here"

You dig your heels in. “That’s you.”

“I am aware it is me. That is the problem.” his voice is louder“We are leaving before—”

A splash of water cuts him off.

Someone is climbing out of the pool.

She— you— rises from the water in one smooth motion, water streaming down bare skin. A pink swimsuit clings to every curve, soaked through and heavy. She pushes her wet hair back from her face, water droplets catching the light as they slide down her throat, between her breasts, lower. She look relaxed. Comfortable. Like she belong here. Like this is ordinary.

She walks toward his sunbathing chair and Rafayel’s grip on your arm turns bruising.

“Don’t look,” he whispers, almost desperate. “Please don't look. We are going to pretend none of this happened and—”

You look anyway.

And that is when you see what he has been trying to pull you away from.

One of future Rafayel’s hands is not longer resting on the sketchbook.

His palm is pressed firmly over the front of his shorts. The fabric is stretched tight. The outline of his cock is unmistakable. He is hard, and he is not even trying to hide it. His eyes are still on the page, on the naked figure he is drawing, but his hand starts moving in a lazy, self indulgent rhythm like the two things are connected.

Your mouth goes dry.

He is half naked in the sunlight and it is impossible not to notice everything at once. The breadth of his shoulders. The clean lines of muscle across his chest and stomach, still faintly damp from earlier swimming or from the heat rolling off his skin. The way his abs tighten when his hand presses harder. He looks like a sculpted god.

Present Rafayel sounds like he is being slowly murdered.

“Stop staring,” his ears are scarlet. His whole face is scarlet. “I cannot believe he has the audacity to— in broad daylight— with a sketchbook— I am going to have words with myself. Harsh words."

Future you reaches his chair and future Rafayel finally looks up.

He smiles at her like the sun just came out and the flush on his skin darkens another shade.

You cannot look away from the version of him stretched out in the chair, hard, watching her while he strokes his cock.

“Seriously, stop looking.”

“You stop looking.”

“I’m looking at myself!”

“So am I!”

“That is not the same thing and you know it. Looking at me looking like that is a crime against my dignity. Stop.”

You do not stop and he doesn't either.

Future Rafayel sets the sketchbook aside and leans back, one hand still pressed over the front of his shorts, and watches the wet version of you like he has been counting every second.

“Took you long enough, I was starting to think you’d decided to let me suffer out here alone.”

She moves and stops between his knees, water still running down her skin in slow tracks. She tips her head, droplets falling onto his thighs. “You looked busy. I didn’t want to interrupt the masterpiece.” her eyes drop to the thick outline under his palm. “Although it seems you are having a hard time staying focused.”

He lets out a breath that is half laugh when she reaches down and presses her fingers over his, forcing him to grind harder against his own hand. “You’re evil.”

She leans in until her wet hair brushes his chest and her mouth is close to his ear. “How long have you been out here touching yourself to a drawing of me?”

“I’m starting to regret every time I told you I liked it when you teased.”

“You love it when I tease.” her voice drops lower, soft and filthy. “You like it when I make you draw me while you're hard. When I sit there and tell you in detail what I'm going to do to your cock later and watch you try to keep your hand steady." she drags one finger down his chest."You've gotten close just from that. Just from my voice. Haven't you?"

His hips jerk under her hand. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Let me come. I’ve been good. I waited. I drew every line exactly the way you wanted—look at it, it’s—”

She picks up the sketchbook, glances at the page, and sets it back down with a small, considering hum. “That’s good enough.”

She moves back to settle on her knees between his thighs. Takes her time about it.

Rafayel’s fingers dig into your arm. “Is she—"

Her hands move to his hips. Thumbs hooked under the waistband of the dark shorts. He lifts enough to help. The fabric drags down, catching for a second on the fat head of his dick before it springs free.

It's a really pretty cock.

Long, slightly curved, thick enough that her fingers look almost delicate wrapped around the base. The head is dark pink and shiny, already wet from how long he has been touching himself. A thick vein runs along the underside. A clear bead or precum gathers at the tip and threatens to spill.

“I did not need to see that. I did not need to see my future—”

She doesn't take him into her mouth right away. She leans in and licks a slow stripe over the head, catching that bead of pre on her tongue and humming like it was exactly what she wanted. His hand flies to her wet hair, holding on“Fuck—don’t tease, not after everything—”

She drags her tongue up the underside slowly, base to tip, and his thigh jumps against her shoulder.

Then she circles the head, the flat of her tongue pressing in, taking her time with the ridge of it, the specific place that makes his breath change, and she stays there until his breathing has gone uneven enough that she can hear it clearly over everything else.

She licks the tip once and his hips move forward and then stop, the effort of keeping still visible in every muscle of his thighs.

She licks it again. Slower.

His thighs are shaking now, a fine tremor he's trying to control and can't. She watches him and waits until it gets worse.

Then she opens her mouth and sinks down.

All the way.

Her throat works around him. He groans, head falling back against the chair as she starts to move, she pulls almost all the way off so her tongue can swirl over the head before she slides back down until her nose brushes the flushed skin of his stomach.

Present Rafayel is now quiet beside you. Heat rolls off him in waves. When you glance sideways his face is the same feverish red it was on the couch. He has angled himself carefully so the front of his pants stays hidden, but the tension in his shoulders and the way his throat works when he swallows tell you everything. Future him is deep in it. Present him is feeling every second.

You look back.

She keeps teasing—pulling off to lick long, wet stripes up the underside, sucking just the head while her hand strokes the rest in tight twists, then taking him deep again until his hips keep making small thrusts he is clearly fighting. His voice has gone wrecked and pleading.

“Please— I’ve been so patient— you said if I waited you’d let me— fuck, your mouth is so wet— don’t stop—”

She hums around him. The vibration makes his whole body jolt. Her free hand slides between his legs, cupping and rolling his balls while she sucks harder, faster, the wet sounds turning filthy. Spit slicks down his shaft. Her lips stay stretched around him. Every time she takes him to the root he makes a broken little sound like he cannot believe it's still happening.

He comes with a punched out groan, hips lifting off the chair, one hand fisted tight in her wet hair. She stays on him through it, swallowing, throat working visibly around every pulse until he finally sags back, panting, still twitching on her tongue.

Something in the air shifts.

The flush on future Rafayel’s skin deepens and when he opens his eyes they are no longer the same color. They glow in a bright, electric blue, completely different from the man who was begging a moment ago. The sea god is looking out through them now. You can feel it in the way the temperature of the air seems to drop, in the way the water in the pool goes unnaturally still for half a second.

He moves fast.

One second he is still half sprawled in the chair. The next he has hauled her up into his arms like she weights nothing, takes two long strides, and jumps.

Water explodes outward as they hit the pool together.

Present Rafayel’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no—"

They surface together and his mouth finds hers before she's finished catching her breath.

It's not a gentle kiss. It's wet and open and his tongue slides against hers like he's been thinking about doing this for hours.

He moves her back through the water.

She lets him. Her hands are at his shoulders, the water is chest high and he moves through it like it's nothing, one arm around her waist, the other already at the strings of her bikini top, pulling at the knot at her back while his mouth stays on hers and the tiled edge of the pool finds her spine.

He pulls back half an inch just to look at her, water running down her face, her hair slicked back, both of them breathing hard and then his hand finds the knot at her neck and tugs.

Her breasts spill free, wet and flushed, nipples tight from the cool air and the sudden attention. He makes a low, approving sound and ducks his head, taking one into his mouth. He bites—hard enough to make her gasp sharply—then soothes the sting with a wide stroke of his tongue before sucking hard enough that the sound carries clearly across the water. His other hand cups the second breast, thumb dragging roughly over the nipple until it is just as tight and sensitive.

Heat pools between your legs, soaking into the fabric of your panties. You can feel every pulse of your clit.

“We have to look away” you say, voice thinner than it should be.

Rafayel’s head snaps toward you. His eyes are glassy. The flush on his face has spread down his throat. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

He doesn't deny it again. He just stares at you, breathing too fast, while the sounds from the pool keep going.

Future Rafayel has one hand between her legs under the water. You can tell by the way her hips roll, by the way one hand clutches the edge of the pool hard enough that the tendons stand out in her wrist. They are face to face, breathing the same air, mouths almost touching.

His voice has dropped into something deeper, colder, older—nothing like the playful tone from before.

“You're shaking already and I’ve barely touched you. All that teasing earlier, all that swimming past me with your eyes on my cock, and now you can barely breathe. Pathetic.” He pushes two fingers in without warning and her head falls back with a broken sound. “You spent hours winding me up and the second I take over you turn into this?”

She is breathless. He adds a third finger and his mouth stays right against hers as he speaks, mean and relentless.

“Your pussy is needy today. Every time I curl my fingers you clench like you’re trying to keep them inside. You’re not keeping anything. I'll take them out when I want to take them out. You’re just a hole that gets wet when I stop being kind. Tell me what you are.”

“Yours—”

“Not good enough. Try again.”

“Your hole— fuck— your wet little hole—”

“Better.” the word is sharp, almost amused. “You pushed and pushed and now you get the consequences. He curls his fingers and holds.

"I'm going to make you come like this first." His mouth at her jaw. Just his lips against her skin, speaking directly into it. "Then I'm going to put my mouth on you and do it again. While you cry." his thumb circles her clit "Because you're going to cry. We both know that."

She opens her mouth.

"Don't even think about it" he says.

She closes it.

"After that—" his fingers pull back slowly and push forward and she clenches and he makes a quiet sound of acknowledgment that is worse than anything else he's done so far, "—if I decide you've earned it, you get my cock." He pulls back just enough to look at her face "Understand?"

She can only nod, trembling.

His thumb circles her clit again.

Once.

Her thighs try to close but his hand is in the way.

Twice.

She grabs at his arm. Not pushing, just needing something to hold onto. He lets her. His fingers curl inside her at the same time, in an angle he's already learned, and the combination of it makes her vision blur at the edges.

"Stay with me,"

Three times.

She clenches hard around his fingers and makes a sound that is embarrassingly close to a sob and he groans in response, satisfied, his mouth dropping to the side of her neck.

"There it is."

Four times.

She comes apart so fast it surprises her, her orgasm hitting before she's braced for it, her whole body seizing around his fingers. He keeps his thumb exactly where it is, keeps the pressure steady, works her through every wave of it without speeding up or slowing down, just that same circle while she shakes against him and grabs at whatever she can reach.

He doesn't stop until she goes still.

Then he pulls his fingers out slowly and she feels the loss of them immediately.

He looks at his hand.

"One"

Heat throbs hard between your legs. You realize you are panting, mouth open, and that present Rafayel is close and his eyes keep dropping to your mouth and then to your future selves like he cannot decide which is more dangerous.

In the pool, Rafayel ducks under the water without another word.

Her hands slap against the edge, gripping so hard her knuckles go white. Her back arches. The moan that tears out of her is loud enough that anyone walking by would think she is dying. He stays under, the water moving in small waves.

She grabs the pool edge and tries to pull herself out. He pulls her back down.

She cums with a cry that cracks in the middle and leaves her trembling.

He surfaces slowly, eyes still that bright, unnatural blue. "Two"

He doesnt give her time to recover.

He hooks her knees over his elbows, lines himself up, and pushes in with one hard thrust that punches another broken sound out of her. He fucks her like he is trying to leave bruises on the inside, his mouth staying close to her ear the whole time, voice still mean and devastatingly effective.

“Dont look away, watch me use you.” He snaps his hips harder “You're already trying to milk me. Greedy. You’ve always been a greedy girl"

She can barely form words.

“You’re going to come on my cock and when you do, you’re going to say thank you like you mean it. If you don’t, I’ll stop and leave you empty. Clear?”

“Yes— clear— please don’t stop—”

“I wasn’t asking you to beg. I was telling you the rules.” He fucks her deeper, the water splashing over the edge with every thrust. “So the next time you decide to tease me for hours, remember how it ends. Remember how the sea god fucks the attitude out of you until all that’s left is this—open legs and a mouth that only knows how to thank me.”

The heat is now unbearable. You turn away because the combination of the wet filth of it and the way Rafayel is breathing beside you makes it hard to pull air into your lungs. Your thighs are pressed tightly together. You can feel how soaked you are, how every mean word from the pool seems to land directly between your legs.

A hand brushes yours.

You look down.

Rafayel is right there—close enough that the heat of his body sinks into your skin, close enough that the flush on his cheekbones is impossible to ignore. His eyes are fixed on your face. The lewd sounds from the pool keep washing over both of you—water, skin, broken moans, the low mean murmur of future him still talking, still fucking into her with the same rhythm, still telling her exactly who she is and how he is going to keep using her.

His fingers slide against yours, until the tips brush the edge of the white protocore still clutched in your hand.

Gravity disappears. You feel his hand tighten around yours and the two of you are pulled hard into a sudden, familiar freefall.

It ends the same way it started, without warning.

You hit something warm and solid at the same time Rafayel does. The impact knocks the air out of both of you. But you are not side by side.

You are on top of him.

Your knees bracket his hips. Your hands have landed on either side of his head. His are on your waist, fingers spread like he grabbed for you mid fall and never let go. The white protocore slips from your hand and dissolves into the air. His chest rises and falls hard under yours. His eyes are wide and dark and too close.

The flush on his face from earlier has not faded. If anything it has gotten worse. Up close you can see the way his pupils are blown, the way his throat works when he swallows. You can feel every place you are touching. The press of his stomach against yours. The unmistakable hardness that is currently pressed against the inside of your leg.

He notices the exact second you notice.

The ocean keeps making its usual sounds like nothing has happened, like the two of you did not just watch his future self get his soul sucked out through his dick.

“Raf—”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes like that will help. “Don't say anything. Dont move. I am hanging on by a thread"

You can feel the thread, currently throbbing against your thigh.

“You’re hard,” you say, because someone has to acknowledge the extremely obvious.

“Yes. Thank you for the live commentary. I was hoping we could both pretend the last twenty minutes did not happen and that I am not currently one deep breath away from doing something we will both have to live with for the rest of our lives.”

“We just watched—”

“I am aware of what we watched.” His eyes open again. They are fixed on your mouth. “Future me is a menace. Future you on her knees is a menace. The entire afternoon has been a coordinated attack on my ability to act like a functional person.”

You shift slightly and the movement drags you directly over the hard line of his cock. His fingers dig into your waist hard enough that you feel the shape of every single one.

His eyes keep dropping to your mouth and then forcing themselves back up.

“This is your fault,” he mutters. “You and your ‘let’s go for a walk’. I was having a relaxing day on my couch and now I have the memory of my own co—”

He cuts himself off.

“Rafayel.”

“What.”

“You’re still holding me.”

You can feel the damp spot between your legs, still lingering from everything you watched. Every inhale presses your chests together. Every exhale makes the space between your mouths smaller.

“If you kiss me right now I am going to let you. And then I am going to hate both of us for doing it on a public beach with sand in places sand should never be. So please, for the love of every unfinished painting in my studio. Do not.”

You don't kiss him but you also don't move off him.

His eyes are so dark they look almost black. You can feel the exact shape of his cock now and the way it jumps when you move your weight even a fraction.

A shadow falls over both of you.

Someone clears their throat.

“Am I interrupting?” Thomas asks, voice flat with exhaustion that only comes from managing Rafayel for years, “or is this the new method for meeting deadlines?"

He stands a few feet away with a folder under one arm. He looks from Rafayel's face to yours and then back to him again.

“You weren’t answering your phone. Again. The gallery has three collectors asking about the new pieces and I was informed—by you, last week—that they would be finished by today.” Thomas’s eyes drop briefly to where your knees are still bracketing Rafayel’s hips.

“I have been having a medical event,” Rafayel says through his teeth. “A very private medical event that is currently being made less private by the second.”

“You’re on the beach. On top of each other. In public. Do either of you need a hand up, or should I come back in ten minutes with a a plausible deniability statement for the local press?”

Rafayel’s hands finally leave your waist like they have been burned. You scramble off him, heart still hammering, face hot. He sits up slowly, carefully angling his body so the evidence of the last few minutes stays hidden behind one bent knee. His hair is a disaster. There is sand on his cheek. The flush is still there.

Thomas looks between you both one more time, then pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m going to pretend I saw nothing” he turns and starts walking back to Rafayel's home without waiting for an answer.

Rafayel stares after him for a long second. Then he drops his face into his hands and lets out a muffled sound.

You sit there in the sand beside him, trying very hard not to think about the way his voice sounded when he told you not to kiss him.

He stands up carefully, brushing sand off his pants and offers you a hand without quite meeting your eyes.

“Come on. Before Thomas comes back”

You take his hand.

It is warm.

He does not let go right away.

When he realizes he is still holding it he drops it and starts walking, deciding the only way to survive this afternoon is to pretend, pretend none of it happened and that he doesn't need a very cold shower.

You follow him and watch the back of his neck stay pink the entire way.

THE LAST PART FOR THIS SERIES IS VALKO, BUT FIRST NERD! ZAYNE (SYLUS) 😈😈😏

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Zayne

Xavier

Sylus

Rafayel

Valko

chuu's note: xavis one lowk something I did when I was interstate... I would bother my friend who was the floor beneath cos I didnt have enough bread lol (we usually got 1 loaf and split it bw each other cos we were saving money)

© kurapikapikachuu | Please do not feed any of my work into AI. Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3 lots of love, chuu!

“y-yes, use me.” His hand comes up to your chin, grip trembling as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss, your lipstick smearing across his mouth. Your wedding dress is bunched at your waist, layers swallowing your husband-to-be as he pistons his hefty dick into you from below. You grind down into him, fingers tangled in his slicked-back hair, holding him there.

“hah—! how are you deeper than before?” you mewl, face in his neck, sucking marks into his heated skin. “can feel you s’deep…”

“you can, can’t you?” he bites back a sound only for it to rip through as a whimper. Your hot, gummy walls spasm around the whole of his length and his hand spreads across your back, holding you flush to him as his hips falter.

His cock twitches inside you before stilling. “on second thought, stay still.” he pulls away. “Let me move. We can’t have you getting too hot.”

He’s moving before you can nod. And all you can do is clutch him tight while his cock grinds into your cervix at each long stroke of his. Your knees dig into the strong muscles of his thighs.

“mmfuuck—!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut.

“spread your legs. We’ll ruin your dress.” His legs part, guiding you wider for him. and somehow, it gives him enough leverage to pull out of you alllll the way out and then bury himself to the hilt, dragging his thick cock over every sensitive inch of your walls in lewd schlick schlick schlicks despite the layers.

His hand disappears in your dress, fingers brushing over the lace garter around your thigh and then higher to part your soaked folds.

“w-wait I’m gonna cum.” You tell him. his pace grows desperate.

“mngh… don’t worry,” he pants, losing whatever composure he had left. “I am too.”

His thumb finds your clit, moving through your slick—down to your hole—where your puffy pussy lips are stretched around him to the limit—and back up to the throbbing bud.

waves of heat roll over your body as you cum with a silent cry. You feel him jump in you, balls tightening against your ass. “finish in me,” you tell him.

He lets out a strangled moan—unable to muster up the composure to protest—spurting jets of warmth in you, pumping you full of his load. Your spasming cunt wriiings out every last drop of release.

He pulls your face close to his, nose bumping with yours as you come down together. He places a small, shy kiss on the bridge of your nose.

“shall we go get married now?”

CALEB XIA ☆

It was supposed to be right. And it was—on paper. It was a wedding ripped right out of the cheesy dramas you binge. except. Your hair didn’t get the memo. Your bridesmaids sat helpless while you handled it in tears—only to toss the curling wand away.

“heyy, what’s wrong?” caleb invites himself in the room. The women step out immediately.  Screw the not-seeing-the-bride-before-the-wedding bad luck. This was bad enough.

You sniffle, pressing your face into his chest. “caleb it’s all falling apart…” you look up at him with teary eyes and before you can even stop yourself, your lips crash against his.

“fuck baby—you’re extra soft today, mm?” his long cock pummels into you. his hand reaches down, peeling away a layer of your dress. “hold it up f’me, pips.”

You’ve clutching the thick layers against your chest like your life depends on it while your fiancé absolutely obliterates your leaky cunt one thrust at a time. “s-slow down ‘leb…” you whimper, back arched like a bow for him.

“slow down? how do you plan on making it on time to our wedding?” he chuckles, leaning down to spread your swollen, slick coated pussy lips to reveal your pulsing little bud for him. he drools at the sight. And doesn’t let it go to waste. His warm spit lands on your aching bud, trickling down to mix with the juices you ooze out.

He watches the way your poor, overstretched cunny still manages to swallow him—and god he knows he’s too big for you but look at you. tears prickling at your eyes, whimpering under him dressed in white to be married to him. how on earth did he get so lucky?

“m’so clooose—!” you whine, thighs attempting to press together.

“good god, pips. Y’look so pretty round my cock…” he groans. His hand curls around your thighs hiking it up, letting his fat cockhead drill its way into your sinfully soft channel. His thumb brushes against your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, making you yelp beneath him.

it doesn’t take long for you to finish, clamping around him in wet pulses that his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Still, he keeps moving. He keeps pounding you through that vision blanking orgasm, until you’re practically sobbing under him.

“mmf—please… s’too much—hic!” and still, you make no attempt to escape. You’re exactly where you want to be—your overstimmed pussy being bullied into another orgasm.

“jus’ like that, keep clamping baby. I’m right there…” he pants, leaning down to kiss a tear away. “you’ll let me cum in you, right? Let caleb stuff you full?”

“y-yes! yes please—oh?!” His dirty talk alone tips you over the edge again, milking him for his release. And he does. Ropes after ropes after ropes of hot, creamy cum pumping into your pussy.

And when you finally calm, he gathers your hair, fixing it into an elegant low bun—murmuring quiet “thank you”s through sniffles for marrying him.

XAVIER SHEN ☆

“I couldn’t sleep either.” You jolt at your fiancé’s voice behind you. You’re ecstatic. And in that excitement, you were dressed and ready before time. In 5 hours, the wedding you dreamed of begins. an early morning ceremony, walking the aisle under stars, sealing it with a kiss as sunlight finally breaks.

The venue lies hushed as you stand together on the balcony, gazing down at the flowered arch where you’ll soon be married.

“xav—ngh!” you grip the railing harder. Your pussy moulds so perfectly around your fiance’s cock, stretched obscenely wide.

His hand reaches around your throat to tip your chin up to have you watch the place you’d soon say vows at. “a-are you sure this will help you sleep?” his voice sounds too normal for his actions.

He’s nearly jackhammering into your velvety hole, causing it to squelch and ooze more of your love juices down your thighs. His foot nudges your legs farther apart, the need to drill deeper into you consuming him enough to bury his face in your hair and groan low.

“mmhm, mhm ye—ah!” you nod, hips pushing back to meet his deep pounding. “don’t want eye bags.”

By the pace at which he’s ramming into your pussy heat, you can already imagine it—imagine yourself walking toward him with shaky legs, his cum still leaking down your thighs. Fuck. There’s no way you were going to clean up after your session. Your legs are quivering at this point, held apart only by his knee.

“alright,” he murmurs, halting entirely. You bite back a whine. “keep them pressed if you want it that way.” He pulls out. His fingers find your gaping hole, two plunging in to coax out translucent strings of your arousal and his pre cum, smearing it between your thighs. And that’s when you feel the fat head of his cock again—pushing its way where your plush thighs press the tightest, and yet, making sure that your swollen clit isn’t left out.

“you keep looking at the arch,” he leans in, one of his hands guiding his cock between your syrupy slit. Your thighs press harder. You’re so close but there’s no way you’re cumming empty like this. He lets out a chuckle, soft enough to be mistaken as innocent. “are you going to cum to the thought of our wedding?”

He breaches your puffy lips again, sliding in with ease with the lewd amount of slick gathered there. “filthy girl… I’m right.” His hand presses down on your lower back, arching you for him as he buries himself balls-deep.

“oh! Hic—just… just let me cum, already!” you clamp around him, all the obscene ideas making your pussy walls stir.

Xavier’s fingers spread your ass cheeks for him and he sinks deeper than ever. You let out a choked sob—very close to rutting your needy clit against the glass if he keeps you on edge any longer. “it’s okay. I’m thinking of that too,”

He pinches your clit once and that has you creaming around his pulsing length. Your pussy clamping around him like heartbeat has him finishing too, keeping you plugged like that for a moment until you come down from the high.

“there’s no way I can sleep after this,” you pout. Xavior huffs out a fond laugh behind you.

“pfft okay, we’ll take a long nap together after the wedding,”

RAFAYEL QI ☆

You wanted to give him something unforgettable for your wedding—something truly special, because he’s been certain about marrying you for as long as you can remember. No exaggeration. And you knew simple nudes wouldn’t cut it.

Until an evil idea pops in your mind. You were no stranger to his “bride kink”. So why don’t you just play with that?

“fuckfuckfuck cutiieee,” he whines pathetically.

his eyes are snapped shut. All he can do is push his stuttering hips flush against yours, feeding your leaking cunt more of his stout inches—all while holding your dress as far away as he can from the mess. Your hole pulses, dribbling out a mixture of your cream and his pre cum that his angry red head can’t stop spilling.

“mngh you’re suuuch an angel—hah!” he grips your thighs, holding them apart as he destroys your overstimulated cunt. “such an angel for letting me fuck this pretty pussy in your wedding dress babymmff—”

He’s made you cum several times—on the pink muscle in his filthy mouth, his slender fingers and even on his pretty cock. And yet, he hasn’t finished once—holding back for lord knows what.

“ra-raf s’enough already!” you whine. It only spurs him more—he buries himself to the hilt, nudging your spongy spot, now swollen from his cruel overstimulation. “we’re gonna be late. Just cum!” your hips chase his as he pulls back and then with a lewd schliiick, slides back home.

“I know I know,” he rasps out too quickly. He’s flushed, dazed. Delirious. And god help you, it’s pushing you closer to that delicious edge. “wanna hold it out. Wanna tattoo the patterns of your pussy walls onto my dick,”

You let out a groan at that, walls fluttering around him in response. He starts moving once again. long brutal strokes, massaging you perfectly, warming you for yet another orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum…” you tell him, your hand coming down to rub your clit. He frowns before swatting your hand away with a pout, replacing it with his.

“me too,” he says fucking finally. “m’gonna fill my pretty little bride up.” he angles his cock to your sweet spot, making you cum so hard that you see stars.

“ohhh baby fuck—!” he groans deep, hips faltering as he spills into you. “take my cum, my pretty bride. Love feeding your womb…” he pumps his load into you, as deep as your body can take it. Until he begins to melt—

you nearly kick him away before he can start again.

“ow! What was that for?” he looks down, momentarily admiring the trail of white dribbling from your hole before he jumps to his feet.

“uh-oh uh-oh!” he grabs a rag and cleans you up in time.

And later, as you walk down the aisle toward him, you both can’t stop breaking into ugly, snotty laughter at the memory.

SYLUS QIN ☆

“boss lady!”

“boss-man’s back!”

The only downside to marrying the leader of Onychinus was the interruptions—even on your wedding day. You believed Sylus when he said you wouldn’t have to dirty your dress over “pests,” that he’d handle it himself. Still, that didn’t stop you from pacing, restless as you waited for him to return.

“how scandalous,” he lets out a rumble of laugh as you fuck yourself on his impossibly fat dick. “my fiancé ravaging her husband-to-be while our guests outside wait for us to be wed,”

“consummating our marriage before we’re even ma—"

“mmffuck! B-be quiet, sylus.” His cockhead brushes against your sweet spot and you keep him there, grinding.

His fingers hook under the blindfold to see that fucked out expression on your face that only his dick manages to poke out of you. “do-don’t! keep it on.” You swat his hand away. He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I can’t see you before the ceremony but you can fuck me? you’re only following rules that are conveni—” you silence him with a kiss, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip. He hisses, before kissing you fervently, holding you still as he pistons his cock into you, just where you want it. You sob into his mouth—all which he happily swallows.

He flips the two of you. “sylus don’t take it—”

“mm im hurt, kitten. do you truly think i need to see you to fuck you proper?” with that, he’s dragging you to his hips, sheathing himself back into you.

“sy o-oh!” your voice cracks as you let out a scream—too far gone to care about the people murmuring outside. “m’gonna cum,”

Sylus leans down, his hot breath fanning over your temple. “I know you were worried. But we are getting married.” He promises, his pace slowing to deep, long thrusts—still managing to knock the air out of your lungs. You sob out, nodding in agreement. “right after I make you cream,”

His hips slam into yours, each thrust punching out choked sounds out of you. his fingers find your clit, gathering all that syrup you’ve dribbled for him. and ohhh the way he touches you down there is nothing short of obscene. A stark contrast to your perfect, innocent white wedding dress you’re getting fucked in.

He massages your pussy lips, fingers moving from your wide-stretched hole, to your clit and back down. he parts your slit only to close your puffy pink lips back around his length as he spears into you with reckless abandon.

Your back feels like it snapped in two as you finish, chanting his name. one more thrust into your juicy, quivering hole has him pumping his thick load into you.

“am I to marry you in this?” he plays with the edge of the cloth over his eyes, still huffing.  

“touch it again and you will,”

"You're being loud again" he murmured, his mouth at your ear "Someone is going to hear you"

"Fuck—" You tried to move your hips and his free hand pressed flat against them and held.

"Look at me."

Dark eyes, completely steady, watching your face with focused attention, like he had been doing it all night and had not yet found it boring.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked

"Nonono, don't stop," you begged"Please don't—"

He drove into you slowly and whatever you were going to say next didn't happen.

He had looked so different last night.

Five hours ago you were sitting at a bar nursing a lime soda, trying to remember what your own name was.

Four days of cardiovascular pathology pre reading. Four days of arterial diagrams and a highlighter that had run out on day two but you'd kept using anyway out of spite, leaving faint colorless streaks across pages you were probably going to have to re read again. Your shoulders were practically locked in a perpetual knot and your brain probably had the texture of wet cement.

You just needed one hour. One hour of not being a medical student.

The bar was quiet, three blocks off campus, a place that played jazz badly enough that nobody stayed for too long. You'd ordered a lime soda because you had an eight AM class tomorrow and because the last time you'd had gin on a weeknight you'd shown up to pharmacology smelling like a bad decision and your study partner had not let it go.

You were two sips in and staring at nothing when someone sat down two stools over.

Dark coat, slightly too nice for the bar. Hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. He ordered a neat scotch, barely touching it, staring straight ahead like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He looked reserved, painfully polite when the bartender handed him his glass.

The jazz got worse.

"They really committed to the trumpet," you said, to the space between you. "I'll give them that."

He looked over. Startled, like he'd forgotten the bar had other people in it. Then something relaxed in his face and the corner of his mouth moved.

"The commitment is admirable," he agreed. "The execution is another matter."

His voice was a little rough at the edges, like it hadn't been used much today.

"First time here?" you asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You ordered the scotch and their scotch is really bad. Regulars know not to order it."

He looked down at his glass and then yours. "You're drinking lime soda."

"I have class at eight tomorrow."

"So do I."

"Then you're also going to regret the scotch."

"Probably." He didn't drink it. Just turned the glass slightly on the bar. "Is the lime soda better?"

"It's better than you'd expect for this price.” You held out your glass. "Try it."

He looked at the glass. Looked at you.

"Just a sip." You held it closer. "I'm not contagious."

He took the glass. Tried it. "That's better than I expected."

You took the glass back. "The jazz is awful but some drinks are good."

He almost smiled. Properly this time.

An hour later you'd discovered he was also in medicine and wouldn't say more than that. He wasn't shy exactly, more like someone who'd gotten used to not being asked.

You'd ordered another lime soda. He'd switched to water.

An hour later, outside, the night air felt cold, you stood on the sidewalk and looked up at him and the reasonable thing would have been to say well, nice talking to you and go home to get eight hours of sleep before the first day of a very important class.

"My apartment is two blocks from here"

He looked at you for a moment. "Okay"

The quiet reserved man who'd looked startled when you spoke to him lasted approximately as long as it took your front door to click shut behind you.

After that he was something else entirely.

He had your back against the hallway wall before you'd turned the light on, his hands finding your waist like he knew where they were supposed to go, mouth coming down on yours with a deliberateness that had nothing shy about it. He took his time. He was methodical in a way you hadn't been expecting and couldn't have prepared for, working through every response, adjusting, applying what he learned.

He kept you up until early morning. Multiple times. Your voice was gone by three AM, your thighs were shaking by four, and by five you'd stopped being surprised by anything he did.

By six you'd finally fallen asleep, briefly, against his shoulder.

--------

7:15am

"Zayne! Zayne, stop."

"Mmmm"

"I have class at eight. I cannot be late."

"You still have time"

His hips keep a slow rhythm, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His eyes are dark and heavy lidded, completely unbothered by the time.

"I have forty five minutes and I need to shower and find my notes and eat something and I haven't peed since like three AM and I'm not getting an UTI because of you—"

"Just a little more," he whispers, lips brushing against your throat.

"I'm serious," you whine, though your body betrays you, arching up against him instinctively as his grip on your hips tightens. "I can't miss this. It's my first day of —"

"Shh," he cuts you off softly, leaning down to capture your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp before his mouth slides down to your collarbone. "Five more minutes. You're fine. It feels too good to stop now."

"Zay—"

"Look at how wet you still are" he shifts his angle, hitting the exact spot that makes your brain turn to mush.

He rolls you over, pulling you back against his chest, his hand sliding down between your thighs while he fucks you from behind. The friction feels dirty and intoxicating. You bury your face in your pillow to stifle a scream when he fucks you harder, his breath heavy against the back of your neck. He holds you so tight against him that you can feel every single beat of his racing heart against your spine.

Twenty minutes. He ruins you for another twenty minutes, bringing you to a shattering, body shaking orgasm that leaves you breathless and tangled in the damp sheets. When he finally cums, he buries his face in your hair, his heavy body pressing you into the mattress as he lets out a ragged exhale.

Then, he lazily rolls over to his side, reaching for his watch.

7:42 am

He freezes.

​You turn your head slowly, watching as his brow furrows, eyes staring at the watch face. He blinks once. Twice.

​"What time is it?" you ask, voice cracked and hoarse.

​"It's 7:42"

​"Holy shit!" You sit up too fast and immediately regret every single decision you'd made in the last eight hours. You rip the covers off, almost falling out of bed as you scramble across the floor. "I'm going to be late! I'm going to be so fucking late!"

Zayne sits up rapidly "Where is my shirt?"

"I don't know." you are already across the room, yanking the closet open, pulling out the first things your hands touch. Jeans. Fine. Sweater. Fine. Socks, where were your socks? you had socks last night!

"Bathroom?" he asks.

"Through there, use whatever you need, just—" you are hopping on one foot getting into your jeans. "Don't use my toothbrush."

A pause from the direction of the bathroom. "I'm not going to use your toothbrush."

You grab your tote bag and start throwing things in. Notebook. Textbook —heavy, unnecessarily heavy, why were medical textbooks built like weapons?. Laptop. Charger. Pen. Another pen because you always lost the first one. Your student ID.

Zayne comes out of the bathroom, his clothes back on and his hair slightly damp. He lookes unfairly composed for someone who had approximately the same amount of sleep as you.

He opens his mouth.

"I have to run," you say, grabbing your keys. "Pull the door shut when you leave, it locks automatically. Don't let anyone in if they knock. Don't—" you pause, calculating, "—actually if anyone knocks just don't answer, my neighbor borrows things and never returns them"

He is watching you with an expression you don't have time to interpret. "Wait—"

"I'm sorry, I have to—bye, thank you, the door—"

You are already in the hallway.

The stairs take thirty seconds. The cold air outside hits you and you break into a run, bag bouncing against your hip, five blocks to the medical campus, the textbook inside the bag apparently made of fucking concrete.

Your thighs stage a formal protest around block two but you ignore them.

You hit the glass doors of the medical building at 7:58 and make it to Lecture Hall 3B with enough time to collapse into a seat in the middle row.

The clock ticks to 8:00.

You look up at the front of the room.

The podium is empty.

Other students are settling in, opening laptops, existing normally, having presumably slept normal amounts and done normal things last night. You push your hair back. Catch your breath. Tell your body to behave itself.

You pull out the textbook. Open it to chapter one. Anatomy and Hemodynamics of the Cardiac Muscle.

The door at the front of the lecture hall opens.

Quiet footsteps on the floor, the kind that don't rush. The room goes silent and a tall figure in a dark coat crosses to the podium and looks out at the room.

"Good morning."

You stop breathing.

That voice. You know that voice. It's the exact voice that called you good girl thirty minutes ago.

You lift your head from your textbook very slowly.

Dark hair, white shirt, perfectly buttoned, every button in the right place, no evidence of the last eight hours anywhere on him.

He reaches up and adjusts his glasses.

His eyes move across the room, row by row, and when they reach the middle section they find you immediately.

You watch him breathe.

Just once. Just a short arrested thing, his eyes stopping briefly on your face, your very flushed, still slightly out of breath face.

He clears his throat once.

"I'm Dr. Li," he says, and his voice comes out perfectly even, not a single crack in it "And I will be your professor for Cardiovascular Pathology."

​You are so fucked.

Idea inspired by this 👇🏻🩷🩷. Will there be a scene like this? Yeah🤭

I know, I already have too many wips but I couldn't help it😭

zayne

theme: "we loved eachother in isolation"

the arctic had a way of preserving things. maybe because it was isolated from everything outside of it.

before linkon knew him as doctor zayne, before conference rooms and hospital wings and impossible schedules carved sharp edges into him, there had only been snowstorms, fluorescent station lights, and the two of you learning how to survive exhaustion together. love had settled quietly between shared gloves, untouched cups of tea left beside long reports, and the familiar weight of him asleep against your shoulder after thirty-hour shifts.

you loved each other in isolation. maybe that was never meant to last the test of time.

when he left for linkon, the distance arrived slowly. calls turned into postponed conversations. promises became apologies. somewhere between saving lives and becoming indispensable to everyone else, he forgot how to belong to anything that wasn’t work.

years later, he returns to the arctic for a research operation. and you are still there.

the station still hums the same way at night. the trails remain buried beneath snow. even now, when you hand him a pair of gloves without thinking, zayne takes them just as automatically. like no time has passed at all.

read here

xavier

theme: "you loved me while you waited for someone else"

you met xavier in the quiet hours between deadlines and sunrise.

midnight observatory dates, and silent campus hallways washed in fluorescent light. coffee gone cold beside open textbooks while the city disappeared beneath rain-streaked windows. he fit strangely well into those moments. quiet enough to disappear into them and lonely enough to linger.

you learned quickly that xavier liked small things. convenience store snacks after late lectures, listening to you ramble about collapsing stars, the feeling of your head falling against his shoulder during study sessions. around you, he laughed more softly. slept more easily. like loving you let him forget, briefly, that something about him existed slightly outside the world everyone else moved through.

with you, he almost seemed ordinary.

but there were gaps. stories that never lined up. an expression that crossed his face whenever you talked about the future, like he was mourning something before it had even happened. sometimes you caught him looking at you with unbearable tenderness, and all it did was make you feel strangely temporary.

years later, during a lecture in linkon, you look up from your presentation and find him standing at the back of the room.

still quiet. still watching you like starlight. and for one suspended moment, it feels like no time has passed at all.

read here

rafayel

theme: "i couldn't fit into your world"

before the galleries, the interviews, and the high elite society, there had only been the two of you in a cramped apartment that always smelled faintly of paint.

rafayel used to pull you into unfinished canvases with stained fingertips, laughing when you complained about getting color on your clothes while secretly leaning closer anyway. your world together was small then — late-night takeout, half-finished sketches scattered across the floor, quiet mornings where he painted sunlight across your skin like he was afraid to forget it.

then the world discovered him.

success arrived all at once. exhibitions, cameras, endless invitations. suddenly, everyone wanted pieces of rafayel, and he gave them freely, believing he was building something for your future together. meanwhile, you learned how lonely it felt to stand beside someone constantly being looked at without truly being seen. neither of you noticed the distance until it had already settled between you.

years later, at a gallery opening in linkon, you stop in front of a painting that feels painfully familiar. and somewhere across the room, rafayel notices you infront of it.

for the first time in years, his expression loses all composure. like some part of him never expected you to stand in his life in the limelight again.

coming soon

sylus

theme: "you were never supposed to survive me"

before people whispered sylus’s name like a warning, he was just a man who kept showing up at impossible hours with blood on his knuckles and exhaustion hidden beneath a smile.

you met him in the kind of places decent people avoided — smoke-filled clubs, back rooms lit in red neon, streets where everyone pretended not to notice violence as long as it wasn’t theirs. somehow, despite all of it, loving him felt easy. dangerous, maybe. temporary, definitely.

sylus loved intensely, like someone who had spent too long surviving to understand moderation. he remembered the smallest things about you. walked you home without asking. looked at you like the rest of the world disappeared whenever you laughed.

that was the problem. because eventually, people started realizing you mattered to him. after that came strange cars parked too long outside your apartment. unfamiliar numbers calling at night. the feeling of being watched. and then sylus changed — colder, crueler, suddenly determined to cut you out of his life with enough force to make sure you never looked back.

you hated him for it.

years later, you return to the n109 zone for reasons entirely unrelated to him. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. then across a crowded room, sylus sees you alive for the first time in years. and for one brief moment, the most dangerous man in the room forgets how to breathe.

coming soon

caleb

theme: "you never let me in"

you spent almost all four years of college trying to make caleb stay still long enough to build something permanent with you. not because he didn’t love you. that was never the problem.

caleb loved brightly and naturally. he remembered your exam schedules better than his own, brought you snacks during late-night study sessions, showed up outside your classes just to walk you home. he was brilliant without trying to be intimidating about it — the kind of person who could talk passionately about aircraft engineering one second and then grin sheepishly when he realized he’d been rambling for too long.

but there was always something untethered about him. caleb talked about the future like it was a horizon constantly moving farther away. even during your quietest moments together, you sometimes had the strange feeling he belonged more to the sky than to any single place with you.

and still, you tried. you built routines around him over four years of shared classes, library naps, campus festivals, and phone calls that lasted until sunrise. you kept hoping that eventually caleb would stop skimming past serious conversations long enough to let you fully inside.

instead, whenever things became too vulnerable, he smiled it away. a joke. a distraction. a gentle “don’t think so hard about it.”

and then there was her. she had always been in his life you accepted that when you first saw them together. but you didn't realize she was standing at the emotional center of his entire being.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. until it did. until missed promises became patterns. until you started feeling guilty for wanting more from someone who already gave you so much. until one terrible night forced you to realize you knew the truth staring you in the face all along.

years later, you return to linkon for a gathering you almost declined. caleb greets you like no time has passed at all. an easy smile, familiar voice, steady hands. but later, across the room, you catch him watching someone else speak to you. and for the first time all evening, his composure cracks.

coming soon

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