are you gonna hang up?

“look at me…” xavier’s voice is quiet but deep, laced with that raw dominance he so easily slips into during times like this.

“i said,” his fingers grasp your cheeks, forcing you gaze up to meet his. “look. at me.” his fingers below don’t stop pounding into you, curling with every thrust to make sure he hits your sweetest spot.

“yeah,” he whispered, ears flushing red at the ‘fuck me’ expression you have on your face. he cornered you in the dark kitchen half an hour ago, shirt half unbuttoned and cheeks flushed from sleep.

what started as him cuddling up to you, cooing about how he was missing you while you were gone all day, turned into him pressing a knee between your thighs, spreading you open while he slid his fingers inside you, watching how your legs trembled with the effort it took to keep you standing

“you look like it feels good.” he breathes against your lips, tickling your overheated flesh. “i can feel how good it’s making you feel down here,” he emphasizes his words with a strong curl of his fingers. “but now i can see it up here too. i like it.”

you gasp, gripping the edge of the table behind you. “xav—“ your eyes roll back in your head, back arching.

“mmmh, say that again. say my name again.” he moans, bottom lip pouting outward with his own arousal. he’s long made a mess in his pants, leaking pre into his boxers and staining them with the evidence of his need.

“xav,” you cry, bucking your hips into his hand. “i’m gonna—“

“yeah, i know.” xavier leans in and connects your lips, moaning into the kiss as he picks up the pace of his hand, thrusting harder, faster, hitting that spot over and over and— “i want to see you cum,” he whispers in that breathless, dark voice. “i want to feel you cum. please.”

you’re helpless to his plea’s, when he begs you so prettily while manhandling you below and above. his soft words are the sweetest contrast, making your head spin as you’re shoved off the edge and are sent careening into the bliss only he knows how to take you to.

xavier moans when you start strangling his fingers, his hand around your jaw drops to grip his own cock through his pants for some semblance of releif as you shake and twitch, back bowing into him so hard you have to grip his thick forarm to stay steady.

“just like that. i missed this,” he groans, stroking himself through his slacks a little. “you feel so good for me, and you look so pretty.”

you gasp, desperate for air when you come down. “s-shit.” your legs are shaking beyond belief, it’s a miracle you’re still standing at all. “xav… that felt… so good. missed you.”

“mmhm,” he agrees, slowing his fingers until you can hardly feel them curling. when he pulls them out, he watches every movement, enraptured at how wet his fingers are, how your pelvis jerks forward like you’re trying to keep him inside you.

Briefly, an old Navajo folklore about figures who can transform themselves into animals in order to seed discord and chaos comes to mind.

Skinwalkers?

Nightwalkers?

You can’t quite remember.

And yet, this little dog you adopted—named ‘Apples’ because you found him during fall, under a wizened apple tree—is the sweetest fur-ball to have ever existed.

Dark brown with white and honey-colored streaks in his coat, he had an affinity for nipping at your heels and licking your eyeballs when you were still half-asleep.

As another living being, Apples was the perfect companion out in these farms where you had no one but your breath and the taste of sweat to keep you company.

Shaking your head, you go back to the task at hand.

It’s another backbreaking day of farming.

After tilling the dirt, you whistle for Apples, calling out to him like the wind.

“Apples! Come hereeee boy!”

No response.

You put the shovel down and frown. It’s unlike your beloved pup to ever ignore your call.

Maybe he’s by the forest taking a nap?

That makes sense. Apples always did love to wander past the fences and take a snooze under the old apple tree you found him under.

Shrugging, you go back to your chores.

But, after an hour of no Apples, and thunder clouds brewing in the horizon, you decide to call it a day and head back into your cabin.

The scent of a roast you had going on the oven fills your cramped, but cozy space with the fragrance of red wine and sauteed garlic, making your mouth water.

Usually, Apples would be bounding around ecstatically when you open the oven door, eager to lap up any juices that accidentally spill from the pan as you transferred your meal to the table.

But, his absence makes you uneasy, and you set the hot sheet down, removing your mittens.

Heading straight to the back door that leads to the chicken coops, you swing it open, treading out into the muddy backyard.

“Apples?”

You weave past chicken coops, the soft sounds of your hens snoozing and clucking filling the air.

Your gaze scans the floor, hoping to find any indents of his paw prints in the soggy terrain, when you come to a hard pause.

Footprints.

Huge, distinctively human footprints with five toes, as if whoever created it was walking barefoot all around the backyard.

Your eyes follow the trail, heart in your throat. The wind picks up, whipping your hair around, grabbing at your clothes like invisible hooks, like its holding you back from discovering the truth.

Thunder, loud and powerful, claps directly above your head, and you nearly jump out of your own skin, muffling your shriek with a gloved hand.

Stilling your heart, you suck in a sharp breath and round the bend where the footprints disappear—right into your preservatives shed.

Fear, real and cold, pricks your scalp, running down your back.

You pick up the first item you find—a broken ax, and swing it nervously, reaching for the shed door handle.

…

Darkness diffuses across your vision, and you blink rapidly, trying to force your eyes to focus.

There’s barely a rustle.

But, something sinister lingers.

The air feels like someone is holding their breath—

You fumble for a light switch, and when brightness flickers upon the slate gray walls of the shed, you scream at the hulking figure standing butt-naked between the fermenting blackberries and raisins.

A man towers over the barrels of jam and wine, head bowed, eyes unfocused.

He jerks back at your shriek, gaze snapping up and meeting yours.

He bares his teeth.

In a flash of skin and muscle, he lunges across the room and slams your body into the wall, his hot, acrid breath fanning across your neck where he buries his nose into your pulse point, scenting you.

His thick head of dark hair fills your nose with the scent of musk and dog, your heartbeat hammering against your skin like a trapped hummingbird.

“No—!”

The man snarls and lifts you off your feet, the ax swinging to the ground as he drags you out. You’re no match for him; a head shorter, not enough strength in your muscles to fight him back when your body hits the ground.

He cages you with his strong arms, a wolfish gleam in his eyes as he dips his head down, burying his nose into your hair, against your cheeks and jaw.

For a second, you’re reminded of fluffy bristles—a rough tongue dragging across your face in the early dawn, cheerful yips when you finally open your eyes to a new day.

His name tumbles from your lips like a frozen teardrop.

“… Apples?”

The man freezes.

Turns his brilliant, unnerving violet eyes to devour your startled gaze.

“Y/N…”

He rasps, voice shaky, as if he can’t quite enunciate words yet.

The silver collar with the apple chain around the dog’s neck has transformed into a necklace, the tag hitting your chin when he tries to raise his head up.

The fear still beats in you like a real, raw thing, but its tempered by the horror that the strange pup you adopted… was actually a man all along?

What sick joke is this?

Skinwalker?

Or, a Nightwalker come to life?

As if reading your mind, the man groans and turns on his side, releasing his feral grip on you.

“I… don’t know what happened—”

Before he can finish, you lunge for the nearest rock, and smash it against his head.

Knocking him out cold.

A trickle of blood drips from his mouth into the freshly tilled soil, but you don’t have time to worry about anything else besides restraining this strange… creature.

Spare ropes from the tool shed is wound around his torso and arms. You summon enough strength to haul him back into the jam shed, tethering him to the wall so he has no way of escaping.

His manhood is right in your face, and mortified, you cover it with a piece of cloth.

That should do it.

Except, you’re not sure if it’s enough.

The need to survive is a very human thing, and right now, every fiber of your being is screaming at you to make sure this creature will outlive you, if you had a say about it.

It’s either you, or him.

The knife you keep close to your body is unsheathed, and you stalk over to the unconscious, bound man.

Now, that he’s out cold, you can take a proper, closer look at him.

Under the swinging fluorescent light, his angular features are the first thing you notice. Strong brows, a sharp jaw. Handsome, even.

God.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about him like this.

Focus! Your mind snaps back to the present, and you decide not to cut his throat open just yet. Instead, you sit down on the straw-strewn floor and keep watch. It must be hours that pass when he finally stirs. Your body is frozen from the shock of it all, and your weary eyes—it's now past midnight—flutter back into wakeful urgency.

The man who was also your dog once upon a time lolls his head, thick lashes quivering as one eye opens, and the next reveals semi-lucid violet pinpricks for pupils.

He catches sight of you, and his lip curls over his teeth.

You reach for your knife, showing him that you’re armed.

The man struggles in his bonds, but when he realizes you’ve knotted them expertly, he grunts, settling back against the wall.

“Who are you?”

Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t waver.

Maybe it’s the sudden burst of bravery you feel at having him all tied up in front of you—the false safety lulling your defenses.

The man quirks one, strong brow.

“Untie me first, and then I’ll tell you,” he rumbles.

You shoot him a distrustful look. Waving the knife threateningly, you take one more step closer to him.

“Who. Are. You?”

Despite his current situation, the man hybrid wolf-dog (?) smirks and shakes his head.

“Always so stubborn. You sure you don’t remember me, Pipsqueak?”

The world narrows down onto the curve of his lips; the earnest sheen of his gaze.

Pipsqueak. Pipsqueak.

The nickname goes off in your mind like a stray bullet, shocking you into a frozen stupor.

There was only one boy who ever dared call you ‘pipsqueak’ and get away with it alive. A boy with sunshine on his cheeks, a gap-toothed smile, and the faint constellations of freckles dusting his fair face and neck.

Caleb.

The disbelief rushes out of you in a single exhale.

“Caleb?”

He lifts his head, disarming you with a soft, warm smile.

“It’s me,” he says, no barriers—no fraud. Just pure, unadulterated warmth in his tone as his gaze softens to the point of remembrance. “I’m alive.”

Images flash in your head: sirens bouncing blue-red light off swampy trees, police taping off the area, a broken bike and a ditch beyond where a single boy was thought to have disappeared from the world.

You had spent hours awake with your grandma, waiting for grandpa to come home with news of Caleb’s reappearance. But, it’s as if the boy you grew up with—the one your grandparents took in because he was an orphan—had vanished into thin air.

The night before he left, you two were fighting over which cartoons to watch.

He wanted to catch up with his Tata The Pilot episode, while you insisted on tuning into the new season of My Life as Eva, desperate to know if the teenage robot girl had finally confessed her feelings to her human best friend, Andy.

Caleb had chased you around for the remote, and when you refused to give in—even weaponizing your tears against him—he stomped his foot and took his bike for a ride to clear his head.

You remembered how triumphant you had been.

Hah! I win! You had stuck your tongue out at him, parading the fact that you were finally better than Caleb the Cool Meanie.

I hate you, he blurted, stomping his feet straight to the big shed to pick up his rusty bike. And I don’t want to be your gege anymore!

At first, you had thought he was being dramatic. Every boy in your class couldn’t control their temper, so it made sense why Caleb would’ve lost his cool.

An hour of his silence turned into two.

There were no more episodes about teenage robot girls trying to fit into high school.

Grandma glanced worriedly at the phone. Grandpa reasoned that maybe he was at a diner cooling off, getting a milkshake on the house from the elderly waitress Lucy who was ever so fond of him.

One quick call to the diner—no, they hadn’t seen him.

He wasn’t at his best friend's house; Gideon’s mom didn’t see him ride down the road. The school attendant replied they didn’t see any sign of boys or bikes tearing across the field.

At that moment, it felt like your world was breaking apart at the seams.

Caleb, please come home, you had cried every night under your blankets. They had found his bike, but no Caleb. You can’t leave me alone like this—you can’t leave me, you dummy!

Even after grandpa passed on, and soon, grandma, they specifically stated in their will that they wanted to be laid next to his empty grave—to finally be reunited with the grandson they had believed to be dead for the past twenty over years.

And, here he is.

Tied up. Weary. Older.

Still Caleb.

The knife in your grip clatters onto the hardwood floor.

“No…”

Caleb lets you work through the emotions, the silence in this shed growing thick enough to cut with a blade.

Fear, confusion, anger, relief, worry, and elatedness coalesces over your face, your heart palpitating a mile a minute.

“… it can’t be.”

You drop to your knees in front of him. Gazing at him like he’s both a ghost, and a deity returned to the world.

“You… you’re alive?”

Caleb takes the opportunity to speak. “I am. It’s really me, Pips. Promise ya. You know I never break any of my promises.”

I promise you! His gap-toothed grin crosses your memories like an uninvited specter. When we grow up, I’ll marry you—no matter what Gran says!

“Caleb—”

He tries to catch you with his bound body as best as he can when you launch yourself towards him, arms fiercely wrapping around his neck and shoulders.

“Caleb. Oh, God. Caleb—”

You choke his name over and over again, as if saying it could make this moment feel less surreal.

His nose finds a home in your hair, his broad chest shuddering from the weight of scenting you again—peaches and vanilla.

Caleb never expected to have your fragrance stuck in his senses again, after years of being on the run in his hybrid form.

With a quick deftness that belies the tremble in your fingers, you untie him.

The second his bonds fall loose onto the hardwood floor, he’s gathering you in his strong arms. Kissing your forehead, nuzzling your shoulder.

It shouldn’t feel this bittesweet, but it does.

Unbidden, tears prick your eyes, and you sniffle.

“I thought you were gone—”

“I’m here now,” he interjects, shaking his head fiercely as his arms tighten around your quivering form. “I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.”

In the silence that follows, the two of you don’t say a word.

After a few moments locked in each other’s arms, you help him stand. He’s still stark nude, and you try not to let your eyes stray over his toned physique.

It seems that years of running in his wolf-dog form made him leaner than string beef.

Hotter, too.

You try to not let your thoughts stray in that direction.

Caleb leans heavily on you when you lead him back to the farm cabin. He doesn’t complain when you give him some of Gramp’s old clothes to wear after his quick shower, or when you awkwardly tell him he can take your bed while you’ll tough it out on the cramped couch. Nuh-uh, he’d shake his head. You keep your bed, Pips. Don’t worry about me.

During dinner, you finally get the chance to ask him that had happened all those years.

Caleb swallows the dry bite of bread, chasing it with some ginger ale, before delving into his tale.

I was riding my bike when I felt someone knock me off—a sharp bite on my shoulder. I woke up hours later, stuck in my wolf-dog form, and that’s how I’ve been till recently. When someone taught me how to shapeshift back. It’s how I found you—I smelled you even before I saw ya.

You lean back, inudated by the weight of his truth.

“Caleb… you’re telling me… you’ve been stuck as a dog for years?”

He hears the heartbreak in your question, and reluctantly nods.

“I promise ya, I'm fine.” He slips on an easy grin. “I’m back now. And I’m not going anywhere so don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.”

He pauses, taking a moment to look you over. There’s a softened look in his eye, one that’s equal parts nostalgic and awed.

“You brushed up pretty well, huh, Pips?” His smile practically glows. “Gosh, you’re gorgeous. Gramps and Gran would’ve been so proud of you.”

His honest compliment takes you aback, and heat spreads across your cheeks.

“Shut it,” you scold, though you’re pleased he’s still giving you this kind of attention. “Flattery isn’t going to get you out of weeding duty tomorrow.”

He flashes you a wolfish grin.

“Cruel. But, also, valid. I’ll wake up bright and early—bushy-tailed as a squirrel for you.”

This time, Caleb learns to keep his promise.

Sometimes, you think it’s a miracle he’s home.

But, then you catch snatches of the wolf behind the man—bloody prints near the forest edge. A rabbit left on your doorstep with its neck brutally broken.

You try to forget—ignore it.

He’s home.

He’s home, and that’s all that matters.

Strangely enough, news of a strange, new man in town reaches the grapevine, though the other villagers don’t dare approach the topic with you outright. To them, you’re still that same strange city girl who rolled up to the valley a few months ago, taking over your Gramp’s farm, and trying to restore it back to its former glory.

And, Caleb… well. He’s a distraction.

When he isn’t flashing his abs at you when wiping the sweat bulleting down his forehead, he’s sprawled on your couch, too long legs dangling off the arm, chewing on the end of his pencil as he tries to re-train his limbs and fingers to write and draw.

Somedays, he’d take a train to the next town over and come back with new plane models he got from a vintage toy sale.

Other times, the two of you would lay on the carpeted floor in front of the fire, trading stories and lullabies like fool’s gold, trying to bridge the gap that time had so cruelly tore between the two of you.

Life’s pretty good.

As good as it can be.

Until, one day, Caleb starts his first rut.

You’re out of town for a bit, travelling to a nearby port city to drop off some rare seeds when he wakes up with that sticky heat clinging to his bones.

Caleb shudders, rolling over, promptly face-planting onto your living room floor.

“Pips?” He rasps, but no reply comes.

Groaning, Caleb rolls onto his side, trying to shake off the fog that descends over his mind.

But, it doesn’t work.

By the time mid-morning rolls around, he’s made a mess of your sheets, burying his nose face first in your pillows, jerking his sticky, red raw cock till he’s shooting strands onto your blanket.

The torture of waiting for you to come home is agonizing. Caleb pants, fisting the thick base of his rock hard length, and tugging it, pre dripping from the overstimulated tip and dribbling down his wrist. Whining like a dog in heat, he licks at his own desperation, rutting his cock against your pillow, lost in the heightened scent of peaches and vanilla filling his nose.

Fuck, fuck—

A swooping sensation fills his stomach, like a stone sinking in the middle of a lake.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you find him like this.

But, he can’t stop.

Fuelled by animal instincts, and his ardent, incessant need to breed.

Caleb’s eyes flutter shut, and he pictures you on your knees, tongue out, begging for his cum.

You on your hands and knees, taking his knot like a champ, chanting for more, more, more.

It will never be enough.

He can never get enough of you.

The hard lines of his abs contract, and he cries out as another orgasm crests, threatening to spill.

The wet schlick, schlick of his palm working his stiff and sticky pole is the only thing that fills the silence, besides his heavy pants.

Caleb’s brow furrows, teeth catching on his lower lip.

He’s so, so close—

He doesn’t notice when the front door unlocks, or when you stand by the foot of the bed, hands on your hips.

He yips when you grab his neck, holding him back like an errant, naughty puppy who was caught red-handed in destroying his owner’s things.

“Pipsq—”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Caleb groans, face bright red and hot. “It’s not what you think—”

But, even he knows that’s a weak excuse. Not when your sheets are sticky with his cum and he’s butt naked with your pillow between his thighs.

“I can explain—”

You groan, taking in the sight of your soiled sheets and bedspread.

“What the hell did you do?!”

God, please just let the earth suck me up, Caleb prays as he meets your incredulous stare. “I… I’m going through a rut, and… and I need your help.”

Neither of you expected that last sentence to leave his lips.

He said it like a prayer, beseeching you with those wide, pleading eyes.

You reluctantly let go of his neck, and take a step back. For a second, you don’t speak, gears in your brain turning.

“What do you mean… help?”

As if the answer couldn’t be obvious enough. He’s staring at you, hard on pressed against soft cotton, and bare except for his shirt riding up, exposing the tense sliver of his abdomen.

“You want me to help with your rut?”

You repeat the question, wondering if you misheard him.

Caleb swallows, and you follow the hard bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Yeah,” he mutters, shaky yet firm. “I want your help.”

Softly, he adds: “Please?”

Please. Caleb has never asked for your help before with such earnestness. It was always the other way around—you needing him more than he ever needed you.

But, this new Caleb—this new figure in your life—relied on you more, if not wholly on you.

From re-learning human etiquette to providing for him while he got on his feet after almost two decades in his four-legged form, you’re suddenly confronted by the startling revelation that he needs you.

And, god forbid it, you want him to need you.

Need it like you need air to breathe.

Your body moves before your mind can process what comes next.

You loom over him, spine taut, eyes like wildfire. Caleb tenses when your hand reaches out to stroke his dark hair, like an owner soothing their agitated puppy. After a few tense moments, he learns to relax in your touch, eyes falling shut.

Until you grab a fistful of his locks and yank.

Hard.

His yelp bounces across the room, the delicate line of his throat exposed to your biting teeth. He groans, eyelids fluttering shut when you work a mark into the pale hollow of his neck, moaning when you taste his sweat and desperation.

Caleb’s hips jerk up, sticky tip brushing your thigh when you kneel between his spread legs.

The bed dips, a rising humidity permeats the air, smelling of his pheromones and the prickle of sweat dampening the back of your neck.

Despite your outwardly cool demeanour, you have no idea what to do next.

But, he’s looking at you with those wide, piercing baby purples, and you can’t disappoint him.

Glancing at the blushing pink rod between his legs, you hesitate for only a moment, before wrapping your fingers around the girthy circumference of his cock.

Caleb hisses, eyes rolling back into his skull. He’s sensitive.

An easy win.

Even though he’s dumped half of his load on your bed, he still has a backlog of more to go.

Pinning him to the bed is easy enough. He melts under your touch, a rough whine escaping his throat.

“Take off your shirt.”

Your silky command shoots a bolt of heat straight up his spine.

Caleb obliges, if only to earn that small, smug smile etched on your lips. He grinds out your name when your hot lips wrap around one of his stiff nubs, biting down on it and running your teeth over the tender bud.

He hisses when you start to jerk him off, hips rutting against the tight circle of your fist.

"Nghh! Fuck—”

Caleb gasps.

“D-Don’t stop.”

You don’t plan to.

His back arches, spine supplicant, and pushes his stiff pole deeper into the warm clutch of your fingers as if he’s desperately trying to fuck into your pussy instead of your hand.

Heat pools in your core, hot and thick.

You don’t know what compels you to wrap your hand around his throat, and he lets you. Gives into your dominant touch like you’re the air he breathes and he needs to gulp you down.

He’s a dying man and you’re his oasis.

Strong hands reach out to grab your hips, dragging you on top of him.

You look down into his teary, pleading eyes.

“Don’t stare at me like that or else I’ll get the collar and leash.”

You threaten, meaning it as a joke.

But to your surprise (and fascinated horror), Caleb’s cock throbs against your inner thigh. Smearing your skin with another pearly drop.

He whines.

“Please?”

You gasp when he brings your hand to wrap around his throat again.

A dizzying spell nearly drags you under.

He’s pleading… for you to leash and collar him?

It’s too much.

Just a few minutes ago, you were out collecting forage and now you have an overgrown wolf-dog hybrid of a man lying on come-coated sheets, grinding on your thigh like you’re his saviour and master wrapped in one—begging to come undone by a dominance you’re not sure you can give.

But, it’s Caleb.

It’s your Caleb.

The man who did your pigtails for you before school started. Who taught you how to ride a bike before his disappearance. Stood up for you in school when bullies started getting bold. If you couldn’t do something this easy for him—

You steel your nerves.

Suck in a sharp breath.

And, leave the bed.

He whines, about to sit up and follow, but you shoot him a sharp, cold look.

“Stay there.”

Retrieving a thick leash and collar from an old trunk—meant for a husky you never got to adopt—you walk back into the cabin, finding him put just as you commanded.

Caleb eagerly lets you collar him, the dark leather a stark contrast around his neck.

He plays nice, letting you think you’re in control.

When you grind down on him, hitching the hem of your skirt up, you miss that dark glint in his eyes.

The one that promises of a retribution after he’s done tearing your walls down.

Caleb groans into your neck when you tug him closer by his leash, his hot breath puffing on your sensitive skin raising goosebumps down your arms. Like you’re stuck in his blood, your lover eats you up, mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck and shoulder, your scent burning hot through his nostrils.

He knows you’re wet.

Can feel you seeping through the pathetic barrier you call your lace panties.

The tips of his claws contract around your plush thighs.

Even collared and leashed, he can’t fight back the animal wanting to rise and claim you.

From straddling his thighs, you’re twisted on your back, the air knocked out from your lungs.

Above you, his silver-teeth smile cuts through the gathering dusk.

“I’m sorry,” he groans, leaning in to run his rough tongue over your pulse point. “But, I’ve been waiting for you for a lifetime, and I can’t wait any longer.”

To your horror, sharp claws tear your clothes away. Leaving them scraps fluttering onto the cabin bedroom floor.

Caleb grunts when he holds you down, the leash you put on him dangling uselessly in your face.

“Caleb, no—”

Your hands, feeble, weak—human—try to push him away to slow him down.

But, he’s relentless, gathering your wrists and pinning them above your head. Caleb snarls, hot and acrid, and spreads your thighs wider with his other clawed hand. In this light, he looks more beast than man, and when his teeth sink into your shoulder, your cry mingles with his muffled howl—and you know.

You know he’s not in his right mind.

That he might hurt you.

So, why aren’t you afraid?

Crowding you onto the bed with his much larger frame, he groans, licking the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he chants, over and over again as he lines up his cock to your entrance. “I tried to fight it off—” The two of you gasp when his plump, swollen tip breaches your folds. “—but I can’t.”

His apologies peter out into a pathetic whine.

“I need you,” he licks a strip from your neck to your jaw. “I always did. Always. You make me human—”

“Caleb, stop!”

He isn’t fazed by your denial—your insistence on pushing him away when it’s obvious the two of you need each other. He can smell it in your pulse, in the blood rushing south and secreting your pheromones and wetness into the sheets, the maddening scent of you wafting through the air like siren song.

Forgive him. Forgive him for what he’s about to do—

“I’m sorry—”

The pain from his teeth sinking into your shoulder to leave behind his mark makes you scream loud enough to shake the windows.

Pain—hot, unadulterated pain—seeps through your skin, burning like a thousand cuts by glass shard.

“NO—!”

Your scream is cut off by his lips smothering yours. Caleb lets you bite down on his lower lip—hard enough for you to taste his blood.

Just when you think it’s too much—that you can’t take anymore of the agony any longer—it fades abruptly. Replaced by a simmering heat that’s rising into a dull, aching throb between your legs. Without noticing what he’s done, you’re stretched out around him, his cock settling into you to the hilt.

He’s still, licking at the mark he created on your shoulder.

You want to scream at him. Curse his name to the high heavens.

But, he’s dragged you down to hell and you seem to be enjoying it.

An experimental roll of your hips. Caleb curses into your neck.

“Pips, if you keep this up—”

You grow bold enough to yank his leash, cutting off his words.

"Just shut up and fuck me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Caleb sets a rhythm that has your entire body quaking, your nails stabbing into the blankets.

He’s relentless. Unforgiving.

Every bruising snap his hips batters your cervix, and the pain should’ve turned you off, but instead you’re soaking up the sheets under you even more.

It’s lewd. Shameful.

It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more.

Throwing back to meet him in the middle. The hot, fat tip of his cock catches on your slippery entrance. He cusses, low and hoarse, grasping the base of his enormous prick and swirling the sticky head on your clit, slapping it against the tender nub.

Twack. Twack.

“You’re close,” he pants into your ear, slipping back into your shivering walls.

The sharp nails of his claws tickle the underside of your breast. He pinches one nipple hard enough to make you squeal.

Caleb’s spittle lands on your shoulder, his tongue quick to lap it back up.

“Gonna fill you with my pups,” he groans, rutting his hips harder. The bed creaks under his relentless thrusts. “Make you all round and full and glowing with so many babies you’ll have your hands full with ‘em.”

He growls, the idea of you pregnant and glowing because of him, makes him throb harder.

Close to spilling.

You’re no better.

Arching your back, yowling like a cat in heat.

His brand shines on your shoulder, a gleaming medallion of his claiming.

Caleb can’t stop nuzzling his bite mark on your skin. Licking at it.

He’s no better than a rutting, panting dog eager to breed its mate.

The leash in your hand becomes an anchor rather than a deterrent to his actions.

A sign than even though he wears your collar and lets you tug on the leather strap when your body heaves in pleasure, it’s him who’s in control and not the other way around.

He’ll always have the upper hand. Always.

Ever since the two of you were kids, ever since he’s proclaimed himself as your protector.

That he’s stronger than you, faster than you, bigger than you—Caleb remains at the top.

Your lover, friend, and brother figure all in one.

His hands continue to roam down your body, sharp claws catching on your skin.

Faint lines throb and snake your skin, indents of where he had gripped too hard. Bruises from his kisses paint your back and the sensitive strip of your neck.

He’s leaving his mark on you every way that he can.

The rough, linen blanket rasps roughly against your tight buds and clit, adding another layer of sensation bringing you closer to your reckoning.

Let go, he murmurs into your hair.

Let go and come for me.

The order is implicit—let go and be mine.

You do.

And, you do it beautifully.

Caleb grasps you by the neck, tipping your head up to swallow your hot moans as your body tightens around his.

“That’s it,” he growls, snaking a hand between your thighs to beat you off while you convulse and shake around him. “Come for me—show me who this sweet body belongs to.”

Without a shred of shame, you wail: “You!”

The deal is sealed.

Your body is now his to own, protect and play with.

In a strange, ritualistic mating sense, you’re his.

Whatever forces turned him into a dog hybrid have snared you in their trap, bound to his side as his mate for life.

Caleb already knew this. You’re just starting to find out.

What happens next is a blur: Hours of being folded and fucked in multiple different positions. Till evening turns to night and you’re delirious and begging for him to slow down.

Caleb relents, only half-heartedly, grabbing your hips and stilling for a second so you can catch your breath.

“You still with me, Pips?”

Barely, is what you wanted to answer him. Instead, you groan.

He gazes down at you—sweat-slicked, hair mused, body trembling.

A flash of masculine pride runs down his spine.

He’s wrecked you real good and he’s not afraid to do it again.

Turning you on your back, he’s gentle this time when he slides back in; your body loosened and slippery enough for him to settle to the hilt without much resistance.

The leather strip of the leash dangles over your face, and tiredly, you tug it to pull his face closer.

Caleb chuckles against your lips at your messy, needy kiss.

“Talk to me—you up for another round?”

Your answer is another soft groan. “… are you trying to make me paralyzed from the waist-down?”

That gets an unexpected bark of laughter from him.

"S’not that bad—”

“Look,” you whine and point to your toes. “I can’t even wiggle them!”

Caleb chuckles indulgently and leans in to boop your nose with his. “Drama queen.”

You scoff. “Am not—”

Your argument catches in the back of your throat when he starts to move again. Just like before, he claims you thoroughly, till only his name lingers on your lips.

As night falls and the valley goes to sleep, Caleb finally loses steam and slumps on top of you.

His large, warm hand sweeps across your belly, bulging slightly from the weight of his come, and he presses a tired kiss to the crook of your neck.

“You’re amazing.”

“And, you’re a beast,” you murmur, eyes sticky with fatigue.

He chuckles and kisses your cheek. “Guilty as charged, Pips. Now,” he gently disentangles you from under him, tugging close to his chest where his warmth and comfort permeates your weary bones.

“—go to sleep. I’ll be here when the sun rises.”

A promise from before, when you thought he would never leave you; now one that he fully intends to keep for the rest of his days:

“I promise you’ll see me every day when you wake up.”

— comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3