‧₊˚✩彡I'm not sure why you are here, but welcome! Foodie, ENTJ, She/Her, Mixed Race, Korean born, Texas raised smut writer. I'm a natural flirt and I'm not sorry about it.
THIS IS MY ONLY TUMBLR. I ALSO ONLY HAVE 1 Ao3 ACCOUNT.
18+ only. Minors in this space are not welcome and will not be tolerated.
‧₊˚✩彡 Love and Deepspace Obsessed Zayne Main, but I fuck with them all. I have 2 hands, 3 holes and a bunch of talent.
‧₊˚✩彡When I made my Ao3 account I decided on 3fingers_of_scotch as in a 3 finger pour of scotch whiskey because I guess I was feeling like a pretentious ass nugget. Also my first 5 choices of username were taken. Maybe I panicked.
‧₊˚✩彡I do take commissions, but don't have a process for requests. I reserve the right to decline commissions and prioritize my own passion projects.
‧₊˚✩彡Ao3 - I currently have several works that I am slowly cross posting to Tumblr!
Waiting for two centuries has a way of dulling the world.
Xavier used to count the days. Then he stopped. It was easier that way, when every sunrise was the same and every night ended with nothing.
The Luminivores had found him before he found them. A clever trap, darkness so absolute it swallowed his Evol whole. His blade was useless here, stripped of light as if it had never existed.
He should have fought.
He didn’t.
Instead, he sat down as his eyelids grew heavy. They can’t consume what he will not give them. If he doesn’t use his evol, they have no reason to eat his evol energy, and fueling them just means more will spawn.
Ever must have him figured out. Then again, he didn’t exactly have a good track record of concealing his true identity. He should have seen this coming.
Maybe this was fitting.
Two hundred years chasing a ghost, and now he would fade where no one would ever find him.
He closed his eyes. For once, sleep felt like finality.
He never knows how long he sleeps, but today he is woken by… something new. It’s a sound that didn’t belong in the dark. Footsteps approaching him boldly through danger.
“Hey?”
The voice cut through the dark like a blade. Familiar. Terrifyingly familiar.
His eyes opened. She knelt beside him, haloed by the soft shimmer of natural light. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Her eyes were the same color he’d seen in every dream he’d tried to forget.
She immediately moved to call the association.
“Quiet.” His hand closed around her wrist to stop her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. They couldn’t know he was poking around.
A protofield opened and his body moved before his mind could think.
For the first time in a long time, he had a reason to act.
Was it really her? Jumping into a protofield alongside him with no fear?
The Luminivore that lured them into it’s trap was fast, but her Evol stirred with a familiar hum.
Resonance.
“You can use the Resonance evol?” He asked in shock.
“Yeah,” she huffed as she dodged an attack with ease. It really was her.
For the first time in centuries, Xavier's blood pounded in his ears. Everything sounded so far away as he crushed the useless protocore in his fingers.
“Huh?” He stared at her blankly. He didn’t realize she was talking.
‘She was brilliant in her other lifetimes,’ he thought as he tried to remind himself this was not the same woman he loved, but he already knew he was doomed. Doomed because she quickly put together the pieces he didn’t want her to know about the trap set for him. Doomed because her power and brilliance and dedication and humility were all things that made him fall for her in the first place.
Doomed because she already felt like she was his.
“If you can’t use your Evol, use mine,” she offered. She would. She has.
“Please forgive me,” he responded, laying her hand over his chest. It’s been centuries, but her resonance poured through him with a familiar hum that left no doubt.
It really was her.
And now that she was here standing before him, he could never give up.
Two hundred years of waiting.
And somehow, she had found him first.
It started when he would walk by her on campus. He told himself he’d always watch from far away.
At first, it was harmless. A glance across the courtyard, the echo of her laughter carried by the wind that passed him. There were thousands of students, hundreds of conversations. She was just another thread in the tapestry of noise. Or that’s what he told himself.
He didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until one afternoon the crowd parted and she passed near enough that the scent of her shampoo, something faint and clean, like crushed petals in rainwater caught him off guard. The breeze lifted a lock of her hair, and for the first time, he saw how sunlight threaded through it like gold spun thin.
The moment was gone in a heartbeat, but it stayed him.
It stayed through every lecture, every errand, every night he stood at the edge of the quad watching lights in the windows fade.
He told himself the distance kept them both safe.
But the truth, the one that stung like salt, was that he was learning her in increments. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she read. The quiet focus in her brow when she wrote. The gentle nod she gave to the barista each morning like gratitude was her first language.
Rafayel had never been allowed to want something so simple.
He didn’t know what to do with the wanting once it began.
It felt odd to ask that small boy to lure her in.
He told himself it was harmless, a simple transaction to see her up close. A harmless crime. The kid walked away with 5 dollar in his pocket and he’d have… just a minute of her time.
But the act itself left a sour taste in his mouth.
He wasn’t the kind of man who needed to orchestrate chance. Yet here he was, buying his way into a moment that should have belonged to fate.
Today, the brainworm wouldn’t quiet. The persistent, whispering thought that had plagued him for weeks to find out what her voiced sounded like.
Because when she graduated from university, those stolen opportunities to make sure she was okay were gone.
It is infinitely harder to keep her safe when she is a hunter.
So he bargained for a moment.
Just to hear her speak.
Just to know how she shaped sound, whether her tone was bright or low, whether her laughter carried warmth or glass.
He’d spent months convincing himself distance was safety.
And yet here he was, standing in the soft gravity of her orbit, waiting for the smallest proof that she existed in sound as vividly as she did in silence.
And then, she spoke.
“Sure thing, but I can’t promise I’ll succeed. Is that okay with you?” Just a few words, something simple to the boy, but it stopped the air in his lungs.
Her voice was kind.
Not the brittle politeness people used when they wanted to be liked, but a genuine warmth that wrapped itself around the edges of her sentences and softened them. It was the kind of voice that could turn an apology into comfort, or a question into a promise.
He hadn’t known what he expected, but her voice found the cracks in him and poured light in.
Rafayel closed his eyes for half a breath, memorizing the sound as though he could store it in his chest for later. It made him ache, the thought that something so gentle could exist in a world that had taught him only sharpness.
This was what he’d wanted—just one minute.
To see her eyes.
To hear her voice.
But then, the little boy ran. And Rafayel couldn’t stand the potential silence. So, he spoke.
“Unfortunate. This species of fish can only survive for a week on land.” He never meant to interact, but the fear of losing this moment, of losing her made him move.
And then she turned.
The late light caught her face, warm and sharp at once, and for the first time he saw her eyes up close.
He had spent weeks memorizing her silhouette, the way she moved through space, but this was different.
He saw a thousand colors in her eyes.
Not the kind painters captured or scientists named, but living shades that breathed and changed with every blink—stormlight and sea glass, honey and dusk. It made him dizzy, the way the hues seemed to shift as if the universe hadn’t yet decided what palette to give her.
For a heartbeat, the noise of the crowd faded.
The laughter, the crowd, the sharp cry of gulls… all of it dimmed until there was only her, and the impossible spectrum hidden behind her gaze.
And in that silence, Rafayel understood what danger really was.
It wasn’t the things that hunted him in the dark.
It was this. The soft, unbearable urge to stay.
When she glanced into the distance, he knew he had to walk away.
Why did that make his heart break?
He schooled his features as she took a seat across from him, taking a second to steady his nerves. He saw her death as she smiled nervously.
The image flickered behind his eyes. Too vivid to dismiss, too familiar to be imagination. That same tilt of her chin, that same uncertain smile, and then the way the light dimmed around her in his dreams. The sterile brightness of the room did nothing to banish it.
He forced himself to inhale slowly, the rhythm practiced, clinical. She was alive. Right here, right now. Her pulse fluttered faintly in the soft line of her throat, proof that this moment still belonged to the living.
Zayne adjusted his glasses and set her chart on the desk between them, an anchor against the rising tide of dread. “It’s been a long time,” he said evenly, his voice devoid of the tremor sitting heavy in his chest.
She nodded, her smile softening a little. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
How could I forget? he thought. I’ve seen you die a hundred times.
The embodiment of his nightmares. The woman of his dreams. Her grown features matched the woman he has chased through space and time.
The woman who consumes nearly every unconscious thought he has ever had.
He fact that it looked like she walked out of his dreams and into his life was silent, but devastating confirmation. These weren’t made up futures.
When she dies, it will be his fault.
He had to stop himself from leaning back, from creating distance that might dull the inevitability between them.
The instinct was primal to push her away. If she wasn’t near him, if she didn’t linger in the orbit of his curse, maybe the vision would unravel. Maybe the ending he’d seen would belong to someone else’s dream.
But he knew better. Attempts to subvert prewritten destiny, to defy prophecy, often led to its fulfillment, or worse.
“Zayne?” she prompted softly, her brow furrowed in concern.
He blinked, realizing he’d been staring too long. “Sorry,” he said, his tone smooth but colder than he intended. “I was… remembering the last time we met.”
Her expression gentled, unaware of the weight pressing down between them. “The zoo,” she said, a small laugh breaking the tension.
He forced a small nod before schooling his face and switching to business.
He leaned into the practice lecture he’d mentally prepared about her cardiovascular care, reciting procedure and terminology like armor while his thoughts twisted around the bleak future he knew he couldn’t change.
How do you run from fate?
You can’t.
She was uncomfortable when she left. Of course, she was. He was cold and distance. He didn’t want to be. In his dreams, he has kissed her lips, held her tight and wished over and over not to let go.
So, he did the only thing he could do in his power and buried himself in more medical journals and research.
Night after night, he sat beneath the sterile hum of his desk lamp, tracing every possible scenario, every intervention, every last-minute miracle that might change the outcome he’d seen. Papers cluttered his desk, the scent of ink and antiseptic lingering like ghosts of his failures.
If he was responsible for her death, then he was also responsible for bringing her back to life.
It wasn’t obsession. It was atonement in advance. Each new article, each case study, each surgical breakthrough was a desperate prayer disguised as science. If he could learn enough, master enough, control enough, maybe when the vision came to pass, his hands wouldn’t tremble. Maybe this time, he’d have the knowledge to rewrite the ending.
But deep down, he feared that no amount of medicine could resurrect what fate had already claimed.
It was almost poetic.
She had saved him once. Pulled him from a chasm meant to devour him forever. She had looked at him then with unflinching courage, hand extended toward a creature that should have terrified her.
But in this life, when it was time for their paths to finally cross, it was her who needed rescuing.
Sylus didn’t waste time thinking about the symmetry of it. He focused on the facts. She’d been taken, and the man who took her wasn’t going to get far.
Poetic… truly poetic that he arrived the moment her assailant raised his gun and pulled the trigger. His evol responded to save her out of pure instinct. And breath caught in his throat, he gazed upon her in flesh and blood for the first time in this lifetime.
Her assailant was no longer a problem, but when he turned to look at her, he didn’t see gratitude in her eyes. No.
He saw fear.
She didn’t recognize him. Not the way he recognized her. Not after all the lifetimes he’d waited.
“You’re also here for the core… right?” she asked. No. That’s not what he was here for.
“I guess you don’t remember anything,” he said softly, too calm for the storm ripping through him. Her eyes skimmed over him like he was just another threat in a night full of monsters, and something in his chest twisted sharp.
He tightened his hold when she struggled, trying to keep his pulse from giving him away. He looked calm; he always did. But inside, he was already tearing through every memory, every resonance, every shred of their past, desperate to find anything that would make her remember him.
“Allow me to jog your memory. From your past, to your future… to even all the crimes that you’ll inevitably commit. After all. You and I… we’re the same. True kindred spirits.”
He was wrong.
This lifetime sent her a protector of her joy in the form a of a big brother, a shield that let her see the good in the world. This girl was no avenger, no blood thirsty version of the girl that pulled him from the abyss.
And because of that, it seemed that every attempt at resonance brought them no closer to the truth.
Remember. Remember.
He was worried she could smell his desperation. He tried for days, exhausting every resource to bring the sorceress he remembered back to him.
He could fix it… max out her energy linkage… force the connection. He had people for that.
The room went silent when the engineer cleared his throat.
He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Understandable, considering Sylus hadn’t taken failure well in centuries.
“Mr. Sylus… I think there is another reason why she can’t resonate with you.” the man began carefully, eyes flicking between Sylus and the girl against the far wall, “You see… her evol is special. It utilizes the waves generated by the human brain’s magnetic field. Maybe her brain’s magnetic field produces repulsive waves against you. That’s why she can’t resonate with you.”
Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Get to the point.”
“To make a long story short,” the man said. “On a subconscious level, she’s either rejecting you, scared of you or… disgusted by you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. It should have been so obvious. Something he should have understood in seconds, not days.
She might never remember. There was something wrong with her.
Sylus was a man used to bending reality to his will. He was so blinded by the vision of this empire, a kingdom he thought they would rule together, that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
If he couldn’t have his partner in crime, the girl who once pulled him from the abyss, then he would have to take a step back.
Because a little bit of her was better than nothing.
And if he was patient, then maybe one day, he could earn enough of her trust to find solace in loving her again.
He’d restore the aether core in her heart. Then, he would let her go... and he would wait for whatever version of her this lifetime allowed.
Caleb’s chest tightened in a mix of relief and dread as he watched her move through the officers. This is the intruder Command has been warning us about? Her confidence was almost laughable. If he didn’t know better, he might have believed her flawless acting.
But he did know better.
The order was given from up the ranks. They knew she was there.
Somehow, so did he. When he got the alert, he didn’t need to read the description to know it was her, because he knew her.
This was the kind of trouble she always found herself in.
So when he stepped onto the bridge and saw her standing there, pretending to be someone else, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Relief that he was the first to see her. Relief that his alarm had kicked in in time. If he didn’t play his cards right, neither of them would make it out alive.
Thankfully, a distraction was already in place, and his name was Joseph.
Joseph, who existed solely to cause chaos. Joseph, who was screaming about the chip. Joseph, who was there to blow the bridge apart.
Caleb addressed Joseph first. He could have handled it quietly, but today… today he drew the attention to Joseph. By the time he was done, no one would remember the mysterious girl who had slipped into the ranks on the bridge.
He was still working out the plan as he dragged her into the interrogation room. It hurt playing the dutiful Colonel when all he wanted was to scoop her in his arms, and prove to her that it was really him— still alive. Still her Caleb.
But there were only two ways both of them would make it out alive; in a firefight or in deceit.
Caleb was ready, always ready, to be her weapon. But if cooler heads can prevail, he can be her shield. And despite hating the fact that he was in enemy territory, broken, wanting, and miserable without her… he had never been closer to the truth.
“Sir, have we met before? You seem familiar,” she asked voice shaking. Of course she would recognize him.
“You’re wrong,” he said sharply, forcing his tone into the mask of authority, hoping she could pick up the pieces. Obey. Follow along. He’d get her out in the end. “There’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room.”
He prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that she would fall in line. His pulse steadied as he watched it click into place in her gaze. Be calm. Answer the questions. Do this and they both could get out safely.
He needed her to pull through this without raising alarms, and when she did, victory was short lived.
Now she was in the middle of a mess he wanted to keep her out of.
All he can do is protect her. He would manipulate the chaos around them. He would be the calm in the storm. But if the storm hit too hard, if Command’s trap snapped closed… he would become a weapon she could ride to safety.
He had to be ready. This time, they won’t be able to tear them apart.
Tease. Tease him to delirium. You love the way he whimpers, so needy, so slutty. Face flush, back arched for you as you tease him to the edge.
But when you take it too far, Rafayel decides its time to teach you an important lesson.
“There comes a point when everyone reaches their limits, cutie.” He pulls on his leather gloves.
“It’s time we explore yours.”
Warnings: MDNI! Heavy on the 18+, Switch Rafayel, Blowjobs, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Knife Play/ Knife Kink, Light Dom/sub, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Glove Kink, Pure Smut
Dividers by @cafekitsune
Slurp
He whimpers as you swallow him once more, all the way down to the base.
Rafayel is a needy mess. Whimpering, with a slutty blush, biting his knuckle with tears in his eyes as cock enters your throat.
“Please.” He always begs so pretty.
You've always chased the rough, burly types… the ones who could pin you down and fuck you senseless, leaving bruises like badges of honor. But Rafayel? He's different. The first time your lips wrapped around his cock, sucking slow and deep while he whimpered like a desperate slut, you were ruined. That blush creeping up his neck, the way he bit his lip until it swelled, his back arching off the bed as you edged him mercilessly… it hooked you hard.
Your fantasies twisted overnight and you became someone you don’t recognize, scouring the internet for ways to dom from below. You craved those new, filthy sounds he'd make when you pushed him to the brink like water on a scorching day
Tonight, in the dim glow of his bedroom, you're lavishing his throbbing cock with your tongue, swirling around the head, taking him deep into your throat until he chokes out whimpers that make your pussy clench. He's flushed red, lilac hair drenched in sweat, hips bucking weakly, begging in that broken voice. “Please... fuck, let me cum... I can't—" You pull back just as his balls tighten, denying him again, grinning at how he trembles, sweat-slicked and delirious. His eyes flutter, slutty moans spilling from his lips as you stroke him feather-light, keeping him teetering on the edge.
You've got Rafayel right where you want him, sprawled out beneath you, pants shoved down to his thighs, his lithe body trembling under your control. You've pinned him underneath you; his hand tangled in your hair so tight it hurts, but it's you calling the shots. Your mouth is latched onto his cock, tongue swirling greedily around the swollen purple head, sucking him deep into the wet heat of your throat. He's been rock-hard for what feels like hours, veins pulsing against your lips, pre-cum leaking salty on your taste buds. But every time his hips jerk, balls drawing up tight as he's about to explode, you pull back with a wicked pop, denying him release.
He's a mess, face flushed crimson from his cheeks to his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. Those pretty lips part in a whine, high and desperate, as he bucks futilely into the air.
Another whine spills from him, louder, more broken, as you take him back in, bobbing your head faster, feeling him swell impossibly harder. His thighs quake around your shoulders, breaths coming in ragged pants. But just as his cock throbs warningly, you slide off again, grinning up at his wrecked expression.
"F-fuck... please, don't stop... I need it so bad," he whimpers, voice cracking like the slutty little thing he's become under your teasing. His hands fist the pillow, knuckles white, back arching in that way that makes your pussy throb. You love it, this power- how he blushes deeper with each edge, body quivering, reduced to begging whines that echo in the room. You've pushed him too far tonight, lavishing his shaft with slow, torturous licks, hollowing your cheeks to suck just enough to drive him delirious, then retreating to blow cool air over his twitching length.
You chuckle as you pull his pants off, only so that you pull his thighs over your shoulders. He's going no where. Tonight, he lives and dies in your mouth subject to sensuous torture.
"Not yet, pretty boy. Beg a little more." He's yours, utterly, whimpering, red-faced, on the brink of tears from the torment.
Another denial. Another shaky breath leaving him.
For a second it looks like he’s going to fall apart completely. His chest rises hard, lips parted, eyes glossy with frustration and want. His fingers curl tighter in your hair, not quite pulling, just holding on like he might lose himself otherwise.
“Please,” he says again, voice cracking.
You hum, deliberately slow, letting your fingers trace along his thigh like you’ve got all the time in the world.
“Not yet.”
His whole body goes still.
Not relaxed. Completely still. Quieter, even.
The hand that was once tight in your hair has released you only to come down and cup your jaw, pushing it up so that your eyes meet his.
And there you meet something unhinged; a dark glint in his eyes that has shifted from a rosy sunrise to a deep red and dark sunset. His breathing is heavier now, but steady, like he’s forcing it back under control. His jaw tightens, a faint flush still across his cheeks, eyes darker than before.
You give him that same teasing smile.
“Aw. What happened, baby? Thought you wanted—”
He laughs.
It’s quiet. A little breathless. But there’s heat in it now.
“You’ve been pushing your luck all night,” he says.
You tilt your head, playing innocent. “Yeah?”
That rubber band finally snaps.
In one swift movement he shifts, pulling you with him and pinning you down against the bed. Suddenly the balance you’d been enjoying flips, and he’s above you now, hair falling forward, eyes locked on yours with a sharp intensity that sends a pulse of adrenaline through you.
“Raf?” you ask, breathless and just a little worried.
His hand drags once through his damp hair as he exhales before reaching into the bedside drawer. Muscles that you forget exist when you torture him with your tongue ripple as he keeps you pinned and your stomach drops when you see what he is reach for.
The leather gloves.
Rafayel picks them up slowly, turning one between his fingers like he’s made up his mind.
When he looks back at you, there’s still that blush on his face, still that heat in his eyes, but the desperation has sharpened into something else entirely.
“There comes a point when everyone reaches their limits, cutie.”
He slides the glove on, tugging it snug.
“It’s time to explore yours.”
Rafayel's whines are gone. Instead, you are the one whimpering; trapped as he pins you down firmer with his thighs. A guttural growl escapes him, pre-cum still leaking from his angry purple cock. He grinds his hips against your thigh, his hard length smearing pre-cum on your skin, but he doesn't seek his own relief. Not yet.
He shoves your skirt up roughly, yanking your panties aside to expose your dripping pussy.
“It’s my turn,” he rasps, voice thick with promise.
His gloved hand descends immediately, two fingers plunging deep into your soaked folds without warning. You gasp, walls clenching around the intrusion as he curls them expertly, stroking that sensitive spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. He pumps them in and out, fast and brutal, thumb circling your clit with punishing pressure. Leather slides against your slick skin, the friction adding an edge of roughness that has you arching off the couch, moans spilling from your lips.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, leaning close, breath hot on your neck. “You've teased me for hours. Now you get to squirm.”
“N-not,” You start and studder, shuddering as his thumb digs deeper into your sensitive, swollen clit. “Not fair!”
He builds you up mercilessly, fingers thrusting deeper, twisting to hit every nerve, his glove-sheathed palm grinding against your pretty mound. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the building pressure as your pussy flutters around him, orgasm coiling tight in your core. But just as you're teetering on the brink, body trembling, breaths ragged, he yanks his fingers free, leaving you empty and aching. You whine, high and needy, thighs quivering from the denial. “Please... Rafayel, don't stop...”
“Not fair, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, wiping his gloved fingers through your wetness, spreading it over your inner thighs like a claim. “Begging already? We're just getting started.”
He dives back in, three fingers this time, stretching you wide as he fucks them into you with relentless speed. The leather warms from your heat, slick sounds filling the room as he scissors them inside, rubbing your g-spot until tears prick your eyes. You claw at his shoulders, pussy spasming, so close.
Then nothing.
He pulls out again, slapping your clit lightly with his palm, the sting making you jolt and sob.
“Not fair? But you’ve weaponized my weaknesses. Teased me for hours. Made me beg with whispered promises that my torment will end.”
He smacks your clit harder, the sting sharp with echoes of jolting pleasure make you cry out. Keening whimpers accompany desperate tears.
“Please… Raf, please—”
“But it never ended.”
Time blurs into an endless cycle of torment. He edges you over and over, gloved fingers plunging deep, hooking and thrusting until you're a writhing mess, sweat-slicked and delirious. Your clit throbs under his thumb's assault, walls gripping him desperately each time, but he denies you every peak.
“Look at you, so wet and desperate,” he taunts, voice husky as he watches your face contort.
“Whimper for me like I did. Tell me how bad you need to cum.” Each minute drags, each breath burns. Your begging turns frantic, voice breaking into slutty pleas.
“Fuck, please, let me cum... I'll do anything... Rafayel, I can't take it...”
His eyes darken with satisfaction, free hand pinning your wrist above your head while the other continues to tease your entrance, dipping in shallowly, just enough to make you grind against nothing. Your body betrays you, hips rolling shamelessly, every denial amplifying the ache until you're reduced to trembling, red-faced begging, utterly at his mercy.
“But look at how pretty you are, so wet and crimson and slutty,” he rumbles with a smirk directly into your ear before pulling back, his eyes glimmering a thousand shades of azure and dusty rose.
And then he is rummaging through the drawer again, pulling out things that scare you. Like a knife, a paint brush and a blind fold.
“Raf, what are you doing?” you ask heatedly and if you sound worried, it’s because you are.
“Pick a safe word, cutie,” he says darkly before leaning in and kissing you just behind your ear, breath hot against your skin before adding a quiet promise. “I won’t hurt you.”
Your pupils dilate as the breath hitches sharply in your chest.
“Desert. My safe word is desert,” you say, voice shaking as Rafayel pulls a pillowcase off the pillow and threads it through the rungs on the headboard.
“Good,” he guides your hands to each end of the pillowcase. “Now hold on to this. Don’t let go. If you let go, you get punished.”
Punished how? But you can’t even finish the thought as he pulls the blindfold over your eyes.
Silence. It stays like that for a while and your senses sharpen to every little thing that goes wild in the quiet. Your heart beats loudly. He groans softly as he shifts. You can hear him stroke his cock a few times for relief and you imagine its still angry, purple and unspent because of you.
The sex in the air smells so all-consuming, like dew, salt, spray, moss and his unique scent. Rafayel smells like canvas, clean beaches, coconut and you can tell he is coming closer to you as his scent grows stronger.
“Shh. Hold still.”
You hear the blade unsheathe and jump slightly as the cool blade contacts your skin, tracing a dangerous game that makes you mewl and quiver as your muscles tighten and you gulp loudly. The blade starts at your neck, tracing patterns down your body, over the swell of your breast, tracing your ribs, tickling your belly button.
“Rafayel—”
“Lemurians see more colors than humans can,” Rafayel interrupts, blade turning, the leatherbound handle of his dagger now circling your entrance. “Your arousal is… iridescent. Beautiful really.”
You whimper louder as the handle is pushed slowly to the hilt.
“I’d use it to make paint if I could. Although only a Lemurian could see it.” He whispers as the blade hilt touches your clit.
“There,” he remarks, and you feel him lean back to admire you. “Now my blade will always have your mark.”
But he doesn’t remove it. He leaves it there, and you are petrified to move, or the blade might knick him… or you.
Then you jump as you feel the slight tickle of brush strokes, dragging across the slick mess between your legs.
Rafayel is painting you.
The brush drags across your skin again. You whimper before you can stop yourself, fingers tightening on the pillowcase.
Rafayel huffs a quiet laugh somewhere above you.
“Already?” he murmurs. “I barely started.”
Another slow deliberate, stroke. You squirm, breath shaky, trying so hard not to move.
“Stay still,” he says softly. “Or I’ll have to fix it.”
A small sound escapes you again, helpless and needy. He pauses. You can practically feel his eyes on you.
“…Yeah,” he says under his breath, sounding pleased. “That’s the sound I wanted.”
The brush moves again, slower this time. Teasing you on purpose.
Goosebumps erupt across your skin, as he paints his way up your breast, your nipples hardening painfully in response.
And just when you think he is about to stop, he sheath’s the dagger, hilt still inside you, and begins to plunge into you with it.
You buck against it, clit swollen and sensitive, pussy walls abused and aching for release.
“Mm, yeah. Didn’t know you’d be such a good girl for me, still holding on to the pillowcase. Maybe you deserve a reward?” His voice infuriates you as much as it turns you on and you moan loudly, bucking harder against the handle, feet firmly planted and seeking release.
Fuck… closer. Closer. You are so close. You feel yourself contract around leather and whimper as your toes curl and you hurtle towards release.
Then, Rafayel laughs, haughtily, nearly cruel as he pulls the handle out of you and tosses the blade across the room.
And that? That breaks you.
Tears escape you. First, you grimace, trying to hold them back as they sting your eyes, hot and relentless. Then, the dam breaks as you cry, ugly, frustrated burning tears. Tears you resent because they mean you are weak.
Your shoulders are still shaking when the room finally goes quiet.
The tears won’t stop. You hate that they won’t stop.
Your chest feels tight, frustrated heat burning behind your ribs, like your body betrayed you right at the finish line.
For once, Rafayel doesn’t laugh.
You hear him shift closer, quick this time. The mattress dips and warm fingers slide behind your head.
The blindfold lifts.
Light spills in and you blink through wet lashes, vision blurry until Rafayel’s face comes into focus above you, flushed and a little breathless, watching you carefully.
“…Hey.”
Your hands are still clenched around the pillowcase.
A small smile tugs at his mouth as he gently pries it from your grip, easing your fingers open one by one. Your hands tremble when they’re free.
“Still holding on,” he murmurs. “You really listen well.”
That almost makes you cry harder.
You turn your face away, frustrated, but he doesn’t let you hide for long. Rafayel leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another just below your eye where a tear slips down.
You sniff, trying to pull yourself together. It’s humiliating how worked up you still feel, how your body hasn’t caught up with your brain yet.
“Too much, right?” he murmurs against your skin. “Doesn’t feel good?”
His thumb brushes under your eye, catching another tear before it falls.
You make a small, frustrated sound that’s half a protest, half a whimper.
He huffs a quiet laugh, softer now.
“But all you had to do was say the safe word. I’d listen.”
Another kiss, this one slower, lingering near your temple while you try to steady your breathing.
You’re still shaky. Still wound up. Still annoyed at him and he can absolutely tell.
“Sometimes you can’t just fly through this stuff on vibes, yeah?” he continues lightly. “Sometimes you have to talk about rules.”
His forehead nudges yours, and you huff, pouting. But you close your eyes and let him gently ground you.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
You let out a shaky breath that turns into another quiet, miserable sniffle, and Rafayel’s expression softens a little more.
But the teasing doesn’t fully leave his voice.
“Now,” he says, brushing your hair back from your damp face, “tell me what my cutie needs.”
He pauses, studying you, waiting patiently for you to catch your breath. And unfortunately for your pride, you’re still trembling in his arms.
Your lips part, but the words stick in your throat, tangled up in the mess of anger and need churning inside you. Rafayel's eyes are locked on yours, patient but insistent, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on your scalp, grounding you even as your body screams for more. The ache between your legs throbs relentlessly, a cruel reminder of how close you were, how he yanked it all away just to watch you shatter.
You whimper again, low and broken, your voice cracking as you finally force it out. "Please... Rafayel... make me cum." The plea comes out sharper than you intend, laced with that lingering frustration, your brows furrowing even as fresh tears prick at your eyes. You're mad at him. Indignant, really, for pushing you to this edge and leaving you dangling, for making you beg like this when all you wanted was release. But god, you need it. Your hips twitch involuntarily, seeking friction against the sheets, your pussy still slick and clenching around nothing.
He tilts his head, that small smile deepening, but there's no mockery in it now. Just a quiet understanding that makes your chest tighten further.
"There she is," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he shifts his weight, his body pressing closer, the heat of him seeping through the thin space between you. His hand slides down from your face, trailing over your collarbone, your breast, thumb grazing your hardened nipple in a way that sends a jolt straight to your core. You gasp, arching into the touch despite yourself, hating how desperate it makes you look.
"You're still pissed at me, aren't you?" he says softly, not pulling away, his fingers continuing their path lower, skimming your ribs, your stomach, until they hover just above where you ache the most. He doesn't touch you there yet, teasing the edge of your thigh instead, making your muscles tense and quiver. "I can feel it in how you're trembling. But you want this. Say it again, cutie. Tell me exactly what you need."
A frustrated sob escapes you, your hands fisting in the sheets as you glare up at him through blurry vision. "I... I need you to make me cum," you repeat, the words tumbling out in a whimpering rush, your voice thick with unshed tears and raw want. "Please, just... touch me. Fuck me. I don't care. Just do it before I lose my mind." Your body betrays you fully now, legs parting slightly, inviting him in even as your pride screams to push him away. The anger simmers, hot and unresolved, but it's drowned out by the pulsing need, the way your clit throbs under his gaze alone.
“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, his hand wrapping around your thigh to pull it higher, spreading you open wider. “Not when you’ve been such a good girl for me.”
You feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your inner thigh, thick and throbbing, already leaking pre-cum that smears hot against your skin. The sight of it, veins pulsing, tip flushed dark, makes your pussy flutter with desperate want, even as you glare up at him, still sniffling.
“You're going to cum on my cock,” he says, voice rough with promise, positioning himself at your entrance. No teasing now, no slow build. He thrusts in with one brutal snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt in a single, punishing stroke. You cry out, the stretch burning deliciously as he fills you completely, your walls gripping him tight, still sensitive from the edge he'd left you on. It's rough, unyielding, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, hitting deep enough to make your vision blur.
He doesn't give you time to adjust, pulling back almost all the way out before slamming back in, the force jolting your body up the mattress. Your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, a mix of pain and pleasure ripping a gasp from your throat.
“Fuck! F-fu… Rafayel!” you whimper, mad at how good it feels, how he knows exactly how to wreck you, your hips bucking up to meet his despite the anger simmering in your veins.
He grunts with each thrust, pace relentless, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he pounds into you. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the room, your pussy soaking him, arousal dripping down to coat his balls, as he drives deeper, harder.
“That's it,” he rasps, leaning down to bite at your neck, sucking a mark into the skin while his cock spears you open. “Take it. Come for me, just like this.”
The friction builds fast, too fast, his thickness stretching you wide, the head of his cock battering that spot inside that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch in sobs. You're still pissed, furious at his control, at how he edged you and made you beg. But it only fuels the heat, turning your whimpers into moans as the pressure coils tighter. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him closer, deeper, urging him on even as tears prick your eyes again from the overwhelming intensity.
He shifts his angle, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in rough circles, matching the brutal rhythm of his hips.
"Look at me," he demands, voice strained, sweat beading on his forehead as he fucks you without mercy. You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, dark, possessive, softened just enough by the care he showed earlier to make your chest ache. The conflict rips through you, indignant anger and need crashing together, but it's the pleasure that wins, shattering you as your orgasm hits like a wave.
Your pussy clamps down on his cock, convulsing wildly as you cum hard, squirting around him in hot, messy pulses that soak his shaft and drip onto the sheets. He groans, thrusting through it, the slick gush making every slide even wetter, tighter, drawing out your release until you're shaking, crying out his name in a broken litany. Waves of ecstasy crash over you, your body arching off the bed, nails raking down his back as you ride it out, still whimpering from the aftershocks.
“Fucking, beautiful.”
Rafayel doesn't stop, not yet. His hips stutter, but he keeps going, chasing his own edge while you tremble beneath him, utterly spent but clinging to him all the same.
“Fuck, cutie. Fuuuck. That’s it. Take.”
SLAM
“My.”
SLAM
“Come.”
SLAM
And then he holds your hips against, his, balls drawn up tight, twitching with each spurt and he spends his release inside you.
The anger fades into a hazy glow, replaced by the raw intimacy of it all, your breaths mingling as he finally slows, pressing his forehead to yours.
Their breaths slowly start to steady, foreheads touching, the room quiet except for the sound of you both trying to come back down.
Rafayel’s hand slides up your back, slower now, grounding instead of teasing.
“…Hey,” he murmurs.
You sniff, still a little shaky, still a little annoyed. “You pushed me too far.”
His mouth twitches. “You were teasing me for hours.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” His tone is light, but there’s something thoughtful behind it now. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “You were enjoying it.”
You hesitate, then huff softly. “…Maybe.”
A small, quiet laugh leaves him, warmer this time.
“See?” he says. “We’re both trouble.”
Your fingers curl against his shoulder, not pushing him away, but not entirely forgiving yet either. “You still made me cry.”
That makes him pause.
“…Yeah,” he admits after a moment. “I did.” His thumb traces along your arm, absentminded.
“I got carried away,” he says. “You kept looking at me like that and I just...”
You study him for a second. He doesn’t look smug now.
“And you,” he adds, glancing down at you again, “kept pushing even when you were already shaking.”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“Mm.” His eyes soften slightly. “Next time we check in sooner.”
The words sit between you for a moment.
“Next time?” you ask.
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “But maybe we figure out the rules first.”
You roll your eyes a little, though the tension in your chest is finally easing. “Like… actual rules.”
“Actual rules.” He nods once. “Safe word, limits, boundaries the whole boring responsible thing.”
“That doesn’t sound very you,” you huff.
“It doesn’t,” he agrees, amused. “But you crying kind of ruined my cool image.”
That earns a weak laugh out of you despite yourself. Rafayel leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“We’ll build the fun part on top of that,” he murmurs. “Safety first, yeah?”
You nod against him, still a little flushed, still recovering, but the frustration loosening into something a little more calm.
DELETED my most viral videos and changed my username.
All because of the BL photo edits.
And Tik Tok hasn’t noticed any suspicious activity and their support was no fucking help.
I don’t even know what to say or feel at the moment. Hurt? I AM part of the LGBT community. Seeing that as my username is fucking awful. Violated?? That’s my fucking account. I’m glad I didn’t have it connected to my personal socials otherwise this person could’ve doxxed me. But I’m still paranoid because what else have they done? What else could they do?
How fucking crazy do you have to be to do this to someone’s account because you can’t handle some fan art??
Sylus isn’t the guy who waits for your birthday to drop something huge on you.
He’ll just… do it. Random Tuesday in March, you wake up to him already dressed, leaning in the bedroom doorway with that lazy half-smirk, tossing a set of keys onto the bed like it’s nothing.
“Get up. Yours now.”
You stare at the key; matte black, sleek logo you recognize instantly. Your brain short-circuits for a solid five seconds.
“…Sylus, what the fuck is this?”
He shrugs. “Your new car, sweetie. Parked downstairs. Figured the matte red would look good with your new gear.”
You’re still blinking at the keys. “You bought me a sports car. On a random day. Because…?”
“Because I saw it and thought you’d look hot driving it.” He says it like that’s the only explanation required. No card, no ribbon, no celebratory card. Just him, already walking toward the kitchen like he didn’t just change your entire driveway situation.
Birthdays and holidays are different with him.
Those are quieter. More private.
On your actual birthday he doesn’t do grand gestures or flashy jewelry. He waits until the apartment is dark, everyone else long gone, and then he sits you down on the couch with nothing but a small velvet box in his palm.
Inside is something small and personal. A tiny silver heart shaped locket with a picture of the two of you in it. It’s the kind where you aren’t posing, not deliberately trying to look good for the camera. It’s a small intimate moment shared between the two of you and even in the picture, his full attention is on you. He’s had it cleaned, strung on a thin chain he picked himself.
No speech. Just him fastening it around your neck with careful fingers, lips brushing the nape before he pulls back to look at you.
“Been carrying that around for a while,” he mutters. “Figured it was time you had it.”
You’re crying before you even realize it. He doesn’t make a big deal, just pulls you into his lap, lets you hide your face in his neck while he strokes your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Valentine’s, Christmas, anniversaries, he keeps it the same. Thoughtful, quiet, stupidly intimate things that mean something only to the two of you: a leather-bound sketchbook filled with his own rough drawings of places you’ve been together, a single pressed flower from the field where you first kissed, a custom knife engraved with the date he decided you were never getting away from him.
No billboards. No parades. No “world’s best girlfriend” mugs.
Just him, quietly proving every day that you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted to keep.
And then on some random Thursday in July he’ll walk in, drop a set of matte-black keys on the counter while you’re eating cereal, and go “bought you a bike. It’s downstairs. Don’t scratch it.”
You stare at him over the bowl.
He just kisses the top of your head and steals a spoonful of your cereal like he didn’t just casually drop five figures on a whim.
That’s Sylus.
Big gifts whenever the hell he feels like it.
The ones that actually hurt to give, those are saved for the days that matter.
Waiting for two centuries has a way of dulling the world.
Xavier used to count the days. Then he stopped. It was easier that way, when every sunrise was the same and every night ended with nothing.
The Luminivores had found him before he found them. A clever trap, darkness so absolute it swallowed his Evol whole. His blade was useless here, stripped of light as if it had never existed.
He should have fought.
He didn’t.
Instead, he sat down as his eyelids grew heavy. They can’t consume what he will not give them. If he doesn’t use his evol, they have no reason to eat his evol energy, and fueling them just means more will spawn.
Ever must have him figured out. Then again, he didn’t exactly have a good track record of concealing his true identity. He should have seen this coming.
Maybe this was fitting.
Two hundred years chasing a ghost, and now he would fade where no one would ever find him.
He closed his eyes. For once, sleep felt like finality.
He never knows how long he sleeps, but today he is woken by… something new. It’s a sound that didn’t belong in the dark. Footsteps approaching him boldly through danger.
“Hey?”
The voice cut through the dark like a blade. Familiar. Terrifyingly familiar.
His eyes opened. She knelt beside him, haloed by the soft shimmer of natural light. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Her eyes were the same color he’d seen in every dream he’d tried to forget.
She immediately moved to call the association.
“Quiet.” His hand closed around her wrist to stop her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. They couldn’t know he was poking around.
A protofield opened and his body moved before his mind could think.
For the first time in a long time, he had a reason to act.
Was it really her? Jumping into a protofield alongside him with no fear?
The Luminivore that lured them into it’s trap was fast, but her Evol stirred with a familiar hum.
Resonance.
“You can use the Resonance evol?” He asked in shock.
“Yeah,” she huffed as she dodged an attack with ease. It really was her.
For the first time in centuries, Xavier's blood pounded in his ears. Everything sounded so far away as he crushed the useless protocore in his fingers.
“Huh?” He stared at her blankly. He didn’t realize she was talking.
‘She was brilliant in her other lifetimes,’ he thought as he tried to remind himself this was not the same woman he loved, but he already knew he was doomed. Doomed because she quickly put together the pieces he didn’t want her to know about the trap set for him. Doomed because her power and brilliance and dedication and humility were all things that made him fall for her in the first place.
Doomed because she already felt like she was his.
“If you can’t use your Evol, use mine,” she offered. She would. She has.
“Please forgive me,” he responded, laying her hand over his chest. It’s been centuries, but her resonance poured through him with a familiar hum that left no doubt.
It really was her.
And now that she was here standing before him, he could never give up.
Two hundred years of waiting.
And somehow, she had found him first.
It started when he would walk by her on campus. He told himself he’d always watch from far away.
At first, it was harmless. A glance across the courtyard, the echo of her laughter carried by the wind that passed him. There were thousands of students, hundreds of conversations. She was just another thread in the tapestry of noise. Or that’s what he told himself.
He didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until one afternoon the crowd parted and she passed near enough that the scent of her shampoo, something faint and clean, like crushed petals in rainwater caught him off guard. The breeze lifted a lock of her hair, and for the first time, he saw how sunlight threaded through it like gold spun thin.
The moment was gone in a heartbeat, but it stayed him.
It stayed through every lecture, every errand, every night he stood at the edge of the quad watching lights in the windows fade.
He told himself the distance kept them both safe.
But the truth, the one that stung like salt, was that he was learning her in increments. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she read. The quiet focus in her brow when she wrote. The gentle nod she gave to the barista each morning like gratitude was her first language.
Rafayel had never been allowed to want something so simple.
He didn’t know what to do with the wanting once it began.
It felt odd to ask that small boy to lure her in.
He told himself it was harmless, a simple transaction to see her up close. A harmless crime. The kid walked away with 5 dollar in his pocket and he’d have… just a minute of her time.
But the act itself left a sour taste in his mouth.
He wasn’t the kind of man who needed to orchestrate chance. Yet here he was, buying his way into a moment that should have belonged to fate.
Today, the brainworm wouldn’t quiet. The persistent, whispering thought that had plagued him for weeks to find out what her voiced sounded like.
Because when she graduated from university, those stolen opportunities to make sure she was okay were gone.
It is infinitely harder to keep her safe when she is a hunter.
So he bargained for a moment.
Just to hear her speak.
Just to know how she shaped sound, whether her tone was bright or low, whether her laughter carried warmth or glass.
He’d spent months convincing himself distance was safety.
And yet here he was, standing in the soft gravity of her orbit, waiting for the smallest proof that she existed in sound as vividly as she did in silence.
And then, she spoke.
“Sure thing, but I can’t promise I’ll succeed. Is that okay with you?” Just a few words, something simple to the boy, but it stopped the air in his lungs.
Her voice was kind.
Not the brittle politeness people used when they wanted to be liked, but a genuine warmth that wrapped itself around the edges of her sentences and softened them. It was the kind of voice that could turn an apology into comfort, or a question into a promise.
He hadn’t known what he expected, but her voice found the cracks in him and poured light in.
Rafayel closed his eyes for half a breath, memorizing the sound as though he could store it in his chest for later. It made him ache, the thought that something so gentle could exist in a world that had taught him only sharpness.
This was what he’d wanted—just one minute.
To see her eyes.
To hear her voice.
But then, the little boy ran. And Rafayel couldn’t stand the potential silence. So, he spoke.
“Unfortunate. This species of fish can only survive for a week on land.” He never meant to interact, but the fear of losing this moment, of losing her made him move.
And then she turned.
The late light caught her face, warm and sharp at once, and for the first time he saw her eyes up close.
He had spent weeks memorizing her silhouette, the way she moved through space, but this was different.
He saw a thousand colors in her eyes.
Not the kind painters captured or scientists named, but living shades that breathed and changed with every blink—stormlight and sea glass, honey and dusk. It made him dizzy, the way the hues seemed to shift as if the universe hadn’t yet decided what palette to give her.
For a heartbeat, the noise of the crowd faded.
The laughter, the crowd, the sharp cry of gulls… all of it dimmed until there was only her, and the impossible spectrum hidden behind her gaze.
And in that silence, Rafayel understood what danger really was.
It wasn’t the things that hunted him in the dark.
It was this. The soft, unbearable urge to stay.
When she glanced into the distance, he knew he had to walk away.
Why did that make his heart break?
He schooled his features as she took a seat across from him, taking a second to steady his nerves. He saw her death as she smiled nervously.
The image flickered behind his eyes. Too vivid to dismiss, too familiar to be imagination. That same tilt of her chin, that same uncertain smile, and then the way the light dimmed around her in his dreams. The sterile brightness of the room did nothing to banish it.
He forced himself to inhale slowly, the rhythm practiced, clinical. She was alive. Right here, right now. Her pulse fluttered faintly in the soft line of her throat, proof that this moment still belonged to the living.
Zayne adjusted his glasses and set her chart on the desk between them, an anchor against the rising tide of dread. “It’s been a long time,” he said evenly, his voice devoid of the tremor sitting heavy in his chest.
She nodded, her smile softening a little. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
How could I forget? he thought. I’ve seen you die a hundred times.
The embodiment of his nightmares. The woman of his dreams. Her grown features matched the woman he has chased through space and time.
The woman who consumes nearly every unconscious thought he has ever had.
He fact that it looked like she walked out of his dreams and into his life was silent, but devastating confirmation. These weren’t made up futures.
When she dies, it will be his fault.
He had to stop himself from leaning back, from creating distance that might dull the inevitability between them.
The instinct was primal to push her away. If she wasn’t near him, if she didn’t linger in the orbit of his curse, maybe the vision would unravel. Maybe the ending he’d seen would belong to someone else’s dream.
But he knew better. Attempts to subvert prewritten destiny, to defy prophecy, often led to its fulfillment, or worse.
“Zayne?” she prompted softly, her brow furrowed in concern.
He blinked, realizing he’d been staring too long. “Sorry,” he said, his tone smooth but colder than he intended. “I was… remembering the last time we met.”
Her expression gentled, unaware of the weight pressing down between them. “The zoo,” she said, a small laugh breaking the tension.
He forced a small nod before schooling his face and switching to business.
He leaned into the practice lecture he’d mentally prepared about her cardiovascular care, reciting procedure and terminology like armor while his thoughts twisted around the bleak future he knew he couldn’t change.
How do you run from fate?
You can’t.
She was uncomfortable when she left. Of course, she was. He was cold and distance. He didn’t want to be. In his dreams, he has kissed her lips, held her tight and wished over and over not to let go.
So, he did the only thing he could do in his power and buried himself in more medical journals and research.
Night after night, he sat beneath the sterile hum of his desk lamp, tracing every possible scenario, every intervention, every last-minute miracle that might change the outcome he’d seen. Papers cluttered his desk, the scent of ink and antiseptic lingering like ghosts of his failures.
If he was responsible for her death, then he was also responsible for bringing her back to life.
It wasn’t obsession. It was atonement in advance. Each new article, each case study, each surgical breakthrough was a desperate prayer disguised as science. If he could learn enough, master enough, control enough, maybe when the vision came to pass, his hands wouldn’t tremble. Maybe this time, he’d have the knowledge to rewrite the ending.
But deep down, he feared that no amount of medicine could resurrect what fate had already claimed.
It was almost poetic.
She had saved him once. Pulled him from a chasm meant to devour him forever. She had looked at him then with unflinching courage, hand extended toward a creature that should have terrified her.
But in this life, when it was time for their paths to finally cross, it was her who needed rescuing.
Sylus didn’t waste time thinking about the symmetry of it. He focused on the facts. She’d been taken, and the man who took her wasn’t going to get far.
Poetic… truly poetic that he arrived the moment her assailant raised his gun and pulled the trigger. His evol responded to save her out of pure instinct. And breath caught in his throat, he gazed upon her in flesh and blood for the first time in this lifetime.
Her assailant was no longer a problem, but when he turned to look at her, he didn’t see gratitude in her eyes. No.
He saw fear.
She didn’t recognize him. Not the way he recognized her. Not after all the lifetimes he’d waited.
“You’re also here for the core… right?” she asked. No. That’s not what he was here for.
“I guess you don’t remember anything,” he said softly, too calm for the storm ripping through him. Her eyes skimmed over him like he was just another threat in a night full of monsters, and something in his chest twisted sharp.
He tightened his hold when she struggled, trying to keep his pulse from giving him away. He looked calm; he always did. But inside, he was already tearing through every memory, every resonance, every shred of their past, desperate to find anything that would make her remember him.
“Allow me to jog your memory. From your past, to your future… to even all the crimes that you’ll inevitably commit. After all. You and I… we’re the same. True kindred spirits.”
He was wrong.
This lifetime sent her a protector of her joy in the form a of a big brother, a shield that let her see the good in the world. This girl was no avenger, no blood thirsty version of the girl that pulled him from the abyss.
And because of that, it seemed that every attempt at resonance brought them no closer to the truth.
Remember. Remember.
He was worried she could smell his desperation. He tried for days, exhausting every resource to bring the sorceress he remembered back to him.
He could fix it… max out her energy linkage… force the connection. He had people for that.
The room went silent when the engineer cleared his throat.
He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Understandable, considering Sylus hadn’t taken failure well in centuries.
“Mr. Sylus… I think there is another reason why she can’t resonate with you.” the man began carefully, eyes flicking between Sylus and the girl against the far wall, “You see… her evol is special. It utilizes the waves generated by the human brain’s magnetic field. Maybe her brain’s magnetic field produces repulsive waves against you. That’s why she can’t resonate with you.”
Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Get to the point.”
“To make a long story short,” the man said. “On a subconscious level, she’s either rejecting you, scared of you or… disgusted by you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. It should have been so obvious. Something he should have understood in seconds, not days.
She might never remember. There was something wrong with her.
Sylus was a man used to bending reality to his will. He was so blinded by the vision of this empire, a kingdom he thought they would rule together, that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
If he couldn’t have his partner in crime, the girl who once pulled him from the abyss, then he would have to take a step back.
Because a little bit of her was better than nothing.
And if he was patient, then maybe one day, he could earn enough of her trust to find solace in loving her again.
He’d restore the aether core in her heart. Then, he would let her go... and he would wait for whatever version of her this lifetime allowed.
Caleb’s chest tightened in a mix of relief and dread as he watched her move through the officers. This is the intruder Command has been warning us about? Her confidence was almost laughable. If he didn’t know better, he might have believed her flawless acting.
But he did know better.
The order was given from up the ranks. They knew she was there.
Somehow, so did he. When he got the alert, he didn’t need to read the description to know it was her, because he knew her.
This was the kind of trouble she always found herself in.
So when he stepped onto the bridge and saw her standing there, pretending to be someone else, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Relief that he was the first to see her. Relief that his alarm had kicked in in time. If he didn’t play his cards right, neither of them would make it out alive.
Thankfully, a distraction was already in place, and his name was Joseph.
Joseph, who existed solely to cause chaos. Joseph, who was screaming about the chip. Joseph, who was there to blow the bridge apart.
Caleb addressed Joseph first. He could have handled it quietly, but today… today he drew the attention to Joseph. By the time he was done, no one would remember the mysterious girl who had slipped into the ranks on the bridge.
He was still working out the plan as he dragged her into the interrogation room. It hurt playing the dutiful Colonel when all he wanted was to scoop her in his arms, and prove to her that it was really him— still alive. Still her Caleb.
But there were only two ways both of them would make it out alive; in a firefight or in deceit.
Caleb was ready, always ready, to be her weapon. But if cooler heads can prevail, he can be her shield. And despite hating the fact that he was in enemy territory, broken, wanting, and miserable without her… he had never been closer to the truth.
“Sir, have we met before? You seem familiar,” she asked voice shaking. Of course she would recognize him.
“You’re wrong,” he said sharply, forcing his tone into the mask of authority, hoping she could pick up the pieces. Obey. Follow along. He’d get her out in the end. “There’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room.”
He prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that she would fall in line. His pulse steadied as he watched it click into place in her gaze. Be calm. Answer the questions. Do this and they both could get out safely.
He needed her to pull through this without raising alarms, and when she did, victory was short lived.
Now she was in the middle of a mess he wanted to keep her out of.
All he can do is protect her. He would manipulate the chaos around them. He would be the calm in the storm. But if the storm hit too hard, if Command’s trap snapped closed… he would become a weapon she could ride to safety.
He had to be ready. This time, they won’t be able to tear them apart.
How Zayne would react if you were having a bad mental health day on Christmas
No answers to texts. Phone calls sent straight to voicemail. Zayne hadn’t heard from you all day.
The silence followed him through the hospital corridor. Not that he’d ever let it show through his pristine mask. It clung to the sterile lights, the polished floors, the clipped conversations drifting past him. He checked his phone between patients, between charts, between the steady rhythm of saving lives. Nothing. No cheerful updates. No heart emojis. No soft reassurance tucked between your words.
Yesterday, you had been sunlight incarnate. All warmth and cheer, all bright laughter poured into the narrow spaces of his long night. You had kissed him awake, pressed your forehead to his, told him Christmas could wait but you couldn’t. You made the holiday feel less like a date on a calendar and more like a promise.
He needed that promise more than he let on.
Your relationship was still new, still fragile in the way fresh snow remains untouched. Months ago, before he ever learned the taste of your lips or the way you curled against him in sleep, he had already made his commitments. He filled in the schedule quietly. Christmas shifts taken without complaint. ER coverage extended. Interns went home believing they were simply lucky, never knowing whose hands had finessed the calendar for them.
Zayne never announced his kindness. He practiced it like medicine. Effective. Quiet. The hospital called him cold. Efficient. The words were always whispered with hushed judgment.
The observant knew better.
Those commitments had been made before you. Before love complicated the arithmetic of sacrifice.
As he moved through the ER with rehearsed stoicism, one thought anchored itself in his mind. Next holiday season, he would keep more kindness for you. He would choose you out loud.
You had understood, though. You always did.
As he worked through Christmas Eve, you wrapped him in warmth from miles away. Every text arrived like a held hand. Every reassurance softened the edges of his exhaustion. Even the small video you sent, you laughing softly while cradling a pair of squirming kittens at the shelter, nearly drew a smile from him.
Nearly.
Zayne did not smile at work. Not where lives balanced on precision and control. Not where the smallest slip of his scalpel could mean the difference between life and death.
That morning, leaving your bed had been harder than any rough shift at the hospital. Your warmth lingered on his skin as he dressed, your breathing slow and even behind him. When he reached for the door, you stirred, padding after him with sleep still clinging to your eyes.
He paused. You pointed up.
Mistletoe hung deliberately. You had carefully placed it the night before.
The world narrowed to that doorway. To the softness of your lips when he bent to kiss you, as if memorizing the moment. As if storing it somewhere deep where cold could not reach.
“One more,” you had murmured, smiling against him.
He had given it to you, the smile he tried to keep tucked away tugging at his lips. You made it important to start his day with kindness.
Now, hours later, that memory was the only warmth he carried as the day stretched on without you. The ER buzzed around him. Machines beeped. Voices rose and fell. His phone stayed silent.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t panic. Zayne never panicked. But the cold inside his chest spread, sharp and unmistakable. He excused himself between cases, fingers already dialing your number again.
Straight to voicemail.
Zayne wouldn’t abandon a shift.
That line was carved into him deeper than bone. Patients came first. Always. Even now, even with the silence gnawing at him, he stayed until the work was done. Until the last chart was signed. Until the ER steadied into something manageable.
But when a colleague waved him down, breathless and apologetic, saying coverage had arrived early and he could leave thirty minutes ahead of schedule if he wanted…
He didn’t hesitate.
The coat was in his hands before the sentence finished. Gloves shoved on mid-stride. His steps were measured only out of habit, not calm. Normally, he would have stayed. Normally, he would have given those minutes away like he gave everything else, quietly, so someone else could sit a little longer beside a Christmas tree or a hospital bed holding a loved one’s hand.
Normally.
Tonight, those minutes belonged to you.
The cold bit hard as he stepped outside, snow dusting the streetlights, the city wrapped in a hush that felt almost reverent. His breath clouded as he walked fast, then faster, then broke into a run when no one was watching. Dignity could be reclaimed later. Time could not.
Your home greeted him with too much silence.
You had given him the code to your door around the same time Josephine and Caleb had “passed.”
That day was the first time Zayne had felt the need to use it with urgency when you didn’t answer the door. Slowly, he approached your bedroom door the way he would approach a sickly patient.
But you were there. Alive and warm. Buried in a cocoon.
And for the first time since he was a child, he breathed a sigh of relief.
…until he heard you sniffle.
Zayne went still.
You weren’t asleep. You were hiding. He listened again, holding his breath the way he did when waiting on a monitor to stabilize.
Another sniffle. Wet. Followed by a quiet, broken exhale you were trying very hard to swallow back.
His chest tightened.
He stepped closer, slow and careful, as though sudden movement might startle you into shattering. Your blankets were pulled high, your body curled inward, shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly.
You didn’t turn when he entered.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You shook your head once, like you were trying to will yourself into being fine before he saw you. Like you had already decided this was something you should handle on your own.
Zayne sat on the edge of the bed.
You inhaled sharply, then again, and this time the sound broke free of you, a quiet, wrecked sob you immediately tried to muffle against the pillow.
He reached for you, hesitated only long enough to give you the choice, then rested his hand between your shoulder blades. Solid warmth met trembling flesh.
Here, Zayne didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t a problem he could fix with surgeon’s hands.
Yesterday, you had been bright enough to fool him. Laughter came easy. Cheer worn like armor so convincing he hadn’t questioned it. He had believed the version of you that you offered, because you were good at offering strength when it was expected of you.
Now you were coming apart beneath his hands, breath hitching, shoulders shaking, grief leaking out of you in quiet, humiliating sounds.
He stayed still.
Not because he was distant, but because he was afraid of a wrong move. Afraid to make thing worse instead of better.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered finally, voice raw. “I didn’t mean… I just—”
Your words tangled, falling apart. You shook your head like that might stop what had been building all day.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you said. “But… grandma is gone.”
The words hurt on the way out. Like saying that made the absence real again.
Zayne felt the weight of it settle into his chest. He remembered how heavy your grief was. And perhaps he had let you fool him into thinking it was gone.
“And Caleb…” you continued, quieter. “He and I… aren’t doing okay. I tried to… to call him but...” A brittle sound slipped from you, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I know it sounds stupid. I know I’m an adult. I should handle this.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid,” he said immediately. “And who said you should know how to handle this?”
You didn’t look at him.
“I’m sorry I ruined Christmas.”
That was when he understood.
He thought of the times you had been at your strongest. The days you came home fiery and still rolling hot off the latest drama. When you barked back at your demanding boss without apology. When you stood in the street and stared danger down, as wanderers tore dangerous paths through people too stupid to keep themselves and their children out of harm’s way.
He remembered how you’d held yourself, unyielding, fierce, pushing people out of danger, even at the expense of your own safety. People mistook that for fearlessness.
He saw what came home on those nights.
The heat… the indignation would roll off of you when you stepped through the door. Then you’d recant the foolishness you were forced to deal with, strength leaving your body until you became a puddle on the couch. He’d watch as you shed your armor in the privacy of four walls, never asking anyone to witness the cost.
You were strong because you needed to be.
And when you fell apart, it was because no one had ever been there to see you break.
Until now.
Zayne’s hand slid more firmly against your back, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles through the fabric of his coat. His other arm wrapped around you fully this time, drawing you into his chest without hesitation.
“Ruin Christmas?” he asked quietly, letting you sob quietly against him without hesitation.
His hand stilled at your back, then threaded into your hair as if to anchor you to him.
“If it weren’t for you,” he said after a moment, voice soft, “I would still be at the hospital.”
Your chest twinged with guilt.
“I don’t leave early,” he continued. Not as a defense. Just a fact. “I don’t take what little time I’m given and keep it for myself.”
His fingers tightened once, just barely, like he was bracing himself.
“You are the first thing I have ever wanted to take time for.”
And just like that, the guilt washes away into something warm.
“You don’t have to be strong to earn that,” he said. “You don’t have to hold yourself together. You don’t have to make today easier for anyone.”
His forehead came to rest lightly against your hair.
“You’re allowed to have bad days,” he murmured. “Even today. Even on Christmas.”
You broke again at that, quieter this time, grief loosening in way where it was allowed. He wasn’t asking you to be strong.
‧₊˚✩彡Warning: 18+ MDNI, Vaginal Sex, Tattoos, Tattooing, Dominate/Submissive themes, Reader is a Switch, Rafayel is a Switch, Power Fucking, Pussy Pounding, Nipple Piercings, Rough Sex, Protected Sex, Porn with Plot, Mating Press, Alternative Universe, literally the cutest ending.
Ao3
Scroll… Scroll… Double-tap… Scroll. Stuck in an endless doom scroll, you check the time and do the math.
If you fall asleep now and sleep in an extra 15 minutes tomorrow morning, you will get… 6 hours of sleep.
You tell yourself that you really will turn your phone off and go to sleep… after the next reel. Wait, no. 10 more reels, just in case the next one is an ad or trash.
Scroll… scroll… the algorithm is failing you tonight. Click on one inositol ad for ovarian health and for some strange reason, Instagram puts a hundred ads in front of you; supplements for a tasty pussy. You roll your eyes at another pussy gummy ad and scroll.
Scroll…
Stop.
Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause. A tattoo needle pierces skin as Stray Kids blasts.
🎶Cookin’ like a chef I’m a 5 star Michelin
“미”의 정점을 찍고 눈에 보여 illusion🎶
The edit draws you in even as the line still makes you laugh internally. Restaurants can only get a max of 3 stars. Are they saying that they have 2 restaurants? One with 3 and another with 2?
The song still slaps.
You lose count of how many times you let the reel play. The “Birds of Prey” version of Harlequin is lined in vivacious neons. The piece was made for the female gaze and you simply have to look at the artist’s page.
It's… inspired? Chaotic?
It’s different.
You scroll and scroll and you fall in love. A nebula captured in a cat outlined in white, a black and white portrait of a toddler but with eyes full color that look so real it’s uncanny, a sky-scraper skyline you recognize because it’s your city and its in watercolors… you love every piece more than the last and scroll back up to find the artist’s link tree.
His studio is in the same city. His studio. You curse internally for many reasons.
Your first tattoo was done by a complete pig and the memory of him instantly makes you shudder. He kept making comments on the fullness and shape of your breasts as he tattooed your ribcage. And as a timid 18-year-old, you sat there and took it in extreme discomfort.
You sought out femme artists since then to make yourself feel more at ease. You didn’t usually find such inspired artists on your Instagram page that were in your city and you normally would just pin their art to your pinterest. Riffard is in France, Pablo Frias in New York, Pikkaman in LA. You didn’t have to struggle with the internal debate because all these artists were so far away. But TattedRafayel’s studio is literally within walking distance of your inner-city apartment and his work is stunning.
You practically salivate as you think about the larger pieces that you haven’t gotten done because you want them to be done by the best. In your city, you had yet to find an artist whose style seemed to match the type of art that you really wanted on your body.
at least, not until today…
‘Nope. Not going to do it,’ you tell yourself firmly and you feel your heart break a little. It’s hard to make peace with a man being so intimately close to your skin for that long. The mere thought of being held hostage under a tattoo needle with no possibility of escape was nerve-wracking.
Not worth it.
Finally locking your phone and rolling over to sleep, your mind replays images in your head. Striking colors… Impressive linework… unique designs.
His art is immaculate. You need it on your skin.
‘Sleep,’ you tell yourself. It is unwise to make a decision when you are this fatigued. But seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into an hour and you are still thinking about all the tattoos that you want.
He could pull them off.
You curse silently and grab your phone to open Instagram and request a consultation. That first tattoo with the shitty artist that was obsessed with your tits had faded pathetically and you needed it touched up. Perhaps a quick refresh with him would give you insight to his character and you’d feel more comfortable sitting down for a longer session with him later?
You feel the excitement begin to bubble. If this goes well, you can finally start your dream sleeve.
The nervous energy was practically rolling off your body in waves. You aren’t exactly a stranger to the process but still. A thorough shower, copious amounts of deodorant, perfume, and of course… skin prep. You’ve had such good results after applying hyaluronic acid and lidocaine to the area you would be getting tatted and today would be no different as you carefully rub product into your skin.
Did you smell pleasant enough to be around?
Your last tattoo artist was nice, but you could tell she skipped the shower the night before and she needed it. It was an unpleasant hour.
You wouldn’t dare to be late to an appointment out of respect for the artist’s time, so you gargle your mouthwash on the way out to your car.
The studio is so close, it only takes about 3 minutes for you to arrive and the nervous energy still radiates off you.
Blood and Ink- The name of the studio is etched into the glass door and you take a deep breath before entering to find an empty reception desk. 3 people pop up from their cubbies to study you and you realize you have no idea what Rafayel looks like.
“I… I am looking for Rafayel.”
A man with large gauges in his ears and filed teeth smiles slyly at you.
“Raf isn’t here today, but I’d be more than happy to help you, sweetheart.”
One of the other heads to pop up belongs to a very sweet looking girl who rolls her eyes and walks out of her cubby to approach you.
“Hi, I’m Pepper. Ignore Tony. He is a douche.” Tony whines in protest, but you get the feeling Pepper isn’t wrong about him. “Rafayel is in the back, sanitizing his station. Follow me.”
Rounding the corner, you spot horned headphones nestled in purple hair and pause.
Is that Rafayel?
You weren’t expecting him to be so striking. How can eyes be rosy and blue at the same time? You wonder silently, studying him carefully as he continues to diligently prep his work station
You never really knew what to expect when meeting the artists working on your body, but Rafayel was... elegant in his self-expression. A glint of gold catches your eye and you see the thin lip ring threaded through his lariat piercing. His ears are gauged with small plugs made of real and beautiful amethyst. The grace in his movement is enough to make time stop and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
The movement of his hands catch your attention and the tattoos on his fingers strike you. The fine line work was sophisticated and the subtle switch from solid lines to clustered dots in areas like knuckles where skin can crease shows you that he knows the way that tattoos heal and fade. And finally, he realizes you exist. He pauses before he glances up at you, pulling his headphones off his ears and standing up straight.
“Thank you, Pepper.” Pepper happily chirps that it was her pleasure before bouncing away adorably and Rafayel finally looks at you. “You must be my 1 PM appointment? Tattoo refresh? I’m Rafayel. Have a seat.”
Vibrant colors peek out from under his asymmetrical collar, but not nearly enough for you to be able to make out what hides underneath his dark blouse. His shaggy purple hair nearly covers the fish tatted behind his ears, one red, one blue, both simple and gorgeous.
“Where should I put my things,” You ask as you take a seat carefully.
“Hm?” Rafayel pulls his seat closer to get a good look at you and the aroma of his shampoo invades your nostrils. He smells like vanilla and sea minerals and you almost forget what question you were asked when he answers. “Oh, yes. Sorry. You can place your belonging on the side table behind you. And thank you for asking. I can’t tell you how many times someone comes here and throws their phone and keys on the sanitized work station with my needles and ink.”
“That would suck. Its not my first rodeo. I know the drill.” You reach back and set your bag down, grabbing your phone and earbuds, just in case you need something to help you occupy your mind.
“Alright. So the tattoo on your ribcage…” You wore a crop top to make it easier to be worked on and Rafayel leans in to look at the faded tattoo in question.
“Okay, to review your online consultation, you want the color refreshed, and to add a little extra flair. And from the mock ups, you wanted option B. Add more florals?”
“Yeah, the quick sketch you did was simple but lovely.” You were surprised by how quickly Rafayel took the picture of your tattoo and added more sophisticated detail.
“Alright. For the flowers that you have right now, what were their original colors?”
“Pink petals and a yellow pistil.” Your response makes Rafayel grimace.
“I can’t even tell, by looking at it. These colors have almost completely faded. Are those the colors you wanted to stick with?”
Your mind goes blank. Since you were just coming in for a refresh, you hadn’t considered making a color change.
“Oh, I… I’m not sure. Looking at you, it seems like you are good at putting together a cohesive look.” Rafayel perks in response. “I’m open to suggestions.”
He grabs his phone and pulls up a few images.
“Its called a burning ember lily,” he turn the phone and your jaw nearly drops. Dark purple petals are lined in vibrant oranges and yellows and the center practically glows with red and orange hues. “Your skin tone is kinda perfect for it.”
“Yes! I’m excited!”
Rafayel nods, a hint of a smile plays on his lips.
“Alright. Have you applied anything to your skin recently?” He examines your tattoo a little bit closer.
“Hyaluronic acid and 4% Lidocaine.” Rafayel’s nose scrunches in concern.
“Some skin type become too soft and difficult to get precise linework when lidocaine is applied. Is it okay if I touch your skin around the tattoo area for a moment? I need to see if your texture was affected.”
You nod and Rafayel carefully feels and stretches the skin on your ribs, looking closer to see how you are affected. “Hm. I don’t see anything of notable concern. However, if I do notice that it is an issue moving forward, we may have to stop and try again later.”
“I totally get it. But the lidocaine didn’t impact the quality of my last two tattoos, so I think we will be okay.”
You point at 2 other small tattoos. 1 on your collar and one on your shoulder and he breathes a small sigh of relief.
“That makes me feel better.” He rises to apply the stencil and when you give him your approval he washes his hands and pulls on gloves.
“Alright. Just wanted to let you know, I will be recoloring the tattoo in full, which means that it will be like getting the full thing all over again, just like the first time. Otherwise, the faded ink will be obvious.”
You nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“Alright, you ready?” Rafayel checks in one more time and you give him permission. The needle comes into contact with your skin, and although its uncomfortable, its not unbearable like the first time.
“You good?” he asks, politely checking in and you nod, popping your ear buds in and selecting a playlist to help you vibe for the next 2 hours.
Rafayel works mostly in silence, occasionally checking in to make sure you are okay. And honestly you are. Ribs are supposed to be extremely painful to tattoo and your first experience hurt quite a bit. A nagging feeling in the back of your head screams that the tattoo may come out poorly because he is too light handed. But you remind yourself that you applied lidocaine and your first artist fell very short of professional and was likely very heavy handed.
You hear him speak, just barely through the music and you take one earbud out. “I’m sorry. What was that?” you ask, having not been able to hear him over your music.
“Oh, nothing. Just a comment. Your skin absorbs ink well. Makes a nice canvas. Doesn’t make sense how faded this tattoo is.”
Oh.
“Yeah. I get that from every artist.” Rafayel simply nods and continues his work.
Your earbuds go back into your ears for almost the whole appointment. Despite the slight discomfort of the needle, you find yourself drifting off.
The buzz of the needle stops and you see a hand wave in front of your face.
“Yeah?” You pull your earbud out again and blink the sleep out of your eyes.
“We are about an hour in. You good? Don’t have the shakes or anything?”
“Nah, I’m good. Honestly just sleepy.” You rub your eyes and yawn, causing Rafayel to yawn in response.
“Oh, God. Don’t do that.” He can’t help but yawn again, his eyes watering and with gloves still on, he can’t wipe the tear forming in his eye.
Without thinking you grab a tissue and blot the moisture away and he chuckles softly.
“That was very helpful. Thank you. You sure you don’t need juice or a bathroom break?”
You shake your head and lean back.
Rafayel nods his head and looks back at your ribs. “This looks like may 40 more minutes of work left. You let me know if you need to take a break, okay?”
The needle buzzes back to life and you find that the vibration against your skin makes it easier for you to drift back to near slumber even if it stings a bit. The songs you enjoy playing one right after the other until a gentle pat on the shoulder make you jolt awake.
You really did fall asleep.
“Its not often people fall asleep in the chair. You are all done. Want to take a look in the mirror?”
Rafayel flashes you a polite smile and carefully walks you to the mirror. It wasn’t uncommon for people to pass out after a tattoo and you could tell that he was weary, stance ready to catch you if you fell.
The world comes to a halt, however as you stand in the mirror, a half dozen flowers surrounding the Kanji for “Love” on your ribs and it looks like they are made of fire on the cusp of dying out and being swallowed by the darkness.
“So… Kanji for love? Let me guess. You were crazy about Gaara?”
You laugh a bit, still admiring the tattoo in the mirror. “That obvious, huh?”
He nods, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Can’t say I blame you though.” He lifts his blouse a bit, revealing the same kanji on his hip albeit, a lot smaller than yours. “Gaara is pretty cool after all.”
He leans in to apply saniderm to your skin. “Do you like it? The new look, I mean.”
“Love it!” You say with enthusiasm and you mean it. The experience was comfortable and the tattoo was stunning.
“Too bad it was a small tattoo. Your skin is like the perfect canvas for ink.”
“Oh, I’d like to get some larger ones. I’m thinking about a ½ or ¾ sleeve.” You pull your pinterest board up with the inspiration photos of all the artists you admire.
Rafayel scrolls through, becoming completely engrossed in your phone.
“No black lining?” He observes with peaked interest.
“I want my lining in vivid colors.”
For the first time he really looks at you, making direct eye contact. His nostrils flare and pupils dilate.
“Please,” he pleads quietly, voice a touch huskier. “Please let me.”
You got him. Hook, line a sinker.
Your last tattoo appointment was 4 weeks ago. Rafayel gave you his cell phone number and requested that you send him your pinterest board so that he could study the art you were interested in. At first, the texts were only about the potential work for your sleeve.
Rafayel asked clarifying questions. What about each artist signature style did you like so much? What did you want incorporated into your tattoo? What did you dislike about the tattoos you pinned?
You took a moment to gush about what you liked about Rafayel’s work and what you would really like to combine from everything you pinned and that’s when the conversation really started to change.
“That’s sweet… but really, these artists are inspired. This Pikkaman account? The patterns in their color blocks? This is the kinda linework that will take hours and hours. Multiple sessions. I’ve never even thought to do something like this. I’m excited to incorporate this into your tattoo somewhere.” You read his text over and over. It was the first thing he sent you with extra enthusiasm.
Texts went from every couple of days to discuss the piece to every day. He'd send updates on possible design ideas and when you’d gush, short conversations drew out to longer ones and before you knew it, joking around with each other just became a regular part of your conversations.
“There is so much detail going into this piece, we are probably look at a minimum of 14 hours. Maybe even as much as 16,” he warns, but somehow that makes you feel good.
Then about a week before your appointment, he finalized your design. You thought maybe that was the end of the daily back and forth and the following day, you got nothing. It was genuinely a bit disappointing and you hadn’t realized that you’d become accustomed to his humor.
One day of silence became two, and your fingers itched to send him something. Anything to get the conversation going again.
‘He is just your tattoo artist… not your friend,’ you remind yourself, gritting your teeth as you try to force yourself to focus on something else.
Day 3 of silence. You remind yourself this relationship is strictly transactional when your phone dings.
“How is your tattoo? Healing well? Colors still vivid?”
You read and reread the text preview, carefully avoiding sending the read receipt. You don’t want to seem too eager.
‘He is only asking out of professional interest. He isn’t just trying to talk to you,’ you tell yourself even as that itch in your brain reminds you that you’ve been under the needle 5 other times and none of those artists ever texted or called for a follow up to check on your healing process.
“Tattoo is healing very nicely!” you text back 15 minutes later, hoping you waited long enough to not seem obsessed.
Rafayel is beautiful. You don’t want to fangirl like the rest of the people in his life probably do.
The day of your appointment come and Rafayel looks different. Eager and with a smile on his face. He greets you at the door, walking you over to his cubby.
His work station is already ready, and you open your bag and put it on the the little side table meant for you.
“I see you are getting prepped too?” There is obvious amusement in his voice as you line up battery packs for your devices, snacks, and pull out a giant water bottle to keep yourself hydrate. “We kinda have a rule. Person getting the longest tattoo has the right to pick the soundtrack. You can connect your Bluetooth to the speakers. Everyone can jam with you.”
“In that case, I apologize ahead of time for all the kpop and complete unconnected themes and genres.” You smile sheepishly as you connect to Bluetooth and TROT music immediately starts playing.
“Seriously? Trot?” Rafayel pauses and chuckles a bit. “I’ll try not to judge.”
“Sorry, this is what I was playing for my mom last night.”
“Ah, that makes more sense.” Rafayel happily hums as he applied the stencil to your skin.
“You seem different today,” you blurt out without thinking. “I mean, last time I saw you, you were reserved and more focused.”
You study him more. Today his arms are exposed in a tank top, and you can see more of his tattoos. Only one arm has a half sleeve of flaming sharks in brilliant pinks and purples and you can tell he hits the gym, despite his slender frame.
“You’re right. It’s the medication.” Your eyes shift from the stencil back to him. “I have mad ADHD. On days where I am doing smaller, simpler tattoos, I need help locking in for the day so I take my Adderall. On days like today, these big projects are enough dopamine to fuel me.”
He whistles cheerfully after being given the green light, the tattoo gun buzzing against your arm. And when you finally switch to a better playlist, he smiles.
“God, that’s better. Gangsta’s Paradise. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Strong start, I admit. But expect disappointment from here.” You honestly are quite self-conscious about your playlist, but Harry Styles starts to play a few minutes later and someone on the other side of the studio starts crooning along with “A Sign of the Times” and you start to feel more at ease.
The needle continues to stamp your skin in vivid colors and you want so badly to watch the beautiful man next to you do his job, but you also don’t want to stare, so your eyes close. He changed shampoos, and he smells clean with a hint of citrus.
“So I have something to confess.” Rafayel dips the tattoo needle back into the ink. “I snooped the rest of your pinterest so I could learn a bit about you. Hope that doesn’t across as creepy.”
Huh?
“Oh… well I guess I did give you the link for it. What did you learn?” You stomp down the small part of you that is pleased he had a desire to learn more about you.
“I won’t reveal all my cards at once. Just figured you are going to be in the chair for a long time today. Maybe a few discussion points might help the time go by for both of us.”
You open one eye just a bit and peek over at him. “You still haven’t told me any of what you learned.”
He smiles at you mischievously. “I learned you are a giant nerd.”
“Gee… Thanks?” You deadpan, raising a brow.
Rafayel barely looks up from his work, but you don’t miss the way the corners of his mouth twitch. “Oh god, don’t pout at me like that.”
Your breath stalls. Pouting?
Heat prickles at the back of your neck as you scramble to smooth your expression, but it’s too late. His smirk is already there, teasing.
“Don’t take it the wrong way. I like it. I’m not going to feed that you that cheesy, ‘you are not like other girls’ line. But I will say, I was happy to learn we’d have something to talk about.”
Is he trying to hit on you?
“Alright then. Topic number one?”
“Hold still for me.” Rafayel carefully focuses on his linework. “Doctor Who?”
“Oh god. You did a deep dive?”
Rafayel smirks. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No, I guess not. But I kinda tapped out mid-Peter Capaldi. His arc was a bit too intense for me.”
You look over, but Raf’s eyes are hidden by purple hair as he concentrates on his line work.
“I gotta admit, I watched a little bit. But that’s because a couple people came in asking for Galifreyan tattoos and when I looked them up, they looked really cool.”
What did you think?” The tattoo needle is now going over a sensitive and it doesn’t feel great, so you try to lose yourself in the conversation.
“Intense… but David Tennant is really hot.”
It makes you laugh hard enough that Rafayel has to stop and pull the needle back.
“Yes… he is indeed.”
Unmedicated Rafayel was shockingly easy to talk to. You were already 2 hours into your 10-hour session when Rafayel forces you to take your first break. A snack, some juice and a potty break later, and you were back in the chair for round.
“Alright. Time for conversation starter number 2.” He was already calming your nerves, eyes once again focused on your tattoo and you watch his beautiful rosy and blue eyes dart around your skin to check his work. “You are into local travel…”
“Oh yeah! I love taking road trips. I’m practically out of town every time I get 2 or more days off in a row.”
“Yeah, I noticed you pinned a whole bunch of places that were 4-hour drive or less. Which destination was your favorite?”
You take a second to ponder. “Honestly, that really depends on the mood I’m in. But I just went to Dripping Pool. You go spelunking through a cave until you find an opening that drips beautiful blue water into a freshwater pool.”
Rafayel’s eye flash briefly with interest before he looks back down at his work. “I’ve always wanted to go, but I can’t seem to stop working… But I think I will go to hill country and try out one of those wineries you pinned first. Which one was your favorite?”
“Oh… those are really more… romantic weekends. I guess I was saving that for when romance actually happens for me.”
You see Rafayel freeze and look up at you. “Oh. I thought you were engaged or married.”
Huh?
“You’ve got a wedding board. Cute shit, I’m not gonna lie,” he explains, and attempts to casually switch back to his work.
Ah. The wedding that never happened. The engagement ring that ended up in the trash.
“Yeah. Long story. Short version? We weren’t right for each other.”
You can see him nod from your peripherals. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Don’t be,” you answer quickly. “If it went through, I’d be miserable.”
“Eyyy! Positive spin. I like that. How long ago was that? If you don’t mind me asking.”
You groan internally. “It’s been 5 years.”
“5 years?” You can feel his breath on your skin and you don’t like what it makes you feel even as the conversation gets awkward. “Any movement in the past 5 years?”
“Nothing worth talking about.”
“Tch. A cutie like you with interesting hobbies? That’s a shame. I’m sorry men universally suck.” He earns a rich chuckle from you, but internally you panic.
“I mean, I guess I could take that as a compliment.”
His eyes flick up to yours, glinting with mischief. “You should.”
You gulp quietly, breath hitching and you pray he doesn’t notice. God, you are in trouble and you know it.
Rafayel continues focusing on his work. Despite him making it very clear that he found you interesting, the rest of the conversation lulls you into a sense of familiarity and comfort.
The hours stretch on, filled with a mix of banter, musical debate, and comfortable silence. At some point, you lose track of time, lulled by the rhythmic buzz of the tattoo gun and the occasional brush of his fingers against your skin as he works. The shop assistant, Pepper, adorable butterfly that she is, keeps popping in to take pictures and videos and gush over the progress made.
Perhaps the lack of warmth through clinical gloves brought you back down to earth, but you’ve convinced yourself that this isn’t going anywhere.
“Almost done,” Rafayel murmurs, his voice lower, rougher from hours of focus. He swipes one final stroke, then leans back, appraising his work.
You let out a slow breath, relief and exhaustion settling into your bones. “That was—”
“Brutal?” he guesses, smirking as he grabs a clean cloth.
“Something like that,” you admit, stretching your limbs to shake off the stiffness.
He wipes your arm down, a satisfied smile on his face and he looks at with a hint of excitement. “I know we’ve got another 6-hour session to go before its complete, but it looks pretty fantastic already.”
He pulls away, stripping off the gloves with a snap. “Alright, moment of truth,” he says, nodding toward the mirror.
Really, it is the moment you’ve been dying for. And when you stand in front of the mirror, you audibly gasp.
Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause.
An Elephant lined in neons with long, hot pink eyelashes, its legs covered in geometrical patterns stares at you. The blank spaces will be filled later, but you already know you will love it.
“I…”
“Love it?” Rafayel sits behind you with a tired, yet satisfied smile. “Hate it? Don’t know how to feel about it?”
You look at yourself in the mirror again. The smile on your face makes you feel stupid but you can’t help it. You can’t school your features and make it go away.
“I respect you. You are incredibly talented.”
Rosy and blue eyes go blank for a second before Rafayel covers his face.
“Fuuuuuck. I wasn’t- Why does it feel like I’m blushing?”
You wish you were the girl that could smile tauntingly as you reduce a man to whatever state Rafayel was in now. But instead, you blush with him, covering your mouth as Rafayel hangs his head. You were alone now. The studio had emptied a while ago and this was becoming dangerously intimate.
“Alright, cutie. Let me get the saniderm and get you out of here.”
Cutie. God, the way it rolls off his tongue so naturally and makes your heart flutter is not good for your health.
He takes his time applying the saniderm with care and when he is done, he admires his handiwork.
“I seriously can’t wait until your tat is done. I’m going to post it on all my platforms the moment we get you cleaned up next session.”
And there he goes making you blush again as he traces the lining of the tattoo over the saniderm gently with his thumb.
He mutters something about walking you to your car because it’s dark as you pack your things, but when you stand, your body betrays you.
A wave of lightheadedness washes over you, and your vision tilts at the edges. You barely manage to step back before the floor shifts under your feet.
“Whoa—hey.” Rafayel’s hands are on you before you can even blink, steadying you by the waist. His grip is firm but careful.
He guides you back to a seated position and looks you in the eyes. “Your eyes are glazed over. You need some sugar.”
He jogs off to the refrigerator and comes back with an orange juice that you sip through your embarrassment before you start to feel better.
“I think it goes without saying that I can’t let you drive home without worrying.” Those pretty rosy and blue eyes hold genuine concern and the strong, independent woman you are forced to be melts under his gaze. “I’ll drive you home.”
Your stomach flips. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” he counters easily, reaching for his keys. “I want to.”
Something about the way he says it—no hesitation, no teasing—leaves you momentarily speechless. So… you let him.
For once, letting someone take care of you doesn’t feel like a mistake.
It’s all the little things that add up to more. His arm remains around you for support as he walks you to the car and helps you sit down carefully in the passenger seat before handing you the car key and telling you to keep the door locked as he locks the studio. It’s the fact that he kept the lights on as he walked you to safety and ran back to turn them off before locking up. It’s the fact that he shone a light into your car windows and made sure nothing valuable was visible before he hopped in the car to drive you home.
It’s the smile on his face as he looks in to check on you before turning the ignition and asking if you are feeling better. He is doing a lot of things right and you resolve to go for it when you have the chance.
He hands you his phone to plug in your address.
“Wow. A whole 3-minute drive. How inconvenient.”
You huff in amusement. “Just say you want to spend more time with me and take the scenic way home.”
He playfully checks the gps. “The scenic way is 5 minutes long.”
The play feels so easy and you push his arm.
“No, but really, I was hoping I could make an excuse to get something in your stomach. Lunch was 7 hours ago.”
Oh?
“Planning to feed me? Do you do that for all your clients?”
Rafayel looks at you seriously. “No. But I think you and I are both leaning towards this becoming bigger than artist and client.”
Your fingers tighten around your phone. That fluttery, dangerous warmth in your chest spreads, and it won’t go away.
You are in trouble.
But something about Rafayel is different than all the other men in your life. The guarded back and forth and coy banter doesn’t feel necessary when he communicates directly and makes you feel safe.
So, you reach out, fingers threading into his. He stills, eyes flicking to where your hand rests before meeting your gaze again.
“Take me to get food,” you say, voice softer now, steady. “Then take me home.”
Rafayel watches you for a beat longer, as if committing this moment to memory, before he shifts into drive.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth twitching into something almost boyish. “I can do that.”
At 10 PM there aren’t a lot of options, but there is a Columbian food truck that definitely caters to the drunks and munchies. Rafayel has never been. So, when your hot dogs come out covered in 3 different types of sauce, coleslaw, bacon and potato chips, he makes you laugh as he playfully shouts, “Oh, shit! There are potato chips on my hot dog?!”
One bite and his eyes widen, the sheer reverence in his expression, has you dissolving into laughter before he even swallows.
“Ohhh, okay,” he says, pointing at the hot dog like it just changed his life. “I get it now. This is genius.”
For someone who looks so elegantly put together, he rips into his late-night snack with enthusiasm. “Potato Chips! On my hot dog?!”
It makes him seem less perfect and more real. And for a moment, you are floating on a cloud, unable to shake the feeling that maybe this could be the beginning of something special.
Even better, the extra still in the details continues as he loops an arm around you and guides you back to his car, just in case you stumble.
Rafayel jokes once more that the commute is unbearably long, but the food truck is only 4 minutes from your front door and he grins as he helps you out of the car and walks you to your door.
“I guess this is goodnight, cutie. Is it okay if I call you tomorrow morning?” He takes a couple steps back as you punch your door code in.
A gentleman.
He doesn’t have to be one tonight.
Before he can retreat too far, you reach out and grab his wrist, pulling him back to you, erasing the distance he created to make you feel safe. His eyes darken, intensity flickering in those rose and blue hues as realization dawns.
“Rafayel… it’d be weird calling me from the same bed.”
He throws his head back in disbelief, cursing under his breath before biting his lip.
“You are bolder than I thought.” He exhales slowly, voice deeper with a hint of something almost dangerous. Strong hands grip your waist tightly and he pulls you flush against him.
“Maybe I should be bold, too?”
Yes!
His lips descend, crashing into yours, the cold press of his lip ring making you want wild things and you bite around it. He exhales sharply, groaning, tilting your chin so that he can kiss you deeper before his hands roam your body.
Hands everywhere. Lips wherever they find skin. He presses you into your door and the door swings open behind you.
You pull him through your threshold, lips still attached to his when he stops you.
You won’t let him stop you.
“Cutie…” He gasps, breath ragged as you kiss a trail down his neck. You hum in acknowledgement as your fingers grip his hairs and just slightly pull his head back to expose more of him under your lips.
He groans as he grips the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
“God I don’t want to stop you, but…” You nibble firmly at the base of his throat.
“Fuck…” he curses and his hands abandon the door frame to clutch you against him once more.
“I’m listening,” you murmur as your lips travel to the other side of his neck, your hand firmly cupping him through, pants causing him to buck.
“Protection,” he rasps through his excitement. “My condoms are in the car.
You groan heatedly against his skin. “Hurry.”
You don’t have to say it twice. He bolts, grabbing an unopened 12 pack from his glove compartment and in seconds he slams and locks the door shut behind him, and kicks off his shoes before carrying you to the couch.
His lips are all over you, urgently kissing every expanse of bare skin he can find, his lip ring adding contrast and making you quiver.
“Glad it’s a 12 pack,” you groan as he covers your body with his. “We will be going through most of them tonight.”
“God, cutie. The things you say.” He tears the box, grabbing a condom and unzipping his pants. “I hope you make good on your promises, because I can, and I will.”
“Need… need to take my pants off,” you huff.
Rafayel leans back, settling onto the couch, watching as you stand and strip—quick, unceremonious, kicking your clothes aside.
“God, you are hot…” He whispers reverently, a blush burning across his skin as his gaze darkens intensely, kicking his own pants off. You stare as he rolls the condom on, eye contact intense and exuding confidence.
He knows he is packing.
He leans back with a smirk before finally pulling his tank top off and now you understand why it’s the last thing he kept on.
Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause.
His chest is covered in a sea scape of corals and clown fish. Vibrant cobalts, radiant beams of light. Your eyes dart around, drinking the details of his skin. His muscled physique you must touch.
Nipple piercings that you have to taste.
He tries to pull you back under him, but you push him back down into his seated position, tongue tracing each piercing as he moans, encouraging you to be bolder. Licking turns into sucking, sucking turns into biting. And the more it escalates, the more wanton Rafayel’s moans become as his hips buck into air, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
He looks so pretty and fuckable underneath you as he gasps, somehow even pinker than he was a minute ago.
“Cutie, please,” he begs underneath you. You never knew you’d love hearing a man beg, but Rafayel looks so pretty when he is desperate. You straddle him, guiding him to your entrance with one hand and grasping the long hair at the base of his neck with the other.
“Say please again,” you order, and he bucks, cock slipping in just barely as you pull your hips up to deny him.
His hands grip your hips tightly and he whimpers.
“Please.”
Good Boy.He gasps, throwing his head back into the couch cushions as your hips sink down and you stretch wide open to accommodate him.
He is so expressive.
So pretty.
You can’t. God, you wanted to power-fuck yourself on his cock, but FUCK! He’s big. A whimper escapes you as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing through the intensity.
“Fuck. Oh fuck, cutie. You feel so good.” His hands caress the small of your back as you adjust to his size and whimper pathetically.
“Raf… oh… ohh!” Even the slightest hint of movement is enough to make you tremble. He fills you so perfectly its almost too much, and you take several deep breaths to calm as he kisses your temple.
You weren’t going to last.
But you sure as hell were going to try.
Your hips begin to move and instantly his hands tighten clamping your waist and you hear him whimper.
Good. He won’t last either.
“I have no fucking clue how you were single when you walked through my door,” He whispers reverently. “But I will thank every God created by man that you are on my cock right now.”
And reverence is how he earns the power ride of his life. You plant your feet beneath his thighs, gripping the couch frame behind his head for leverage.
Your hips fly.
“Holy shit!” His voice cracks as your pussy slams down onto him, the impact pulling an obscene moan from his throat. For a moment, he forgets what to do with his hands, palms abandoning your waist to cup your breasts, then sliding up to tangle in your hair as he crushes your lips against his.
Then one hand wraps around your throat. You gasp, and it only makes him groan, the other hand back on your waist as he matches your pace, thrusting up into you, reckless, desperate.
You aren’t faring much better, his size making the stroke against your clit feel red hot. And when he starts to match your pace, thrusting upwards, a continous, high pitched, pathetic whimper escaping you.
Your ceaseless whimpering nearly drowns him out, but you hear it, sexy and desperate in a lower register.
This man will break you.
This man will ruin you.
“So close,” he cries when his thumb finds and circles your clit, pressing down firmly to draw sure, relentless circles.
You can’t control the visceral shriek that erupts from you as he forces your climax to a head, pussy throbbing and legs weak. You feel the rapid fire pulsing between your legs, blood pounding in your veins, pleasure making you twitch.
“FUCK! RAFAYEL! OH, FUCK!”
He sits up, face buried in your chest as he holds you as tight as possible and a handful of powerful thrusts upwards leads to his demise. He shudders, moaning your name as he comes.
A moment ago, your home was so loud, but now, he holds you quietly, kissing across your chest in an act of thankfulness as you pant. Sweat soaking your forehead makes your hair cling to your face and your mind whirls in disbelief.
“Is this real life?”
Rafayel chuckles against your skin between kisses and nibbles on your collar bone that make you shiver.
“I hope so.”
He arms circle to hold you tightly, the same way he did when he came and he begins to thrust upwards slowly, cock stirring back to life.
"You have got to be kidding," you gasp as he flips you onto your back.
“When I said I can and I will, I meant it, cutie.” His eyes go dark as he stares down at you. “I can go all night.”
His smile is devilish, giving you chills as he hooks your legs over his arms folding you into a mating press.
“One day, I’m going to breed you.”
Oh, fuck.
“But for now, I’m going to practice.”
He wants to wreck you the same way you destroyed him. It makes you whimper in anticipation before his hips begin to piston into you like a well-oiled machine. He rips scream after scream from your throat and you are certain you’ve never been louder.
“Yeah, cutie,” he grunts with a look of satisfaction. “Make those noises for me.”
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
His hips are relentless, punching the air right out of your lungs, the smirk on his face ever-present as he gives you twice what you gave him.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
The further back he pushes you into the couch, the deeper he drives into you and he won’t yield.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
He grunts through direct eye contact.
"Take it. Take my cock."
You don’t want him to yield.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
He fucks you like a fevered dream, dominating your pussy with no end in sight.
“Raf-!” There’s no air left in your lungs to announce your orgasm. Your vision whites out, your pussy clenches, and somehow… somehow you are screaming even louder.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
“I’m going to make you come again.”
God you need him to stop. Your nails bite desperately into his shoulders, but in a mating press there is no escape.
"Raf- fuck! Raf, I can't- FUUUCK!"
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
God you don’t want him to stop. The relentless pounding has stretched your orgasm into something dangerous and another more powerful wave curls your toes.
“AH! RAF!” And still, the air in your lungs does not exist, but you see that smirk disappear as your pussy squeezes tightly. You watch his mouth fall open, a string of curses flying from his lips before your vision goes white hot, coming in rounds of bursting fire.
Hot breath close to your ear huffs as you hear him grunt his release, chanting your name before struggling to safely remove himself from the tangle of limbs he created. You can finally breathe.
He collapses next to you, sounds of disbelief escape him as you desperately draw air. Pulling you closer he whispers, “I… cannot believe you let me fuck you like that.”
“Do it again,” you joke when you can finally speak and he barks out a laugh.
“Oh, I intend to.” He kisses you reverently once more. “Our chemistry is insane.”
“Off the charts,” You agree, offering a fist bump and he laughs as he reciprocates and pulls you close.
“We made a huge mess.”
He is right of course. The couch cushion is soaked from the deluge of your arousal and he gets up on shaky legs to dig around your kitchen for a clean towel. He turns the hot water on, tossing the condom and cleaning himself up.
“God I should have changed condoms. What a mess.” You are too tired to even be worried about it but he reappears, bowl and warm, wet towel in hand to clean up the mess he helped make between your legs. The kisses he gently presses against your thighs make you wonder what you did to get this lucky.
And when he was done, he reached for the box of condoms to pull out another.
“Tell me you are kidding, Raf…” You gasp, wanting to say yes and no at the same time.
He smiles mischievously at you. “I wasn’t lying, cutie. I can go all night.”
The sun is offensive as it invades you room through your curtains. Your body is sore all over and your bed is still warm but empty.
Once the confusion settles, you smile as you hear shuffling in your kitchen and smell the aroma of fresh coffee.
“Hey, cutie.” Your hero arrives moments later with caffeine you so desperately need. “I like your espresso machine.”
Your eyes aren’t ready to do their job yet, but you imagine him with tousled bed head and the love bites you left on his body. You sip your coffee and he sits on the bed, fingers combing through your hair.
“So I was thinking…” his voice is raspy from the noises you drew from him last night.
“Those wineries you pinned over in hill country?”
You crack one eye open and take a peek at him.
Dopamine in vivid colors delivered straight to your eyeballs makes you pause.
“Mm? What about them, sweetheart?” The pet name makes him smile like a goofball.
“Which one do you want to go to first? I'm free next weekend.”
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI! Threesome, extremely smutty with enough plot to make you feel good about it, Blow Jobs, Pegging, Drunk Sex, Penis in Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Pussy Eating, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism.
Ao3- 3fingers_of_scotch
Its hard to get used to this level of extravagance.
Staring at a set of broad shoulders adorned by an immaculately tailored heather gray sports coat you feel so out of place. You were doing your best to try and hid your awkwardness and match Sylus’s cool demeanor every time he looks down at you to check in.
You finger the bespoke black gown Sylus insisted that you wear tonight—bedazzled with jewels that felt they were worth more than your life when he turns back around and places a glass of champagne in your hand.
“Little dove, you look tense,” Sylus observes casually as he pulls you closer to his side.
You fix your face, smiling as you take for first sip of sweet champagne. Too sweet and cheap clearly, as it leaves a less than desirable aftertaste on your tongue.
You’ve grown accustom to Sylus’s penchant of skinship. It bothered you at first, the way he’d reach out nonchalantly drape his arm around you, or ticklishly finger your waist. But today, you lean into him, a small sigh of relief escaping you as you feel reassured by his presence.
“I’m fine, Sylus,” you reassure as you take another sip of the cheap swill they had the audacity to serve after Sylus has donated millions of dollars to… uh… wait.
“So, Sylus. You never told me why we are here at this Gala.”
You look up, barely catching a grimace as he discreetly spits the questionable hors d'oeuvres into a napkin.
“I donated a few million towards the Arts District in Linkon after the big flood. The money went towards renovating the Fine Arts Museum, the symphony hall, the opera house… And the restoration of one of Rafayel’s pieces.”
You choke on you cheap champagne. “Rafayel’s pieces?”
Sylus looks down, smirking slightly. “Yes, your little artist boyfriend’s piece ‘Siren’s Demise’ was water damaged in the flood.”
You flush indignantly. “He isn’t my boyfriend. How do you know that I know him, anyway?”
He flashes you a knowing look and you realize of course, that Mephisto definitely gave you away.
Sylus takes both of your glasses of unfinished, cheap champagne and handing them to nearby wait staff before casually remarking, “If he isn’t your boyfriend, he wants to be. Speak of the devil.”
You whip your head around, and sure enough, Rafayel stands next to his restored painting, looking chic in black slacks and what was probably a blouse from the women’s section.
“Hey, cutie,” Rafayel’s smile disappears from his face when he spots Sylus. Crossing his arms, he huffs, refusing to look in your direction.
“When you said that you couldn’t bodyguard for me tonight, I didn’t know you were going to be hanging out with a crime lord.”
What?
You can practically here the rumble in Sylus’s chest as he chuckles with amusement.
“Sweetie… you didn’t tell me your little boyfriend was a Lemurian.”
Again… what?
Both of your heads whip around, staring at Sylus in shock as that devilish smirk grows broader.
“What? I know a Lemurian when I see one. So… pretty. I can almost smell the attitude and sparkling scales.”
Rafayel flushes heatedly.
“Well, I know a Philosian when I see one.”
You whip around in shock once more. “What?”
“Ashy haired, tall… handsome bastards… the whole lot of you.” Rafayel turns to storm off in a huff and without thinking, you give chase.
“Raf!” Its difficult to catch up in heels, but when you do, you find him sulking in a corner trying to collect himself so that the press doesn’t see.
“Rafayel, are you ok-“
“He just had to be so fucking tall. And handsome. I want to slap his stupid handsome face,” Rafayel mutters under his breath.
“Oh, come on. Is it really so bad that I’m out with another friend?” You ask, rolling your eyes.
“When they are that handsome? Yes. How am I supposed to compete with that?” He looks even more agitated as he brushes his hair out his eyes. “And why does he have to be so fucking tall?”
Both of you practically jump out of your skin as Sylus suddenly appears behind you.
“I really had no say in how tall I’d grow. Maybe you should have eaten your vegetables?” Sylus jokes, but it doesn’t do a lick to eliminate the tension in the air.
Rafayel’s scowl grows as you spot the paparazzi approaching from behind Sylus’s broad shoulders.
“Ugh, I don’t think I can deal with your arrogant ass and Delphy at the same time.” Raf tries to storm off when Sylus reaches out to stop him.
“Arrogant?” Sylus tries to sound offended, but you can tell he is amused. “I haven’t spoken but 50 words to you. I’m already arrogant?”
Rafayel looks more and more agitated, pulling his elbow out of Sylus’s grip and glaring at Delphy as she approaches closer still with that ridiculous camera and the better than you grin she always seemed to wear when she caught wind of a story.
You suddenly double over feigning pain.
“I don’t feel so good,” you whimper. “I think those ghastly hors d’oeuvres did me in.”
Both bickering men rush to your aid, gently supporting your weight. Sylus grabs his phone, calling a car to be brought around to the front immediately as Rafayel soothingly strokes your back.
“You okay?” He whispers into your ear.
“Play along. Let’s get out of here before I deck that bitch,” you whisper back and Rafayel grins before picking you up bridal style.
“Everyone! Out of the way! There is something wrong with the food!” Rafayel shouts as he runs out the front door towards the car Sylus called for you and suddenly, the 3 of you are packed into the back of a small luxury limo with no plan.
Sylus looks at Rafayel with obvious amusement as Rafayel began to visibly panic, having not thought of what could happen next.
“Uh… you can let me out on the corner,” Rafayel manages to stammer, grabbing the door handle and trying urgently to let himself out.
“The child safety lock is on. We can’t get out,” Sylus remarks with a sly smile before shifting his gaze to you.
“Well kitten, our fun got cut short. I wouldn’t mind starting over elsewhere. Your little boyfriend can join.”
For a moment, the car is silent and you can’t help but notice Rafayel not interjecting about not being your boyfriend, Sylus’s earlier teasing replaying in your head.
‘If he isn’t your boyfriend, he wants to be.’
Rafayel’s ear burn bright red, his arms crossed as he sits and simmers in silence.
“Rafayel? Do you… do you want to hang out a bit?” You watch as your bratty lemurian friend softens, arms falling to his side, although his gaze remains fixed out the window.
“For you. If you are the one asking,” Rafayel mumbles. “And there better be food involved. The Gala food was… appalling.”
“That, we can agree on,” Sylus remarks, tapping on the partition. As it lowers, he asks the driver to make a quick stop for takeout.
It occurs to you a plan really hadn’t been laid out, but in a few minutes, the car stops and suddenly smells delicious and a few more minutes later, it stops again in front of one of Sylus’s safe houses.
And before you knew it, the three of you were sitting in the dining room, the same awkward silence from the car ride following you here as you watch two worlds collide.
At least the food was good.
Rafayel continued to glare and Sylus continued to smirk and you continued to nervously look back and forth, racking your brain for ways to alleviate the tension when you spot a bottle of gin.
Alcohol. Perfect.
You shove one final dumpling in your mouth and it seems everyone had an idea to get up at the same time. You stand, Rafayel stands, Sylus stands and you all freeze for a moment before Sylus puts a vinyl record on an antique gramophone.
Rhapsody in Blue swells- the kickoff- a playful tune of the clarinet and the environment suddenly feels very American Prohibition. Fitting, given Sylus’s love of Gin Fizz.
Rafayel follows you to the kitchen as you ice 3 martini glasses and pull out ingredients to make the only non-martini gin cocktail you know how to make… a southside.
“So…” Rafayel says, tone leaning more towards playful. “When did you get cozy with the leader of a criminal syndicate?”
You slap fresh mint loudly between your palms to release the aroma before dropping it into the cocktail shaker.
“You’re the one that sent me into the N109 zone, Raf. You shouldn’t be surprised that I made a few friends along the way.”
Gin, lime juice, simple syrup and ice join the mint and you shake until the metal in your hands becomes so cold it hurts. The ice water chilling the glasses gets tossed into the sink, replaced with the cocktail and garnished with additional mint.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he says with a smile, head shifting to the side causing purple bang to tumble into his eyes. “But the Sylus… you make interesting friends.”
Rafayel reaches for a fresh cocktail, lifting it to his lips and sipping carefully.
“I wasn’t expecting him to be… good looking in person,” he remarks, humming in approval as he takes another sip.
“Talking about me?” Sylus drawls from right behind Rafayel causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.
“Holy SHIT!” Rafayel sets his southside down and rinses the liquor off his hands in the sink. “You walk around like a sneaky… cat. I hate cats.”
“Sorry to disturb you.” Sylus’s apology sounds empty as he reaches for a cocktail as well, eyeballing you up and down.
“Pet. You look both stunning… and uncomfortable in that gown. There are some spare clothes in the guest room down the hall and to the left if you’d like to get comfy.”
You release the breath you had no idea you were holding.
“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t thinking about it. This dress is heavy.” You down the rest of your drink as Sylus’s fingers trace the jewels on your side.
“Hmm… yes. Well, you are wearing nearly a million dollars in rubies,” he nearly purrs in your ear. You refuse to look Rafayel’s way as you here him sputter, spilling his drink once more.
“Uh… yes. I guess I will be right back.” You practically rush down the hall with plans to return quickly, but your dress is too heavy and difficult to remove. It takes 5 minutes and a seam ripper to wriggle out of it and when you are free, you are hot and red in the face and need a minute to cool down. The entire time, you worry about how awkward conversation might be while you are gone.
To your surprise however, the two seemed to have made themselves more comfortable. Sylus’s coat and tie were draped over a chair with Rafayel’s belt and Rafayel looked a bit disheveled with his blouse untucked and lightly wrinkled.
“Sweetie, these were good. How did you make them?” Sylus brandishes an empty glass.
Maybe this night wouldn’t be completely awkward.
A few more rounds of liquid courage 17 topics later and you find yourself draped on the couch, back firmly pressed against Sylus’s chest and legs in Rafayel’s lap and the way their fingers brush less than innocently against your skin makes you tingle.
“Alright, I’ll be honest… I’m having a good time,” Rafayel admits, the tips of his ears burning from the alcohol. “I appreciate the rescue. I hate these galas.”
“Mmm, yeah. It did get a lot better, didn’t it?” You can feel Sylus’ chest rumble as he speak and more than your skin tingles as his hand sneaks under your shirt so that his thumb can rub soft circles on your waist.
There are a lot of things that you want to blurt out loud, but the alcohol has made your IQ drop at least 10 points and you choose to keep your mouth shut so that you don’t regret your words tomorrow morning.
Rafayel throws back the last of his drink before chuckling and leaning back, squeezing your thigh.
“So…” He asks more towards Sylus than you. “You didn’t really have to rescue me. So, I guess what I am trying to say is that I appreciate it. But… also, why?”
Rafayel’s eyes dart to the exposed skin around your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. You tense slightly as the mood shifts.
“Oh… maybe because you are almost as pretty as she is.”
Rafayel’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Are you… hitting on me?”
Oh… oh dear.
You feel the grip Rafayel has on your thighs become almost painfully tight.
“Isn’t he pretty, kitten?” Sylus whispers in your ear, his lips tickling your earlobe and making you shiver.
You nod as Rafayel’s eyes darken.
“I… I‘m not sober enough for this conversation. I should go…” Rafayel drawls slowly, but fails to remove himself from the couch.
“Oh… I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you while drunk,” Sylus remarks as his lips begin to trail down the side of your neck.
Rafayel leans forward, his gaze fixed to the wet trail Sylus leaves on your skin. You stare at him in turn. He looks nothing short of famished. He is a thirsty man in a desert and he looks at you like you are a tall glass of water.
“I am very aware of one thing…” Sylus’s lips begin to explore the other side of your neck and you whimper, causing Rafayel’s grip to now become painful.
“You’d want her sober.”
Oh, shit.
Rafayel leans in closer, drawn like a moth to the flame as he watched Sylus do all the things he wished he could do to your body.
“Maybe,” Sylus’s hand reaches up your shirt to caress your breast and you moan, twisting as the heat between your legs becomes uncomfortable. “Maybe, I just want to watch two pretty people touch each other.”
The only word to describe the expression on Rafayel’s face is slutty. He leans in, lips ghosting over yours before asking, “Only if it’s okay with you?”
You answer by pulling lips firmly against your and your world flips upside down as everyone suddenly shifts. Sylus pulls your ass flush against his cock, leaning back, his hand still firmly grasping your breast under your shirt and pulling you back with him. Rafayel responds in kind, crawling on hands and knees so that your lips stay locked.
“I’ve always wanted you,” Rafayel practically whimpers against your lips as Sylus’s hands wander into your shorts. You tremble as your lips part and Rafayel’s tongue wrestles with yours as he pulls your shorts off.
“Hmm, eager?” Sylus’s teases as Rafayel crouches, hastily kissing up your thighs. You whimper petulantly as Sylus’s fingers test your folds before moving to tease your clit.
“Seem you aren’t the only one,” Sylus groans. “Kitten, you are so wet.”
Rafayel smacks Sylus’s hand away, his tongue lapping your clit as Sylus pulls your shirt over your head to kiss across your shoulders.
“Mmm,” Sylus murmurs against the back of your neck. “He is feral. I like it. Do you like it kitten?”
“Yes!” Your hands grip Rafayel’s hair as he begins to slowly pump two fingers inside you and continues to diligently lap at your clit. “I… oh, God! I love it!”
Rafayel moans between your legs. “I finally know how you taste. I can’t get enough.” He nuzzles as he laps, nose buried tightly in your navel and his fingers pick up the pace causing you to buck and yelp.
Sylus shifts, rutting against your ass and you realize just how huge he feels against you, causing you to shudder.
Rafayel suddenly applies rhythmic pressure to your navel with the palm of your hand and you can’t help but shriek as he fingers pump faster as he still works your clit with his tongue.
“FUCK! Fuckfuckfuckfuck… gonna cum! Gonna cum!” Your thighs tighten, gripping Rafayel’s head, but it won’t stop him as his tongue continues to carry you through your orgasm and then some.
“That’s it, kitty. Let us hear you,” Sylus coos into your ear before nibbling your earlobe.
Your body quakes from overstimulation as Rafayel continues. Your toes curl, your grip on his hair tightens and you continue to cry out your bliss as the two men clutching you react.
Rafayel finally surfaces for air, kissing a trail up your abdomen before his lips find yours. You taste yourself on him as brings your hand to feel his arousal straining against his pants.
“Little dove… did he do good?” Sylus rumbles and you nod, whimpering as you still try to catch your breath.
“Then maybe he deserves a reward, hmm? But what kind?”
“Fuck,” Rafayel groans against your lips. “Please,” he begs, voice dripping with need.
Sylus stands with you in his arms and tugs on Rafayel’s shirt.
“Bedroom.”
Your panting echoes in the hallway as Sylus carries you to the master suite. He gently sets you down on the bed before reaching for a drawer and pulling out straps.
Rafayel joins you on the bed, lips kissing arbitrary patterns across your skins for a moment before gasping upon realizing what Sylus was pulling out of its plastic packaging.
“A strap-on? You serious?” Rafayel stammers, eye wide as the dart back and forth between you and Sylus.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Sylus says, eyes challenging. “Look me in the eye and you tell me you wouldn’t absolutely love being taken from behind by her.”
You playfully hold the strap on up, modeling it against your hips.
“I’m down.”
Rafayel’s breath catches in his throat. “Fuck.” Beautiful rosy and blue eyes flick back and forth between you and Sylus before he casts his eyes downward, eyes hidden behind long eyelashes. Palming his face, he takes a deep breath and looks at you once more.
“Fuuuck.”
“Do you want it, Rafayel?” You ask as he sighs burying his in his hands.
“Oh… he wants it,” Sylus responds, eye glowing as he reads Rafayel’s desires.
You lean in closer, lips gently and sweetly pressing against his as Rafayel pulls you closer against him. You trace soothing patterns across his back until he squeezes you tighter.
“You… you don’t think its weird?” he asks hesitantly as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
“I think it’s hot.”
“FUCK!” You feel Rafayel’s cock jump in his pants. “Yes. Yes. I want it.”
Its your turn to flip Rafayel’s world upside down and you do it with glee as you suck red marks across his neck. You cup his erection through is pants and as your teeth begin to nip his collar bone, you unzip his pants and slide them down with his boxers.
His cock weeps, pre-cum dripping as you grasp and pump it with slow but firm strokes, causing to hiss as he rutted into your hand.
“Shhh. Let me look at you. Take off your shirt.” Rafayel rips his shirt off, and tosses off to the corner and he is flush, panting with blown pupils. His skin is creamy and you nibble near his belly button and tease your way down.
“God, please,” he whimpers as grips the bedspread tightly. “I’ve… I’ve waited so long.”
You glance over at Sylus who made himself comfortable in an armchair, content to watch you touch his Lemurian guest.
“Lube?”
Sylus gestures to the small bottle on the bed next to the strap on. You reach for it, coating your fingers generously before circling Rafayel’s little pink, puckered star.
Rafayel shivers in anticipation when your lips kiss the head of his pretty cock. He was so worked up; it was almost purple like his hair.
“Please-“ he begins to beg when you take his full length in your mouth and push your middle finger in at the same time.
“Oh god!” He sobs, back arching against the bed sharply. You push his hips down against the bed and hold him still as your head slowly bobs up and down his length, finger pumping a bit faster.
“Fuck… yes… so good,” he cries and encouraged, you slip another finger in, scissoring and stretching him out as he sobs with pleasure.
Its feels empowering reducing a Lemurian to tears of pleasure and you relax your jaw, taking his beautiful, weeping cock all the way, his cock entering your esophagus. And with your nose buried deep in a small patch of purple hair, you take a deep breath before your long tongue slowly extend outward to lick his balls causing him to suddenly sit up and grip your hair tightly.
“Kitten… I had no idea you were so talented.” Sylus remarks with clear amusement.
“I… fuuuuck… I didn’t even know this was possible,” Rafayel pants, eyes wild with disbelief.
You slurp on his cock loudly as you return to your rhythm, humming with enthusiasm as your fingers continue to scissor and his hands clench your hair tighter.
He moans and moans until he suddenly grows quiet and you know its because he is just about to tip over the edge when you pull back, causing him to whimper, nearly pouting as he is denied his orgasm.
“Soon,” You promise as you equip yourself with the strap-on.
“Oh, God. Th-this is really happening,” Rafayel stutters.
“Only of you want it to happen,” you reassure before he shakes his head.
“Please. I need this,” he groans as he gets on his hands and knees.
“Facing me,” Sylus directs and Rafayel shifts. “I want to see both of your faces.”
You coat the dildo generously with lube before settling behind Rafayel, your heart pounding in anticipation. You kiss soft trails across his back reassuringly as you slowly push the dildo inside him, causing him to hiss with pleasure.
“He looks so pretty on his hands and knees, doesn’t he, sweetie?” Sylus remarks with mirth.
“Mmm, so pretty. You ready for me to move, pretty baby?” You ask and Rafayel nods as he gasps.
Your hands move to firmly grip his waist and you move, rearing back before carefully pushing forward.
“Good?” You ask as he mewls.
“God, YES!” He cries and its more than enough for you to set an impressive pace, fucking him the way you’ve always wanted to be fucked. With every few thrusts, you change angles slightly, hoping to find his sweet spot. You relish the sounds each thrust elicits when suddenly-
“OH, FUCK! OH, GOD!”
You found it.
A goal. A singular goal. You picture the spot in your head and proceed to ram the ever-loving-shit out of it as Sylus roars with approval.
“If you could just see the slutty look on his pretty face, kitten.”
You could picture it in your head and you bite your lip as beautiful scales reveal themselves around his neck and down his back.
You continue what can only be described as sensuous assault against Rafayel’s prostate when his elbows give out and he plops down, face buried in the sheets. You lose the angle, but only for a second and as you adjust and find it. As you pound into it, he cries out louder.
You see his elbow began to move, matching the pace you’ve set and you give his ass a sharp, stinging slap.
“Oh, he wants to touch himself so badly, kitten,” Sylus remarks, but its obvious in the way Rafayel sobs wantonly into the sheets beneath him.
You lean forward, gripping his hair firmly, turning his head just enough so that he can see you.
“You are going to cum because I fucked the shit out of you. No touching yourself.” Rafayel nods and cries out louder as you resume your pace.
“Please! Please! I’m so close!” Rafayel sobs and you hit that sweet spot with more enthusiasm when his body starts to quake.
“That’s it,” Sylus hums as he strokes himself over his pants and you hear cum splatter against the sheets underneath you.
“Good boy,” You coo, leaning to kiss across Rafayel’s back as he continues to cum on the sheets and you reach between his legs to stroke out the rest.
“God, Raf. You are so pretty when you come,” Sylus hums as he rises, stripping himself of clothing quickly as Rafayel collapses on the bed.
The strap on is ripped off in second and Sylus suddenly pins you to the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Raf and he pushes your lips to his.
You kiss him sweetly as he pants beside you and Sylus positions himself between your legs.
“That was so hot, I don’t think I’m going to last at all,” Sylus groans through gritted teeth, but he plunges inside you with zeal, leaning over to pull Raf closer for a three-way kiss as you moan, legs circling him.
Fuck… finally. You feel so full, his cock stretching you out blissfully, hitting all of the right spots and you realize you aren’t going to last long either. At some point you said it out loud, but your lips become pre-occupied with Raf’s once more and you moan into his mouth as Sylus grunts and uses your body, seeking the relief he’d been denying himself up to this point.
“Fuck, kitten! This is bliss,” Sylus sinks his teeth into the flesh around your pulse point and the pain causes your pussy to throb as he takes you roughly.
“Fuck! Oh! Ohh!” You cry-out, back arching as he hits that spot that makes you see stars over and over.
Raf, still a puddle of goo, reaches over to rub your clit and its game over. You feel your pussy throb violently as you cry out with pleasure, legs shaking around Sylus as he groans with approval.
“Goddamn…” He pants, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Should I pull out?”
“Fuck no!” you shout and he moans as his hips faulter, sputtering as his cock expands and explodes inside you, panting and groaning with satisfaction, before he collapses to your side.
The three of you lie in silence, save for the panting you can’t seem to slow down.
“Alright…,” Rafayel starts first. “What the fuck… was that?”
“Whatever it was, it was fun,” you answer, suddenly shy as a blush blooms across your face.
“It should happen again sober,” Sylus adds, turning on his side so that he can wrap his arms around you. “That way, I can be sure you are consenting for all the things I want to do you to.” Sylus gently pinches Rafayel’s cheek causing him to huff indignantly.
“You… are lucky you are so goddamn handsome.”
You erupt in a fit of giggles in between them causing the both of them to smirk.
“We should probably get cleaned up…” you ponder aloud as Sylus pulls you closer to spoon you and grabs Raf’s elbow, encouraging him to become your little spoon, but only so he can drape his arm over the two of you at the same time.
“Later,” Sylus hums happily. “Lets just take a few minutes to breathe.”
But the three of you fade to black, the exhaustion and alcohol vapors lulling you to comfortable sleep. And when you wake, you know, things will never be the same again.
Waiting for two centuries has a way of dulling the world.
Xavier used to count the days. Then he stopped. It was easier that way, when every sunrise was the same and every night ended with nothing.
The Luminivores had found him before he found them. A clever trap, darkness so absolute it swallowed his Evol whole. His blade was useless here, stripped of light as if it had never existed.
He should have fought.
He didn’t.
Instead, he sat down as his eyelids grew heavy. They can’t consume what he will not give them. If he doesn’t use his evol, they have no reason to eat his evol energy, and fueling them just means more will spawn.
Ever must have him figured out. Then again, he didn’t exactly have a good track record of concealing his true identity. He should have seen this coming.
Maybe this was fitting.
Two hundred years chasing a ghost, and now he would fade where no one would ever find him.
He closed his eyes. For once, sleep felt like finality.
He never knows how long he sleeps, but today he is woken by… something new. It’s a sound that didn’t belong in the dark. Footsteps approaching him boldly through danger.
“Hey?”
The voice cut through the dark like a blade. Familiar. Terrifyingly familiar.
His eyes opened. She knelt beside him, haloed by the soft shimmer of natural light. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Her eyes were the same color he’d seen in every dream he’d tried to forget.
She immediately moved to call the association.
“Quiet.” His hand closed around her wrist to stop her. He wasn’t supposed to be here. They couldn’t know he was poking around.
A protofield opened and his body moved before his mind could think.
For the first time in a long time, he had a reason to act.
Was it really her? Jumping into a protofield alongside him with no fear?
The Luminivore that lured them into it’s trap was fast, but her Evol stirred with a familiar hum.
Resonance.
“You can use the Resonance evol?” He asked in shock.
“Yeah,” she huffed as she dodged an attack with ease. It really was her.
For the first time in centuries, Xavier's blood pounded in his ears. Everything sounded so far away as he crushed the useless protocore in his fingers.
“Huh?” He stared at her blankly. He didn’t realize she was talking.
‘She was brilliant in her other lifetimes,’ he thought as he tried to remind himself this was not the same woman he loved, but he already knew he was doomed. Doomed because she quickly put together the pieces he didn’t want her to know about the trap set for him. Doomed because her power and brilliance and dedication and humility were all things that made him fall for her in the first place.
Doomed because she already felt like she was his.
“If you can’t use your Evol, use mine,” she offered. She would. She has.
“Please forgive me,” he responded, laying her hand over his chest. It’s been centuries, but her resonance poured through him with a familiar hum that left no doubt.
It really was her.
And now that she was here standing before him, he could never give up.
Two hundred years of waiting.
And somehow, she had found him first.
It started when he would walk by her on campus. He told himself he’d always watch from far away.
At first, it was harmless. A glance across the courtyard, the echo of her laughter carried by the wind that passed him. There were thousands of students, hundreds of conversations. She was just another thread in the tapestry of noise. Or that’s what he told himself.
He didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until one afternoon the crowd parted and she passed near enough that the scent of her shampoo, something faint and clean, like crushed petals in rainwater caught him off guard. The breeze lifted a lock of her hair, and for the first time, he saw how sunlight threaded through it like gold spun thin.
The moment was gone in a heartbeat, but it stayed him.
It stayed through every lecture, every errand, every night he stood at the edge of the quad watching lights in the windows fade.
He told himself the distance kept them both safe.
But the truth, the one that stung like salt, was that he was learning her in increments. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she read. The quiet focus in her brow when she wrote. The gentle nod she gave to the barista each morning like gratitude was her first language.
Rafayel had never been allowed to want something so simple.
He didn’t know what to do with the wanting once it began.
It felt odd to ask that small boy to lure her in.
He told himself it was harmless, a simple transaction to see her up close. A harmless crime. The kid walked away with 5 dollar in his pocket and he’d have… just a minute of her time.
But the act itself left a sour taste in his mouth.
He wasn’t the kind of man who needed to orchestrate chance. Yet here he was, buying his way into a moment that should have belonged to fate.
Today, the brainworm wouldn’t quiet. The persistent, whispering thought that had plagued him for weeks to find out what her voiced sounded like.
Because when she graduated from university, those stolen opportunities to make sure she was okay were gone.
It is infinitely harder to keep her safe when she is a hunter.
So he bargained for a moment.
Just to hear her speak.
Just to know how she shaped sound, whether her tone was bright or low, whether her laughter carried warmth or glass.
He’d spent months convincing himself distance was safety.
And yet here he was, standing in the soft gravity of her orbit, waiting for the smallest proof that she existed in sound as vividly as she did in silence.
And then, she spoke.
“Sure thing, but I can’t promise I’ll succeed. Is that okay with you?” Just a few words, something simple to the boy, but it stopped the air in his lungs.
Her voice was kind.
Not the brittle politeness people used when they wanted to be liked, but a genuine warmth that wrapped itself around the edges of her sentences and softened them. It was the kind of voice that could turn an apology into comfort, or a question into a promise.
He hadn’t known what he expected, but her voice found the cracks in him and poured light in.
Rafayel closed his eyes for half a breath, memorizing the sound as though he could store it in his chest for later. It made him ache, the thought that something so gentle could exist in a world that had taught him only sharpness.
This was what he’d wanted—just one minute.
To see her eyes.
To hear her voice.
But then, the little boy ran. And Rafayel couldn’t stand the potential silence. So, he spoke.
“Unfortunate. This species of fish can only survive for a week on land.” He never meant to interact, but the fear of losing this moment, of losing her made him move.
And then she turned.
The late light caught her face, warm and sharp at once, and for the first time he saw her eyes up close.
He had spent weeks memorizing her silhouette, the way she moved through space, but this was different.
He saw a thousand colors in her eyes.
Not the kind painters captured or scientists named, but living shades that breathed and changed with every blink—stormlight and sea glass, honey and dusk. It made him dizzy, the way the hues seemed to shift as if the universe hadn’t yet decided what palette to give her.
For a heartbeat, the noise of the crowd faded.
The laughter, the crowd, the sharp cry of gulls… all of it dimmed until there was only her, and the impossible spectrum hidden behind her gaze.
And in that silence, Rafayel understood what danger really was.
It wasn’t the things that hunted him in the dark.
It was this. The soft, unbearable urge to stay.
When she glanced into the distance, he knew he had to walk away.
Why did that make his heart break?
He schooled his features as she took a seat across from him, taking a second to steady his nerves. He saw her death as she smiled nervously.
The image flickered behind his eyes. Too vivid to dismiss, too familiar to be imagination. That same tilt of her chin, that same uncertain smile, and then the way the light dimmed around her in his dreams. The sterile brightness of the room did nothing to banish it.
He forced himself to inhale slowly, the rhythm practiced, clinical. She was alive. Right here, right now. Her pulse fluttered faintly in the soft line of her throat, proof that this moment still belonged to the living.
Zayne adjusted his glasses and set her chart on the desk between them, an anchor against the rising tide of dread. “It’s been a long time,” he said evenly, his voice devoid of the tremor sitting heavy in his chest.
She nodded, her smile softening a little. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
How could I forget? he thought. I’ve seen you die a hundred times.
The embodiment of his nightmares. The woman of his dreams. Her grown features matched the woman he has chased through space and time.
The woman who consumes nearly every unconscious thought he has ever had.
He fact that it looked like she walked out of his dreams and into his life was silent, but devastating confirmation. These weren’t made up futures.
When she dies, it will be his fault.
He had to stop himself from leaning back, from creating distance that might dull the inevitability between them.
The instinct was primal to push her away. If she wasn’t near him, if she didn’t linger in the orbit of his curse, maybe the vision would unravel. Maybe the ending he’d seen would belong to someone else’s dream.
But he knew better. Attempts to subvert prewritten destiny, to defy prophecy, often led to its fulfillment, or worse.
“Zayne?” she prompted softly, her brow furrowed in concern.
He blinked, realizing he’d been staring too long. “Sorry,” he said, his tone smooth but colder than he intended. “I was… remembering the last time we met.”
Her expression gentled, unaware of the weight pressing down between them. “The zoo,” she said, a small laugh breaking the tension.
He forced a small nod before schooling his face and switching to business.
He leaned into the practice lecture he’d mentally prepared about her cardiovascular care, reciting procedure and terminology like armor while his thoughts twisted around the bleak future he knew he couldn’t change.
How do you run from fate?
You can’t.
She was uncomfortable when she left. Of course, she was. He was cold and distance. He didn’t want to be. In his dreams, he has kissed her lips, held her tight and wished over and over not to let go.
So, he did the only thing he could do in his power and buried himself in more medical journals and research.
Night after night, he sat beneath the sterile hum of his desk lamp, tracing every possible scenario, every intervention, every last-minute miracle that might change the outcome he’d seen. Papers cluttered his desk, the scent of ink and antiseptic lingering like ghosts of his failures.
If he was responsible for her death, then he was also responsible for bringing her back to life.
It wasn’t obsession. It was atonement in advance. Each new article, each case study, each surgical breakthrough was a desperate prayer disguised as science. If he could learn enough, master enough, control enough, maybe when the vision came to pass, his hands wouldn’t tremble. Maybe this time, he’d have the knowledge to rewrite the ending.
But deep down, he feared that no amount of medicine could resurrect what fate had already claimed.
It was almost poetic.
She had saved him once. Pulled him from a chasm meant to devour him forever. She had looked at him then with unflinching courage, hand extended toward a creature that should have terrified her.
But in this life, when it was time for their paths to finally cross, it was her who needed rescuing.
Sylus didn’t waste time thinking about the symmetry of it. He focused on the facts. She’d been taken, and the man who took her wasn’t going to get far.
Poetic… truly poetic that he arrived the moment her assailant raised his gun and pulled the trigger. His evol responded to save her out of pure instinct. And breath caught in his throat, he gazed upon her in flesh and blood for the first time in this lifetime.
Her assailant was no longer a problem, but when he turned to look at her, he didn’t see gratitude in her eyes. No.
He saw fear.
She didn’t recognize him. Not the way he recognized her. Not after all the lifetimes he’d waited.
“You’re also here for the core… right?” she asked. No. That’s not what he was here for.
“I guess you don’t remember anything,” he said softly, too calm for the storm ripping through him. Her eyes skimmed over him like he was just another threat in a night full of monsters, and something in his chest twisted sharp.
He tightened his hold when she struggled, trying to keep his pulse from giving him away. He looked calm; he always did. But inside, he was already tearing through every memory, every resonance, every shred of their past, desperate to find anything that would make her remember him.
“Allow me to jog your memory. From your past, to your future… to even all the crimes that you’ll inevitably commit. After all. You and I… we’re the same. True kindred spirits.”
He was wrong.
This lifetime sent her a protector of her joy in the form a of a big brother, a shield that let her see the good in the world. This girl was no avenger, no blood thirsty version of the girl that pulled him from the abyss.
And because of that, it seemed that every attempt at resonance brought them no closer to the truth.
Remember. Remember.
He was worried she could smell his desperation. He tried for days, exhausting every resource to bring the sorceress he remembered back to him.
He could fix it… max out her energy linkage… force the connection. He had people for that.
The room went silent when the engineer cleared his throat.
He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Understandable, considering Sylus hadn’t taken failure well in centuries.
“Mr. Sylus… I think there is another reason why she can’t resonate with you.” the man began carefully, eyes flicking between Sylus and the girl against the far wall, “You see… her evol is special. It utilizes the waves generated by the human brain’s magnetic field. Maybe her brain’s magnetic field produces repulsive waves against you. That’s why she can’t resonate with you.”
Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Get to the point.”
“To make a long story short,” the man said. “On a subconscious level, she’s either rejecting you, scared of you or… disgusted by you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. It should have been so obvious. Something he should have understood in seconds, not days.
She might never remember. There was something wrong with her.
Sylus was a man used to bending reality to his will. He was so blinded by the vision of this empire, a kingdom he thought they would rule together, that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
If he couldn’t have his partner in crime, the girl who once pulled him from the abyss, then he would have to take a step back.
Because a little bit of her was better than nothing.
And if he was patient, then maybe one day, he could earn enough of her trust to find solace in loving her again.
He’d restore the aether core in her heart. Then, he would let her go... and he would wait for whatever version of her this lifetime allowed.
Caleb’s chest tightened in a mix of relief and dread as he watched her move through the officers. This is the intruder Command has been warning us about? Her confidence was almost laughable. If he didn’t know better, he might have believed her flawless acting.
But he did know better.
The order was given from up the ranks. They knew she was there.
Somehow, so did he. When he got the alert, he didn’t need to read the description to know it was her, because he knew her.
This was the kind of trouble she always found herself in.
So when he stepped onto the bridge and saw her standing there, pretending to be someone else, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Relief that he was the first to see her. Relief that his alarm had kicked in in time. If he didn’t play his cards right, neither of them would make it out alive.
Thankfully, a distraction was already in place, and his name was Joseph.
Joseph, who existed solely to cause chaos. Joseph, who was screaming about the chip. Joseph, who was there to blow the bridge apart.
Caleb addressed Joseph first. He could have handled it quietly, but today… today he drew the attention to Joseph. By the time he was done, no one would remember the mysterious girl who had slipped into the ranks on the bridge.
He was still working out the plan as he dragged her into the interrogation room. It hurt playing the dutiful Colonel when all he wanted was to scoop her in his arms, and prove to her that it was really him— still alive. Still her Caleb.
But there were only two ways both of them would make it out alive; in a firefight or in deceit.
Caleb was ready, always ready, to be her weapon. But if cooler heads can prevail, he can be her shield. And despite hating the fact that he was in enemy territory, broken, wanting, and miserable without her… he had never been closer to the truth.
“Sir, have we met before? You seem familiar,” she asked voice shaking. Of course she would recognize him.
“You’re wrong,” he said sharply, forcing his tone into the mask of authority, hoping she could pick up the pieces. Obey. Follow along. He’d get her out in the end. “There’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room.”
He prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that she would fall in line. His pulse steadied as he watched it click into place in her gaze. Be calm. Answer the questions. Do this and they both could get out safely.
He needed her to pull through this without raising alarms, and when she did, victory was short lived.
Now she was in the middle of a mess he wanted to keep her out of.
All he can do is protect her. He would manipulate the chaos around them. He would be the calm in the storm. But if the storm hit too hard, if Command’s trap snapped closed… he would become a weapon she could ride to safety.
He had to be ready. This time, they won’t be able to tear them apart.
Pairing: M/M/M/M/F Sylus x Zayne x Rafayel x Xavier x x Caleb x Afab Reader
‧₊˚✩彡Summary: In what scenario does MC get passed around like a party favor? This one!
‧₊˚✩彡WARNINGS: 18+ mdni!! GANGBANG, word porn with just enough plot to make your brain happy, double penetration, vaginal and anal sex, rough face fucking, rough cunniligus, creampies, reverse harem, butt plugs, multiple partners, multiple positions, actual funny parts, gratuitous self pleasing smut.
Don't let the group dynamic fool you.
This fic is all about consent and love.
They move like a machine, stripping the base for everything they can carry.
Luke and Kieran tear through the battered halls on ATVs, skidding dangerously around corners with crates stacked in the back. You zip past them on a motorcycle, weaving between debris, the vibration of the engine numbing your hands.
Sylus, Zayne, and Rafayel coordinate the heavier loads, barking orders through earpieces, while Xavier and Jeremiah made sure nothing critical got left behind, medical supplies, weapons, even food.
It’s messy, rushed, but practiced. No one speaks about the risk still hanging over their heads. No one dares.
By the time the last of it is loaded, the sun is a bloody smear on the horizon. Fitting, a red bathed evening cast over the death flooding the N109.
Caleb waits by the plane rubbing his sore chin, a huge, military-grade beast squatting low in the hangar door. You can smell the fuel, the scorched metal... and something familiar that makes your stomach churn.
You know it before you can see it. Caleb used his gravity evol to stack the bodies and it pains you to know that he killed dozens, just to take over his own ship and meet you here in the N109.
His expression is cold, closed off, as he climbs in. "Get in," he says. "We don’t have long."
You exchange a look with Sylus. He doesn’t like this. None of them do, but there is no better option. They pack into the plane quickly, rifles slung over shoulders, keeping their distance from Caleb.
The engines roar to life, shaking the floor beneath your boots. Caleb flies rough but fast, cutting low across the sky as the base shrank to nothing behind you. For a little while, it was almost easy to believe he was on your side.
Almost.
When Sylus rattles off coordinates for the next weapons cache, Caleb doesn’t argue. He sets the course with tight, clipped motions. His jaw twitches, but he stayed silent.
The moment the cache comes into view, a gorgeous resort home in snowcapped mountains… Caleb moves.
Without warning, the plane jerks violently, the interior tilting hard. Cargo slammed against the walls. Luke and Kieran grab hold of each other to keep from tumbling.
"Hold on!" Xavier barks.
The cargo ramp began to open midair, wind screaming through the cabin.
"What the hell are you doing?" Rafayel roared, fighting his way toward the cockpit.
Caleb turns in his seat, hand outstretched towards you. You expect the same cold, cruel look and instead you find desperate eyes pleading with yours.
"They're using you!" he shouts over the shrieking wind. "You’re not safe with them! Come with me, I can protect you!"
Before you can react, Caleb lunges, trying to pull you toward the ramp.
Xavier and Sylus tackle him back. Everyone begins shouting, deafened by the roar of the open ramp.
In the chaos, Caleb’s evol yanks everyone to the top of the aircraft before dropping everyone painfully and with extra force. You struggle in his grip as he pulls you back, when a bullet fires from a fallen rifle, flung violently by his evol. Shrapnel flies from the wall sending metal shards in every direction and you cry out, cursing at the burning, red hot pain as shrapnel embeds in your face.
"I didn’t-" Caleb froze, pure horror flashing across his face. His voice broke. He let go instantly, stumbling back like he’d been the one hit as Zayne and Xavier rushed to check on your injuries.
Rafayel stares daggers at Caleb. “Is it bad?”
“Thankfully not,” Zayne says softly as he turns your face, examining your cut cheek.
Caleb drops to his knees, hands shaking. "Pipsqueak… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never…"
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He just stares at you like the ground’s gone out from under him, chest heaving, breath shallow and broken.
Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He jammed a tranquilizer dart into Caleb’s shoulder, and catches Caleb’s body when it drops to the ground.
The twins shoved the cargo ramp control, slamming the hatch shut. The cabin rattled back into tense, chaotic quiet as Jeremiah and Xavier quickly take control of the plane and correct course.
Xavier lands the plane smooth and steady, wheels kissing the cracked ground with barely a jolt. The heavy silence doesn’t lift. If anything, it sinks deeper into everyone’s bones.
You know you should say something. Talk to them. Check in. But the exhaustion drags at you like wet jeans. Your chest is tight, throat thick. Everything aches.
No one pushes you. They just move.
The group files off the plane and into Sylus’s cache- a beautiful fortress tucked against the jagged cliffs, windows reinforced, steel doors sealed tight. Inside, rows of crates and lockers line the walls, stacked with weapons, gear, and supplies. It’s colder here, the mountain air sharp and thin.
Zayne wastes no time. He hauls Caleb’s limp body onto a table in the corner, fastens an evol suppressor snug around his neck, then turns to you without a word. His touch is gentle as he tilts your chin, inspecting the gash on your cheek. His brow furrows, jaw locked tight.
“Hold still,” he murmurs. His gloved fingers brush away the dried blood, cool antiseptic following. The sting barely registers. You’re too far gone to feel the pain.
The others spread out in tense, practiced motions, securing exits, unloading gear, eyes flicking back to you more than they probably mean to. No one says it, but they’re waiting. Watching you carefully now.
They waste no time setting up a makeshift medbay. One of Sylus’s back rooms gets cleared fast, metal crates pushed aside to make space for a cot and whatever equipment Zayne can cobble together from their salvaged supplies.
Caleb stays unconscious, his breathing slow but steady as Zayne locks the evol suppressor snugly around his wrist and gets to work in silence.
You don’t stay. You can’t. Not after everything that just happened. Instead, you sit slumped on one of the armory benches, the cool metal pressing into your spine. The others give you space, tension thick in the air, but they stay close enough, close enough to step in if needed.
It feels like hours before Zayne finally emerges from the med room, wiping his hands on a rag. His face is drawn tight, his usual calm rattled beneath the surface.
They all gather without needing to be called, Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, the twins, Jeremiah. You push off the bench, exhaustion dragging at your limbs, but you meet Zayne’s gaze squarely.
He doesn’t sugarcoat it.
“He’s in worse shape than I thought,” Zayne says quietly. His voice is low, but steady enough to cut through the room. “There’s a chip buried in his parietal lobe. It’s not just standard tracking or surveillance. This is full override. Direct mind control. Commands fed straight into his brain. And… his right arm is completely gone. It’s been replaced by something biomechanical.”
Rafayel curses under his breath. Sylus’s jaw flexes hard. Xavier squeezes your arm but you can’t even feel it. You’ve gone completely numb.
You’d spent so much time over-thinking everything that happened that day. How was Caleb alive? Why did he look relatively unscathed. Because of all the recent secrecy and odd behavior, you’d grown suspicious.
You’d spent so much time doubting him. Blaming him. Cursing him.
And he was going through this?
Zayne continues, “His tox screen confirms what I stole from Skyhaven’s data. He’s been saturated with high-grade suppressors. His body’s still recovering from older trauma, likely from the explosion. Fractured ribs, surgical scarring, even neural contusions.”
Zayne squeezes your hand, his voice softening just slightly. “Whatever has happened these past few days? It wasn’t him. Not really. There isn’t much of him left.”
“… isn’t much of him left?”
The look that briefly flashes across Zayne’s face is dark. “I don’t have all the tools necessary to really get a good read. But all the data he is absorbing? Seems the chip scans what he is experiencing and auto deletes everything that doesn’t seem relevant to his executive function. The only thing he seems to retain is… well. You.”
The world feels like it is closing in on you swiftly. Why is there so much pressure in your chest. You can hear your blood pound in your ears.
You are angry… so, so angry. And even though now, it’s so abundantly clear that you have no right to be angry, that feeling won’t dissipate. Screaming at Caleb for not coming to you, not telling you… it doesn’t feel right but it’s what you need to do right now. You need to beat on his chest like you used to when you were kids and he teased you to your breaking point. To cry until he grabs your shoulders firmly to ground you as that arrogant smirk of his turns into loving admiration. His smile used to always soften when he was done.
You need to watch him soften to you. To let you know that actually, everything is going to be okay.
Nothing feels okay.
And they know you, everyone in the room. They know that you want to throw your hands against someone that feels like a brick wall until you can’t anymore. Until you are so hot that your body forces you to breathe.
So before you can do anything rash, Sylus pulls you into the hall. He can be a brick wall, and somehow you just know that he wants you to take it out on him. But you raise your fists and pound on his chest weakly. It’s not the same.
Because it should be Caleb.
It should be Caleb.
Because Caleb knows you more intimately than the rest. And he should be the one to soothe the very pain that he caused.
But he can’t. He is strapped to a gurney and making you hate yourself for feeling this way.
So instead of beating on the brick wall that is Sylus’s chest, you erupt into hot, angry tears. Tears that won’t stop because this might be the single hardest thing you’ve ever had to process. The man you loved so dearly is back in your life and you are mad at him. Mad over things that you know he can’t control.
And he was going through this alone.
There is a heavy awkwardness in the air as everyone takes a beat, unsure how to help. Sylus holds you and you want him to let you go, but you also want him to stay.
It feels like you are breaking apart and coming back together and the pieces of you are spilling out. The tears don’t stop and hands pat your back, but you simply don’t have it in you to turn around and find out who is trying to comfort you.
But Zayne is a man of action, and something needs to be done.
“I know a good Neurosurgeon.” His voice is measured with a hint of urgency as he grabs the phone to make a phone call.
Your feet remain planted until they are not, weak and wobbly as you stumble through the halls carrying you away from the people that care because you need to breathe, scream, cry. And it’s still not enough, because Caleb isn’t there to collect the pieces of you when you are finished.
Zayne works quickly and you are quietly grateful from afar, locked into your room as he has Caleb transferred to a hospital with urgency for the surgery to be completed successfully.
You can’t help the self-loathing as you isolate. You should have demanded to go to the hospital. You should have stayed by Caleb’s side. But you can’t help but feel the need to punish yourself, even as Xavier and Rafayel force you to eat.
Your bed is closed- a no-fly zone. It doesn’t feel right for any of them to touch you as you wait with baited breath to hear that Caleb is okay. You know that you can say that this isn’t everyone else’s problem and to stay out of it, but if it’s you, of course they want to be involved. So, you feel even more guilty as they filter out of your room with food and water that you refuse in some weird sense of self punishment even you can’t understand.
You’ve lost track of who has come to bother (check on) you how many times. Can’t they just leave you alone to wallow while you wait to see if Caleb will be okay?
Sleep doesn’t seem to come easy and alone, your nightmares are even worse.
His last words before the doors closed never stopped haunting you. Your heart beats violently every time your memories replayed the house you grew up in bursting into flames. Your body being thrown to the side like a doll. You feel the pain like you were there every time.
And your mind screams. Get up. Help them. Get Caleb. Get Josephine. And you hate that your body betrays you over and over and over. And the nightmares… they seem to be made worse when you discovered Caleb’s true fate. To know that he was still alive… that he needed you under all that rubble. How did he feel burning alive with no one to help? How did he feel when Ever took him?
What was it like to be alone this whole time, not knowing if he could ever find you again? Was it even a relief for him to see you in Skyhaven? The hours pass agonizingly slow and you force everyone to leave you alone so that you can beat up on yourself.
You wake up warm and feeling heavy… and clearly not alone in your bed and instinctively nuzzle the blonde hair buried under your nose. Xavier is here? When did he get here? The black out curtains have made you lose track of time and when you check your phone you see dozens of missed messages.
“You’re awake?” Xavier’s sleepy voice rumbles and you sit up to rub the sleep out of your eyes.
“What are you doing here?” For once, you don’t sound annoyed. It seems you’ve finished crying it out.
“I came in to try and get you to eat.” Xavier sleepily nods towards the plated sandwich that looks stale now. You must have slept a long time. “You were having a nightmare. When I tried to wake you, you grabbed me. So… I held you until you calmed down.”
You avert your eyes and thank God that he doesn’t ask for an explanation.
“You… should take a shower and come eat. Caleb and Zayne are on their way home.”
What? In a panic, you scroll rapidly through the missed messages on your phone.
“Caleb got discharged hours ago. Sylus flew the plane to transport them back here.” You nod in a numb haze. There is a lingering sense of guilt that you hadn’t checked up on them to make sure everything was okay, but it was hard to move… even now as Xavier walks you into the shower. Your limbs move without your consent and before you know it, the both of you are standing fully clothed in the shower, warm water washing over the both of you.
“It’s okay,” he reassures gently as he pulls your clothes off your numb body. “Caleb is going to be fine. The surgery was a success.”
And the tears roll once more. Okay? Was he really going to be okay? Were you? How was he going to feel about you not being there? Would he hate you the way you hate yourself?
Xavier shushes you, like he knows the self-deprecating thoughts are bouncing around in your head. And for a beat, it works as he works shampoo in your hair. It feels oddly familiar… this level of unease being soothed in a hot shower while someone you love washes your hair.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” Xavier murmurs while looking at you with soft eyes. When his lips find yours, it is gentle, deliberate- an attempt to anchor you and bring you back to the present.
Between soft words and gentle bathing you feel 10% more ready, but still as you barely summon the energy to get dressed, dread overcomes you.
Both your phones ding. “They are here.” Xavier says softly, taking your hand. “It’s okay. You aren’t alone.”
Zayne and Sylus wheeling an unconscious Caleb in on a gurney attached to wires and an IV, his head wrapped in bandaged wasn’t exactly what you were expecting and your heart sinks a little further. You should have been there for him.
“Are… are you sure that it was safe to fly him in his condition?” You ask tentatively while studying Caleb’s gaunt features.
“There were some risks,” Zayne admits softly. “But he passed several neurological exams and the longer we were exposed, the more dangerous it was to linger. I had Caleb booked as a John Doe, but I fear Ever has enough resources to find us, even in a hospital.”
Your heart breaks into even smaller pieces as Caleb is settled in a room fully set up for his care. Clearly a lot of work had been done while you were moping.
And for the first time in your life, Caleb looks weak to you, not the ray of strength and sunshine he used to be. You cringe as Zayne runs several tests to re-assess to see if there were any changes in response and vitals from the plane ride to now.
Now you need them to comfort you, because the Caleb in front of you truly isn’t the same boy you remember. In this state, you can’t rely on him to make things right.
Rafayel is the closest and he pulls you to his side sensing the shift in your already sullen demeanor.
“I know,” he murmurs into your ear before kissing your still wet hair. The energy to push them away doesn’t exist and you surrender as you feel Sylus’s chest pressed against your back. They cocoon you, their scent mixing with the fresh scent of your shampoo.
Xavier leans against a wall, expression weary as he eyeballs Caleb, still uneasy after their last encounter. But Zayne hovers over Caleb, pricking his fingers and toes for a response and seems satisfied there is a reaction as Caleb’s eyeballs seem to move under closed eyelids.
“Only time will tell…” Zayne remarks as he crosses the room and grabs your hand to kiss your knuckles. “But Sylus made sure we are well equipped to handle his recovery and this way, we all will be able to see to it that he gets the care he needs to get him… back.”
The comfort they offer is short lived as you hear the rustling of sheets across the room.
“So, this is what you were doing while I was away?” Caleb’s voice is weak, but the look he gives you even in his fatigue stops your heart. You’ve seen it many times, a look of pure disgust that he has never cast on you.
“Had no problem moving on. And Zayne… You are okay with this?” his voice rasps, heavy with judgement. He may be weak, but his condemnation feels heavy.
And there it is, the rage still simmering under your sorrow bubbles to the surface.
“You weren’t gone. You were dead. Dead.” You stare daggers at him defiantly.
“And you immediately jump into the arms of… what? 3… 4 men? More?” He sneers at everyone in the room. “Did I mean so little to you?”
“This happened because you meant so much to me! I couldn’t handle it! I was broken for months without you!” You scream, finally unleashing your pain. “I loved you!”
Caleb’s eyes grow sharp, as if a distant fear had slapped him in the face. “Loved?”
Loved.
Who was this man in front of you? He was Caleb shaped, he sounded the same, looked the same, but something fundamental was different. It’s like his body is still buried in the rubble of your childhood home. But “loved?”
“Caleb…” you call softly and he averts his eyes, pain emanating as his face grows sullen.
“Caleb…” you whisper, broken as Rafayel continues to stroke your back through the pain. He refuses to meet your eyes.
“Darling, I think its best for the patient if you let him rest,” Zayne urges and you linger for a moment before realizing that there is nothing that you can do here for now.
You sigh heavily, everyone but Caleb observing you carefully. Then, you slowly walk out of the room.
***
Caleb proved to be a stubborn and unruly patient. The guys rotated in shifts to handle his care so Zayne could sleep. Caleb saw this as an opportunity to take out his frustrations on each of them.
They all try to ignore the razor-sharp words, the weaponized guilt. You tried to explain the unique situation, but every sentence stretches and sounds like a tall tale. Past lives, dragons, Lemurians, time travel, love across multiple lifetimes? It hurts that he thinks you are lying.
You told yourself to be strong, but by the third night, you are unraveling. The air is heavy and everyone seems to retire sullenly. They do their best to comfort you, but it’s hard when they are all exhausted.
The nightmares are worse now. They were always bad because they were real. Your mind replays your final conversation. Caleb, saying he wanted to protect you. Looking down and adjusting your sleeve as he disappeared inside the door, when a solid force slams into you and your body is thrown several feet away. And its worse because now you know that Caleb was alive under all the rubble mere feet away.
And you re-live that moment, crawling over burning rubble, your limbs not obeying you as you command them to dig him out- to save his life.
To save him from Ever.
For 3 nights in a row, you wake up in tears, the weight of that day feeling heavy on your chest.
Tonight, you can’t seem to stand it anymore.
You untangle yourself from limbs in a warm bed and find Caleb in his recovery room, Xavier looking up at you, worn out from his ongoing shift.
“Can I take over your shift?” you ask meekly, still trembling from your nightmare.
Xavier nods, seemingly understanding and pulls you into a hug, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You hear Caleb huff, clearly displeased with the affection, but it doesn’t stop you.
“Mercy,” you whisper.
It’s something that the two of you used to do when you were kids and were arguing. If one of you had too much and had reached a breaking point, the word always seemed to break the tension and the other party would always back off and offer a bit of grace.
He looks at you, gaze softening. Old habits die hard and you crawl into his bed next to him curling up to his side. You sigh in relief as you feel his arms tighten around you. The tension is still palpable, but you know that he’d honor this unspoken code and for a moment, you pretend you aren’t fighting. You pretend your home didn’t explode with your family in it.
You feel him relax and as you nuzzle into his neck, the same way you used to when you used to tow the line. Caleb never pushed the boundaries but he always followed your lead. And you tiptoed into dangerous territory before he left for college.
These are the patterns that you fall effortlessly into now, lips brushing against his skin in an almost kiss, fingers finding his sensitive spots, body pressed harder against his, his thigh tucked tightly between yours. He sighs and pulls you closer, not hiding the way he inhaled your scent, or the way his lips brushed your temple.
Almost intimate.
Cuddling in a way that you could always innocently explain away if Josephine walked into the room when you were growing up.
But the illusion is broken when Caleb reaches up to caress you with his right hand. He can’t feel you under his fingers- not like he used to. And he exhales, the wake-up call grounding him in reality once more. A single tear threatens to escape him and he pulls you even closer with his left arm like he was trying to compensate from the lack of sensation with his right.
“I wish I knew the right things to do and say right now,” you whisper against his neck.
His grip loosens around you as he sighs his defeat, a real kiss pressed against your forehead.
“Me too.” He whispers.
The next night is somehow worse. Caleb was, for lack of a better word, an absolute ass to everyone from the moment he woke, to the moment everyone retired to bed, exhausted. For the first time in years, he got a taste of what it was like to be yours, to be claimed by you. And seeing you in someone else’s arms, creating a life with no less than four men that were not him made him miserable to be around.
Hot, falling asleep to immediate nightmares and waking up repeatedly, you told yourself not to go. He was too unpleasant. He hurled insults at the men you love. This kind of behavior shouldn’t be rewarded.
But the hours dragged on and the horrific images continued to replay in your head.
How you long for everything to just settle and be okay.
Against your will you find yourself untangling from limbs once more. You quietly pad the halls to a disgruntled looking Sylus and relieve him of his watch.
“You sure you want to put up with him?” he asks cautiously, having received a significant tongue lashing himself and looking at you wearily.
“I… can’t explain it, but I need him,” you whisper and Sylus shakes his head, but kisses your temple anyway as Caleb audibly huffs in the background.
Approaching his bedside once more, you watch the ugly disappointment melt away the moment you whisper, “mercy?”
His eyes soften, the same way they have a thousand times and you climb into bed with him, near instantly matching the intimacy of the previous night. You nestle against his left side, simply so that he can really feel your skin on his. He grips you as tightly as he can and you can feel the weakness in his fingers, a stark reminder of the recent trauma he went through.
And just like always, he tries to match you as you steal more and more territory. It feels comfortable and familiar when Caleb has done almost nothing but put you on edge. Moments like these make you feel like there is part of him you can get back.
“You still smell like Caleb…” you whisper softly as you inhale, relishing in whispers of the past.
“You talk about me like I’m not in the room with you now,” he whispers back, grip losing strength as current events invade the illusion.
Your hand traces a pattern across his chest, and if you are honest with yourself, its more of an attempt to self soothe. The words threaten to tumble all at once and you know that neither of you can handle the onslaught of feelings. So you pick your battles, organizing your thoughts… because you really don’t want to fight.
“The Caleb you are now… is a different person from the Caleb you were then.”
You feel Caleb shift, raising his right arm and testing his fingers, pressing each against his artificial thumbpad. Zayne briefly explained the biomechanics of the arm to you earlier. The electric signals get sent to the brain much like neurons would, but its not the same. He registers the touch, the force, but he can’t feel how soft you feel under his fingertips anymore.
“I can’t deny that you are right, but one thing that will never change is that I love you, pip…” he inhales your scent deeply once again. “Love. Actively. That will never stop. And it kills me that you don’t seem to feel the same.”
GOD, that hurt. You sit up so that your eyes can meet his in dim light, only so that he can truly see your pain.
“I never stopped loving you,” you plead hoping he will believe you. “Never. You were always on my mind. Losing you broke me.”
Caleb’s eyes flicker to you. He doesn’t even try to hide the tears shining as they threaten to fall. He reaches to cup you by the back of your neck.
“Loved,” he whispers in pain and you grimace because it hurts you just as much as it does him. “You said ‘loved.’”
You shake your head, touching your palm to his cheek. “At the time, I wasn’t sure if there was any of my Caleb left,” You whisper, hesitant into the dark.
A pregnant pause looms in the air briefly.
“And… and now?” He asks tentatively, like he is afraid to know the answer.
“I need you to show me it’s really you in there,” you answer hopefully- truthfully.
There is a flicker of recognition- a sliver of hope in Caleb’s eyes. All was not lost.
“I can do that, Pip. I swear.”
The way he yields when you call mercy. The hesitation in his almost intimate touches. It feels like Caleb is in there somewhere.
He leans in, still bandaged head pressed against yours. He smells like Caleb. Your lips gravitate towards the other’s. 3… 2… 1… an almost kiss, the same game of chicken you’ve played at least a hundred times. It so very much screams this is your Caleb as you both laugh it off awkwardly and you want to believe that somewhere in there is the boy that used to brush your hair. Somewhere in there is the boy that saw a recipe for honey chicken, thought he could substitute caramel for honey and burnt that chicken to a crisp.
Somewhere in there is the boy that loved you, possessed you, cherished you, protected you and made you feel bold enough to tackle life.
Caleb is the one who made you brave enough to be a hunter.
Caleb is the one who made you feel like you had wings.
Kiss him.
Kiss him.
You jolt forward, trying to force yourself to be brave, but its another game of chicken. Another awkward laugh as your lips stop just shy of his. It still feels like you are just teens hanging out on his bed.
“Maybe when you are better..?” you ask, your voice a low rasp.
He chuckles, adjusting to get more comfortable and pats the spot on his chest. Your spot.
“Maybe when I’m better.”
Weeks go by. Zayne keeps his opinions to himself. You aren’t sure why, but you get the feeling that something isn’t quite right. Like each benchmark is quietly worrisome. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, but the progress never seems like enough.
Caleb always liked Zayne. You can see it even now as he seems to still have attitude with all the others and while he does drop the occasional remark at Zayne’s expense, he is less harsh. And regarding treatment and trust, Caleb would not even thing to put his life in another doctor’s hands.
Zayne’s bedside manners are respectable. His mannerism and encouragement are enough to make Caleb believe… to hope that everything will be okay.
But you see it in the way Zayne’s shoulders drop as he leave’s Caleb in his recovery room. You watch Zayne pinch the bridge of his nose as he charts each check in.
5 weeks in, Caleb’s hair was growing in. His head was unwrapped. He was moving around, talking fine. All outer indications to you made it seem like everything was okay.
You slipped into his room every night, stealing his precious recovery sleep and it worried you. Are you the problem? Is his progress stunted because of your whispers as you recant old memories? Are your almost kisses and quiet cuddles delaying important benchmarks or recovery?
But Zayne knows that you sneak into his room. Everyone does. Your divided loyalty is silently loud, looming over your relationship as everyone waits with baited breath for something to happen.
So you corner the stoic doctor away from prying eyes and ears and demand answers.
“You have to give me something, Zayne. Doctor-patient confidentiality be damned.”
He looks at you, lowering his glasses, a subtle smirk on his lips. “Sweetheart… that ship sailed a long time ago. You are his next of kin and emergency contact from a brain injury and he has fully consented to looping you in on all his progress.”
That took the wind out of your sails. You were ready to start swinging.
Zayne takes a seat on a plush loveseat and motions for you to sit with him. You take a seat next to him, but that is simply not good enough, apparently and he pulls you in his lap, holding you intimately against his chest.
“I don’t need to be coddled,” you mutter softly into his shirt. He sighs and adjusts to tuck your head under his chin.
“Maybe I’m the one that needs to hold you?” Zayne says softly, a hand stroking your back. “You aren’t the only one with emotional attachments here.”
Ah. That’s right. Caleb was Zayne’s friend too. He is so stoic and strong to a fault, giving you the illusion that he is impervious. Its insensitive for you to think that he is above feeling anything about this and guilt makes you shudder before you pull him closer, hugging him like you mean it. And the release in tension that you feel in his shoulders makes your heart break for him as you allow him to pull you closer still.
“What’s wrong, snowman?” you whisper into his ear and he presses a gentle kiss to your temple.
“He is meeting all his benchmarks just fine. Recovery is going at an acceptable pace. He just isn’t getting his memories back.”
“How do you know?”
“Just… by talking. He doesn’t remember baseball.”
Caleb lived for baseball. It was his thing. The thing that lit him up even in the worst of days. It was how he and Zayne bonded. It was what made Caleb trust him in the first place. It was how he let Zayne close enough to leave him alone with you.
And now?
Gone.
A week later, Zayne slips you a coloring book and some pencils along with Caleb’s latest chart, like it’s a prescription.
“Cognitive exercise,” he explains. “Fine motor skills. Memory stimulation. Emotional regulation.”
“Just say you want us to color,” you mutter, grabbing the pencils.
So now you’re sprawled beside Caleb on his bed, a mess of half-sharpened colored pencils between you. He’s working on a page of birds in some surreal, apocalyptic sky. Yours is half-finished florals. Caleb colors with deliberate focus. A little slower than usual, maybe. But steady.
“Do you remember picking me up from dance practice?”
“Yeah… why, pipsqueak?” He mumbles as he continues to focus on shading.
“You used to run straight over from baseball practice, still in uniform. Even that one time when you sprained your ankle.”
His eyes soften as they lift from the page to look at you.
“Yeah, every Tuesday and Thursday. We’d get those cheap meat buns on the way home. Why?”
“Why were you in a baseball uniform when you picked me up?” There is a pause. Caleb doesn’t answer.
You look up and he’s gone. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, staring straight ahead like something has broken him.
“Caleb?” He blinks hard. Breath catches. And slowly he comes back to you, frowning before he rubs his face and sighs.
“My brain tells me I played baseball. I remember you being so happy for me when I won MVP. But when I think about actually playing the game it feels forced… fake. Like someone was feeding it to me through static.”
Your heart twists.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, but he shakes his head harder.
“No, it’s not. Because it should be there. I know that. I should remember that. I want to remember that.” His voice breaks.
You scoot closer, slowly, until your thigh presses against his. You don’t try to fix it.
You shake your head. “You’re honey-chicken disaster Caleb. You’re braid-my-hair Caleb. You’re bossy, protective, pain-in-my-ass Caleb. You don’t need to remember baseball to still be mine.”
But still, the inability to connect troubles him.
“You were right. It feels like there is a lot of me missing. Like pages torn from a book.” He drops the coloring pencil in his hand and tosses his art in the trash.
“Maybe I’ll remember it tomorrow,” he whispers.
“Maybe,” you echo, knowing it’s not likely.
But then- he looks at you, his eyes softening from alarmed to content.
“Maybe it will be okay if I don’t,” he says quietly, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper.
“Yeah?” you ask with a soft smile. He smiles back.
“Yeah. Because the best parts of me came from knowing you… and so long as I still have you, everything will be okay in the end.”
Yeah… maybe everything will be okay.
***
As weeks go by, Caleb becomes -dare you admit- more tolerable. The cheap jabs are fewer and far between and the environment is just a bit more relaxed. Caleb’s mere presence used to make the others simply abandon common rooms, but now as Caleb walks in, no one feels the urge to leave.
Caleb leans back in his seat, surveying the room like someone evaluating enemy territory. Zayne sits quietly beside you. Rafayel’s half-lounging, legs sprawled out, while Xavier nurses a mug with a curious and weary look in his eye. Sylus sets down the video game controller.
Caleb’s gaze lands on each of them one by one.
“So,” he says, voice rough. “Which one of you is the Lemurian?”
Rafayel raises a lazy hand.
“And I’m guessing he’s the alien,” Caleb adds, jerking his chin toward Xavier.
“Philosian,” Xavier replies, cool and unaffected. “And you’re the one with the blunt personality.”
Caleb smirks. “Cute.”
He shifts his eyes to Zayne next. There's a weighted pause.
“I always figured,” Caleb says slowly, “that if something ever happened to me… if I died or disappeared… you’d be the one she ended up with.”
Zayne looks over, unreadable.
“I could live with that as a matter of fact,” Caleb adds. “You’re stable. Smart. Patient. You care.”
“But you?” Caleb’s voice dips. “I can’t stand the thought of her ending up with you.”
Sylus doesn’t flinch. He just meets Caleb’s stare head-on. “And yet, here we are.”
“You want me to believe you’ve changed,” Caleb snaps, “but I still see the boy who was ordered to kill her. Over and over.”
The room stills. You stand up, a nervous tick in your jaw. “Explain.”
Caleb’s eyes whip to yours, jaw gone slack like he is surprised you didn’t know.
“Pipsqueak, I was certain you’d found out if you were here.”
“Not you,” You reply sharply to Caleb before your eyes land square on Sylus. “Him.”
Sylus’s eyes meet yours, his world turning in them but he doesn’t back away.
“You’ve said nothing about this,” you state simply matching his energy.
Sylus sighs heavily. “It’s not a part of my past I like to think about. And I thought if you’d forgotten, then there was no point in bringing up the past.”
What else is he hiding?
“You can’t claim to help me find answers in one breath and lie to me about our history with the next.”
Sylus doesn’t look away. “I didn’t lie.”
“You omitted.”
“I spared you.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” you bite out.
There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Pain. Regret. But still no apology.
Caleb stands now. Deliberate, like rising tension in human form. “Tell her,” he says. “Or I will.”
Sylus runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight.
“You and I are the same. Not born… one day we existed,” he begins quietly. “They pitted us against each other, and what could we do? We were just kids.”
You’re trembling from the weight of memory that isn’t yours, but somehow lives in the air between you all now.
Caleb turns to you then, eyes softer, but still fiery. “When I made our escape, I begged Josephine to take us both. She only wanted you. One day… you looked at her and called her grandma… and things just clicked. I was just a kid with a temper and gravity powers. But I begged her to take me too. Because if she didn’t, I knew Sylus would find you again. Sylus would wipe her off the face of this earth to take you.”
“She would have been fine with me. I would make sure she had everything she needed.”
“She needed to have a childhood,” Caleb says to Sylus now, voice rising. “Books. Friends. Something normal. Not a life of crime.”
“And yet, she survived,” Sylus says darkly. “So did you. So did I. You think the world you handed her was clean? It wasn’t. It was just quieter.”
“Enough.” Your voice is small, but steady.
They both stop.
Your gaze sweeps the room, catching every face. Zayne’s concern is subtle but steady in the set of his jaw. Rafayel and Xavier glare at Sylus and Caleb. Sylus is still staring at you like he’s trying to figure out how to undo your disappointment.
You can’t take it. The pressure in your chest builds, too many truths, too many eyes, too many versions of you colliding at once.
“I can’t do this right now,” you mutter.
“Hey,” Rafayel starts, standing, but you’re already turning.
“I just need air.”
You’re out the door before they can follow, walking fast, pretending you’re not shaking. You make it halfway down the corridor before you hear quiet footsteps trailing behind. You don’t look. You know who it is.
“Leave me alone,” you say without stopping.
“I’m not going to leave you like this,” Caleb’s voice is low and steady.
You whirl around. “Like what, Caleb? Like I just found out I was some kind of weapon? That my entire childhood was a lie? That the people who say they love me also had to hurt me?”
He flinches, just barely.
“You should have told me, “You whisper. “Both of you.”
“I wanted to. I almost did… so many times.” His eyes are glassy again, voice raw. “But I saw you, in their arms. In his. Smiling and safe in a way I haven’t been able to keep you. And in those moments, even though I was jealous… it was more important that you are happy.”
You blink, startled by the sheer raw emotion in his voice and the space you didn’t know he had allowed for you to be happy in spite of his.
“There are so many times,” he says. “So many times I wanted to tell you. So many times I wanted you to know the truth. So many things that I carried alone. But then you’d smile, happy in the lie we created for you. Telling you the truth felt like ripping it away.”
“You were a kid,” you say, voice faltering. “We all were.”
He steps back carefully, giving you space but you pull him back to you.
“I don’t want to protect you from the truth anymore,” he murmurs. “I just want to be here. With you. However you’ll have me. Even if it means… even if it means…”
That’s when it cracks. You step into him, gripping the front of his shirt as your forehead drops against his chest.
Gently, he raises your chin to look in your eyes. “Even if it means you are happy without me.”
Your lips find his without thinking. He freezes, lips not moving against yours and you pull back, blush burning across your face as you avert your eyes.
Then his lips crash against yours. This kiss is not gentle. It’s messy and aching, fueled by years of almosts and what-ifs and the truth finally gasping for air.
“Please,” he whispers as your lips part before the consume you again. “Please, tell me this is real.” His hands are all over you. Your hands are all over his. There are no words for a long time, only heat. Only fire as it consumes you as you whimper in his grasps. His hands are so big around your waist as he pulls you close, grip so tight its like he is scared you will vanish.
You don’t answer. You don’t have the words. You kiss him harder. Tongue, teeth, fingers clawing into his back like you have no experience. Like the men that came before Caleb’s touch didn’t exist.
And Caleb… he response with even more fever, tongue sloppy as it dances with yours. Moans almost like whimpers erupted like they’ve been caged for a thousand years.
Then, in one swift motion, he lifts you like you weigh nothing to him.
“Caleb!” you gasp quietly, your lips still against his. Your legs wrap around him instinctively.
He breathes, nose pressed to your temple as he begins moving quickly, carrying you down the hallway with purpose that makes your heart hammer all the way to your ears. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Pip. I’ve always had you.”
The moment he passes the threshold of his room, he kicks the door shut behind him. He carries you to the bed and lays you down with a gentleness you weren’t prepared for.
Then he is on top of you, lips tracing paths across exposed skin, not with greed, but with reverence. He touches your face, neck, hair, waist, almost as if he is committing it to memory. You see it in the way he props himself on his right hand so that he can feel you- really feel you with his left hand, under finger pads that are still real.
His mouth trails kisses from your lips to the valley of your breasts, starting gently but becoming more urgent as you pant, back arching under his lips.
“I thought about this,” he breathes against your collarbone, “every night in that hellhole. I’d talk to the wall and pretend you were there. I imagined what your skin would feel like under my hands. What you’d sound like saying my name. I’d give anything to be yours.”
“You are,” you say, voice heavy with emotion. “I want you to be mine.”
He groans again, this time with relief and strips you slowly, like it’s sacred. Like unveiling you is some divine act. His hands are shaking, but his kisses never falter. And even as your pulse quickens in your veins, there is something that is liberating about the way it feels as your clothes are tossed to the ground.
“You too. Let me.” You reach for his shirt and pull it off over his head reveling in the way he groans as your fingers brush against his skin. When you reach for his pants, he stands pulling his bottoms off with ease.
There is a moment when you look at each other, both panting with need and take each other in. Caleb’s arousal looks rigid, hungry, desperate for you in the same way his eyes drink in the sight of you on the bed before him. Its too long and not long enough before Caleb covers your body with his, not timid as his hand guides his erection directly toward your entrance. You gasp as you feel it rub up and down your slit, both of you moaning at the electric sensation.
“I want to feel every second of this,” he murmurs. “Need to remember every moment. Say yes. I need you to say yes. Please, God… say yes.”
“Yes-” you say without hesitation and when he finally pushes into you, it’s devastatingly slow. Your body parts for him like it’s been waiting for this exact shape. This exact stretch. It’s deep, filling, a perfect pressure that forces the air from your lungs.
“Caleb-” a desperate plea as it leaves your lips. And he responds, grip tightening around your hips before lifting them just a couple inches from the mattress to change the angle.
“Oh, Caleb!” you cry as his body rolls, penetrating you deeply and gliding against your clit. And he groans, just as affected by the way you mewl- the way you feel, your velvet walls clinging to him tightly.
“I love you,” he says, forehead pressed to yours, voice hoarse. “Even when I tried to forget it. Even when I was made to forget you. I never did.”
Your body moves with his like you were carved to fit each other. Every roll of his hips feels like the answer to a question you didn’t know how to ask.
Deeper and deeper, you need him deeper and he needs to be deeper in you. You feel it in way that he presses his hips harder against you, combining each thrust with an intense grind that makes you gasp.
“Oh, Caleb, oh God!” you're panting now, nails dragging down his back.
“You feel so good,” he growls. “So, fucking good. You're perfect, Pip. You were always perfect.” He kisses your cheek, your lips, your throat as if he can’t get enough. “I love you.” He repeats.
You wrap your legs around him tighter, dragging him impossibly closer. “I love you too,” you whisper. “I always did.”
He gasps as he breaks.
His rhythm falters for just a second as your words hit him like a tidal wave. Then he speeds up, movements more erratic, more desperate, as though he’s trying to press every ounce of love into you through the rhythm of his body.
You cry out again, louder now, feeling yourself tighten around him, the build coming fast and unforgiving.
“Oh, Caleb! Caleb, I’m- FUCK!”
“Come with me,” he groans, thrusts slamming deep, voice raw. “Please, come with me. I need to feel it. I need you.”
You shatter around him, head thrown back, body arching, a wail pulled from the center of your soul as the orgasm crashes over you. He follows right after, thrusting once, twice, three times, then spilling inside you with a brokenness that sounds more like relief than pleasure.
He collapses over you, careful not to crush you, his weight grounding you as both of you gasp for air.
When you can breathe, your lips find his, softer and slower. His arms encircle you, holding you to his chest like he’s finally home.
PrettySeaGod: Well…
Dr. Zayne: …
YourNightmare: When he ran off after her, I was sure she was going to slap him.
Starboi: I would have liked to see that.
PrettySeaGod: PLEASE! 😩
Starboi: What?
PrettySeaGod: Her poor holes!
YourNightmare: Will you stop bringing up her holes?
PrettySeaGod: THERE ARE 5 OF US!
YourNightmare: We can count.
Dr. Zayne: You are operating under the assumption that she won’t leave all 4 of us for him.
PrettySeaGod: Please. She won’t leave.
PrettySeaGod: …
PrettySeaGod: Right?
Dr. Zayne: I can honestly say I think Caleb is the only man on the planet that might convince her not to stay. Especially since we all seem to be inept when it comes to communication.
YourNightmare: I don’t need that thrown in my face again today.
PrettySeaGod: Xavier has been typing for a really long time.
PrettySeaGod: Xavier?
YourNightmare: Is he writing an essay?
Starboi: Hi stardust. Today, I woke up after everyone else and burnt my toast so I ate an avocado smoothie. I fed that stinky cat and it let me pet it for a second today, but its still really afraid. Its so stinky I had to wash my hands 4 times. The Roses need trimming so I am thinking about doing that this evening when it’s a bit cooler outside. Maybe after a nap. Speaking of sleep I had another dream again about waffles. I’m hungry again and I’m about to make some instant ramen. Let me know if you want some?
YourNightmare: What are you doing?
Starboi: Well, I don’t want to miscommunicate with her and risk all this going away.
PrettySeaGod: Oh shit. This is the group thread that she is on?!
Dr. Zayne: But now you are overcommunicating.
YourNightmare: 😆
ThatHunterGirl: Talking about me?
YourNightmare: Obviously.
Dr. Zayne: Yes
PrettySeaGod: Maybe?
Starboi: Tell me all about your day. I am wearing green underwear. My shirt tag feels a little itchy. The birds are singing very nice songs today.
ThatHunterGirl: Take it easy, Xavier. Look… I’ll talk to Caleb about this, okay?
YourNightmare: Alright.
Starboi: Let us know if you need support.
PrettySeaGod: Please don’t leave us.
ThatHunterGirl: You guys… I love you too much.
Dr. Zayne: I love you too, darling.
YourNightmare: ..?
ThatHunterGirl: WHAT
PrettySeaGod: WHAT DID HE SAY?
Starboi: Oh, he must really be worried.
ThatHunterGirl: COME HERE AND SAY IT TO MY FACE
ThatHunterGirl: RIGHT NOW
ThatHunterGirl: OR I CAN COME TO YOU
ThatHunterGirl: WHERE ARE YOU
ThatHunterGirl: LET ME PUT MY PANTS ON
ThatHunterGirl: WHERE ARE YOU?!
***
The hard part of Caleb integrating into the group was the inability to undo the damage dealt when he was at his absolute worst.
Caleb would never apologize. The guys would never accept.
You can see Caleb’s effort in the silence more than his words. In the way his jaw flexes when Zayne tucks a blanket around you. In the way he looks away when Xavier pulls you into his lap. He bites his tongue now where once he would’ve snapped, thrown a jab just sharp enough to leave a bruise. Now, he folds his arms and watches. Purposefully quiet, but the tension lingers. It hums under every shared glance, every half-step the others take around him like they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Days turn into weeks. Caleb continues to improve. You continue to sleep in his bed- away from the others, like every night you hit pause on your complicated relationship. The strain on your bounds is palpable as your waking moments are consumed with everyone attempting to steal your attention even for a moment.
It happened on a quiet morning. Too quiet. So peaceful you could hear your heartbeat in your chest. You couldn’t identify why you didn’t feel at ease, but something wasn’t right. There was a weird energy in the air, unspoken but for a few seconds almost everyone feels the unease.
That’s when a blast destroyed an entire wing of the house.
“The fuck was that?!” Rafayel shouts as Mephisto caws, alerting Sylus a little too late that they were under attack.
“None of our security systems caught that before it hit and it took out almost all our weapons,” Sylus says, alarmed but focused.
“We still have the plane!” Caleb shouts as Xavier runs to check on Luke and Kieran. Zayne immediately grabs your hand, guiding you towards the plane when the second blast hits.
The sound is sickening. In the chaos, you can’t tell who is where. It’s like the explosion all over again.
You hear it before you see it. Rafayel screaming like the ground has disappeared below his feet, because it actually has. The blast has blown part of the home off the side of the mountain and Rafayel is quickly and surely plummeting to his death. Sylus, Caleb, Zayne, maybe even Xavier? Their evols would be enough to get them out of a bind like this, but Rafayel? Fire can’t save him now.
You don’t even have time to blink before Caleb moves. He jumps, plummeting to catch Rafayel, suspending Rafayel’s body before grabbing him and ascending back to safety. There is a moment where everyone converges and breathes. Jeremiah and the twins arrive with Xavier and you mentally thank the cosmos that everyone is alive before they all start running towards the plane, Caleb taking the lead and immediately strapping himself into first pilot position wile Xavier straps himself in second chair.
In the distance, the unmistakable sound of another aircraft hums low. That must be where the missiles came from.
“They must have their hands on some new top-secret tech to sneak up on us,” Sylus mutters, checking to make sure you’re strapped in properly.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Caleb agrees but there isn’t enough time for chatter as he and Xavier flick on the ignition and prepare for vertical launch.
“Everyone strap-in and pray to the god of your choosing. This is going to be a dog fight and this plane isn’t as equipped for that as that fighter jet.” Understatement of the year, but one of the fleets best pilots is in the control seat.
He takes off. Action is immediate.
“FLARES! FLARES! FLARES!” Caleb shouts as he hears the target lock signal and Xavier deploys countermeasures. They are vulnerable as they have to climb altitude much faster than recommended and you feel the pressure in your chest.
“Caleb, you’ve got this!” You shout, reassuring yourself more than Caleb as he focuses on getting everyone out alive.
Outmaneuvering a pro in a fighter jet should be impossible. And maybe it is, but Caleb manages just barely.
The targeting signal returns again and again and every time, Caleb throws the plane into a maneuver that kills the lock. Spirals, rolls, dives that shouldn’t work but do. Your body is thrown around violently and it pains you, even if you are strapped in tightly.
“Come on, come on, come on!” he mutters through gritted teeth, trying to get a lock on the enemy jet. But it’s no use. The other aircraft outclasses you in every way.
“Everyone close your eyes,” Xavier warns before blasting light so bright, he surely burned the enemy pilots’ retinas and for a second you can breathe as Caleb locks on to his target and fires away.
You can’t see it, but the way Caleb curses, you know that the pilot just barely manages to evade. You aren’t sure if Xavier’s light trick will work again.
“Caleb, can you get us close to the plane?” Sylus asks and Caleb nods, signaling Xavier to do the light trick again. The enemy pilot might have caught on, but still seems to slow.
“Care to tell me what you are planning?” Zayne asks tacitly, implying the worst.
“I am a weapon,” Sylus states simply.
That’s fair,” Rafayel mutters.
Sylus disappears in red and black mist.
“What the fuck?!” you hear Caleb shout in shock.
“Oh yeah. He does that sometimes,” you state simply without explaining.
Your phone rings, you put it on speaker.
“I’ve always wanted a fighter jet, Kitten.” Sylus says simply like it’s a normal Sunday. The other plane has abandoned pursuit. You don’t need to ask what happened. Everyone has connected the dots.
“Tell your little boyfriend to put the cloak on. I preset coordinates for the next hideout a long time ago in case anything like this happened. I’m going to fly this a couple hundred miles in the opposite direction before I destroy the tracking system and fuel up. I can catch up with you later.”
“Oh. Okay… love you?” you reply simply an end the call. The twins chuckle. Somehow no one is surprised.
***
The new hideout is just as luxurious as the one they lost but colder and sleek. Less like a home and more like a war bunker for someone with a black card and no intention of roughing it.
Polished obsidian floors, matte steel finishes, biometric locks on every door. A central command hub glows with layered holographic projections, and along the back wall, built-in panels slide open to reveal weapon caches and survival kits disguised as art installations. It’s beautiful, sure. But it’s built for survival.
Jeremiah and the twins are tasked with leaving for food and supplies the moment you touched down.
“This place screams I have enemies and expensive taste,” Rafayel mutters, flopping onto a leather chaise and immediately snagging a chilled drink from the in-wall minibar.
Sylus doesn’t deny it. “Designed it during a paranoid phase.”
“You mean a Tuesday?” Zayne says, dryly.
Despite the jabs, the mood is different. Calmer. The sharp edge that once sliced through every room Caleb entered is dulled now. Not gone, but quieter. He stands beside Sylus at the war table, not lurking near the edges. Rafayel doesn’t flinch when he speaks. Even Sylus watches him with thoughtful neutrality, rather than open suspicion.
Since the fall and the rescue, something has shifted.
Caleb hasn’t mentioned what he did. No one has thanked him. But it’s there. In the way Rafayel lets him pour a drink without a comment. In how Xavier wordlessly hands him a datapad. They’re not friends. Not yet. But they’re not waiting for him to betray them anymore either.
You lean against the edge of the table, watching Sylus pry open the damaged rocket shell, running gloved fingers over the exposed tech.
“This is… unfamiliar to me,” Sylus says as he carefully examines the missle.
Caleb leans in. “They are moving faster than I thought they could. This is evol energy harvested from wanderers and combined with weapons.”
Xavier looks over, alarmed.
“It’s not really new. Simone’s evol is weapons modification.” You add.
Xavier shakes his head. “That’s different. Simone’s evol is weapons modification. This is draining a person’s life force to power up or fuel technology. This isn’t supposed to happen yet.”
Rafayel paces, tapping his foot with agitation. “My name is Xavier. I’m from the future but I don’t talk about anything until its relevant.”
You can see a small smirk on Zayne’s face, rare appreciation for Rafayel’s sass before he speaks.
“If the present timeline’s already shifted, it’s time to fight fire with fire.”
Sylus looks up from the war table, eyes narrowing. “You’re saying we stop reacting.”
“I’m saying we strike back,” Zayne replies. “This tech shouldn’t exist yet. Which means someone’s accelerating things. And we’re already behind.”
“We need a good inside man if we are going to pull it off,” Rafayel says suggestively.
“We have one,” Sylus follows, looking up at Caleb.
And that was the moment. There was no fanfare or celebration, but there was a feeling of confidence as Caleb was seamlessly pulled into the group.
Caleb doesn’t flinch at the attention nor does he fight it. He just steps closer to the table, no longer on the outside looking in.
You talk all night. Schematics, strategies, timelines, every possibility was turned over multiple times from different angles. Sure, there are times it may have gotten heated or frustrating. But underneath it all, there seemed to be a new found respect that the group had fostered for one another.
The yawning started the moment Luke and Kieran started bringing mattresses in to lay them on the floor. This bunker was built pre-poly relationship and there wasn’t an adequate space or a big bed for them all. But four king sized mattresses arranged in a square on the floor would more than make due temporarily as everyone excused themselves to shower and ready for sleep.
And Caleb wasn’t leaving the room. No.
For the first time, he pulled you into his arms, not sneaking off and hiding his affection from the others.
There was nothing forbidden about it anymore. No shadowed corner, no locked door. Just his hand firm on your waist, his breath warm where he pressed a kiss behind your ear. The others notice but no one said a word. It didn’t feel like a challenge.
You settle between Caleb’s legs on the makeshift mattress, your back to his chest, and he wraps his arms around you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if he’s always belonged there. His chin rests on your shoulder. You feel the rhythm of his breathing, a little too even, like he’s trying not to overstep.
It started off so innocently. The others filtering in the room, getting settled. Whispered good nights, sweet kisses. Lights out like the night is done.
Xavier is the first to make space for it quietly. Almost innocently. He nudges you gently asking permission for a cuddle. You readjust, rolling to Caleb’s side, head still on Caleb’s chest, but Xavier takes space immediately, spooning you from behind and sighing.
You look at Caleb for signs of discomfort, but instead he presses kisses to your temple, his fingers tangling in your hair. A fraction of a second later, you feel Xavier press kisses along your neck.
“This doesn’t bother you?” you can’t help but whisper as your eyes lock with Caleb’s and his soft gaze fills you with a fluttering sense of hope. He caresses your lip with his thumb. He looks at the war table, then over at Sylus who is still up, illuminated by the light of his tablet, still diligently updating security systems.
“I guess you can say I have a new… understanding. I always thought all we needed to stay safe was each other. But now, seeing what they can do, I feel a little relief.” Caleb answers, lips meeting yours as he settles in for the night.
“Tomorrow, someone needs to go out and adjust some sensors on the roof.” Sylus mutters to no one in particular.
“I will,” Caleb offers. It’s simple. A sincere plea to be part of the group.
You let yourself relax again, head nestled between Xavier and Caleb, tangled comfortably. Zayne joins a moment later, pulling your legs into his lap with a lazy hand on your shin. The room is dim, the glow from Sylus’s tablet the only light left.
Rafayel is the last to join.
He lingers near the edge of the mattress square, drink in hand, watching.
His eyes flick briefly to Caleb’s hand, which is stroking lightly down your arm. Not possessive, but undeniably close.
You feel Rafayel’s hesitation in the air, sharp and glinting under the softness of the moment.
“Problem?” Caleb asks, not unkindly. His voice is measured, respectful.
“I’m not going to act like I don’t appreciate you, especially after you help me during that fall…” Rafayel snorts, but there is no heat. “You’re just making yourself comfortable pretty fast. Don’t you want to ease into this?”
“What’s the issue here? We are only sleeping?” Caleb responds, his arm getting a little heavier on you.
“Maybe that’s how tonight will start…” Rafayel suggests and you feel two bodies rub against you and you are shocked that you can feel Caleb respond against your thigh.
“I don’t think I’ll mind if things get interesting,” Caleb responds simply and your heart leaps. A night where you don’t have to choose? Where your loyalties don’t feel divided by the bed you sleep in?
You can see the doubt on Rafayel’s face even with the dim like provided by Sylus’s tablet. He isn’t ready to trust spoken words so quickly.
So Caleb acts instead.
He looks at you, asking silently for permission. Your eyes speak a language only the two of you know. A connection developed over many years where words are not necessary.
His fingers flex subtly, and you feel the familiar shift you’ve felt a thousand times. Your body lifts gently, weightless in Caleb’s arms like you’re floating. Not high. Just enough. Just so your body drapes without effort, perfectly supported. Your breath catches at the sensation.
Rafayel blinks.
“Oh,” Rafayel breathes, expression shifting in real time from guarded to intrigued. He steps closer, circling you slowly like he’s reassessing a puzzle. “Okay, okay. I see your value.”
That gleam enters his eye, the one you’ve seen before right before things go sideways in the best way.
“Tell me you can hold that for a while,” Rafayel says, crawling into bed with eagerness that makes you giggle.
Caleb smirks. “Longer than you can stay quiet.”
“So not very long?” Sylus quips, setting his tablet aside.
“Long enough,” Caleb answers and you feel a jump of excitement as Xavier shifts into a position ready for action.
Zayne groans. “We were supposed to sleep tonight.”
“Then tell her to stop being pretty,” Rafayel fires back. There’s a beat of quiet, warm and strangely whole. Then a rustle.
Rafayel’s the one who breaks the silence unsurprisingly, but there’s a pause in his usual sass as he kneels onto the mattress beside you. His hand slides over your hip, then stops just shy of your waistband. His voice is quieter than usual.
“Just making sure... Caleb you are really in?” There is a fire, a challenge burning behind those beautiful Lemurian eyes as you hear bodies inch closer towards you.
Once again, Caleb uses actions instead of words, pulling you against his chest as you float, pressing heated kisses along your neck and palming your breasts openly, sending you into a heat that makes you moan.
Then Rafayel leans in and there’s no more talking. Your breath catches as your shorts and panties are pulled off. There is only passion. He always starts slow, letting his tongue tease you open in spirals, but tonight it’s hungrier. The moment your hips twitch, Rafayel adjusted your body suspended perfectly to get deeper. Tongue dragging with firm pressure, lips sealing around your clit until your whole-body stutters like you’ve been rebooted.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Sylus rumbles as he draws closer, watching Rafayel devour you. Rafayel moans into your pussy as you hear Zayne rummaging around looking for something.
God, it feels good as Caleb’s big hands continue to palm your breasts through your shirt before he takes it off.
“Damn, pipsqueak,” he groans, pressing your hand to his erection and you immediately palm him through his pajamas, making his breath hitch. “You’re really into this?”
Rafayel moans louder into your pussy, the hum making you arch and tingle before gently suckling on your clit and eagerly introducing two fingers.
“Fuck,” you whimper as Rafayel’s fingers curl and piston inside you, finding that sweet spot with practiced ease. His tongue strokes are confident and deliberate, not unlike the way he paints, with brush strokes and practiced ease.
“You’d be surprised what she is into,” Sylus rumbles as he joins the party, his hand cupping your jaw to draw you into a kiss, hot and languid- passion that runs deep and is never rushed.
Xavier’s hands, deft and bold run down your ribs. His touch warms the gooseflesh that has prickled in response to cold air and stimulation. Wet lips trail soft patterns across the breasts still in Caleb’s hands, paying special attention to your nipples before kissing up your neck. His breath is warm against your collarbone as he murmurs, “I’ve needed this all day…”
Zayne has returned, something in his hand. Lube, you guess by the slick sound of the cap. He tosses it lightly to Sylus without a word, the silent choreography between them all so familiar it feels like music.
Caleb’s arms never waver, keeping you suspended like you’re the center of the universe. And tonight, you are.
“You alright?” he murmurs against your ear, low and steady.
You nod, dazed with pleasure. “More than alright.”
“Good,” he answers, and his left-hand travels down your side, cupping the curve of your hips. Every brush of skin is electric, every touch amplified by the sheer tension humming in the room.
And through it all, Rafayel is still making your pussy sloppy with his tongue and fingers. You leak your arousal copiously into his eager mouth and he laps you like ambrosia making you whimper. As your volume increases, so does their intensity as they touch you- taste you. 4 sets of lips on your body. Caleb on your neck, Sylus on your lips, Xavier on your breasts, and Rafayel, eating your fucking pussy like it’s a last meal.
Then… Zayne’s tongue joins Rafayel’s. It’s a move that shocks you- something he has never done before. None of them have. But in a split second, he spread your legs wider, nudges Rafayel for more room and two sets of tongues start working your clit in alternating patterns making you scream in an odd sense of overstimulation that is keeping you from coming.
Lubed fingers circle your pucker, a gentle warning before Zayne adds more pressure, his fingers slowly sinking in, working alternating patterns to the fingers Raf has working your pussy. You huff, arch, tremble, cry and finally, a sensation that has been building, burning, aching spills over and you come, screaming nonsense.
“Breathe,” Zayne coaxes gently. Tonight’s not over. You need to take deep breaths. You hate him for the simple remark for a moment, but then you realize you aren’t breathing. You are a weeping mess and Caleb, sweet Caleb¸ is wiping the tears from your eyes and taking deep, loud breaths in with you.
In, and out.
In, and out.
There it is. Safety in the middle of debauchery. Room to recover so the next part is delicious. Clothes are removed all around you and you know what comes next. You knew it the moment you heard Zayne rummaging around looking for something.
Still weightless, Zayne changes your angle from horizontal to upright as he gets on his knees behind you. You feel his slicked cock press against your pucker as he kisses across your back and shoulders motioning for Caleb to get in front.
Caleb’s eyes widen in shock. By what, you don’t know. Maybe acceptance, maybe simply by being here. It isn’t normal. It’s what many would consider extreme. How do they make it seem so beautiful when it’s supposed to be filthy?
“You sure you can handle this,” Caleb asks, getting on his knees and you just know he isn’t referring to the position, the depravity, the penetration. Rather, he is referring to the dynamic. Can you handle him joining this weird, unconventional, beautiful polycule? Can you add one more man that loves you deeply, and makes you feel cherished.
And it is everything you have ever wanted, so you nod, pulling him close, spreading your legs wider for him as he takes position.
His lips seal with yours and both the men you’ve loved since childhood grip you around your hips and waist and with even pressure, pushing inside you and all three of you gasp. Taking a moment to adjust to the pressure, they whisper praise into your ears.
“Taking us so good, pipsqueak.”
“God, so nice and tight. Such a good girl taking us.”
Caleb kisses your lips, your ear, your chin, your neck. Softly, “I love you” is whispered between each kiss as Zayne’s hand tangles into your hair, grip just the way you like it. The tingle sends shivers down your spin as he gently pulls your hair to the side to expose your neck, sinking his teeth into soft flesh. A claiming bite -firm- but not painful. And his teeth remain around your pulse point as his cheeks hollow and he sucks, hands gripping your breasts tightly. His hips begin to move, making both you and Caleb hiss in response.
“Fuuuuuck. So, this is what if feels like,” Caleb groans, a pretty blush dusting across his nose as you whimper and he starts to move in response, hips rolling slowly, taking great care to rock against your clit.
“Yes, this is what it feels like,” Zayne murmurs before his other hand tangles in your hair and gently pulls your head to the other side so he can repeat, teeth clamping on your neck and sucking, leaving marks as his hips roll, matching Caleb’s sensual pace.
“I need in,” Xavier groans, gently gripping your chin to face him. Your lips detach from Caleb’s and he whines from your absence, hips rocking more intensely against your clit in response and you whimper. The noise that leaves you is not gentle. It hits like a shiver in your very bloodstream, your body jerking, clenching from the very force of it. Eyes lock onto the bead of pre-cum leaking out of Xavier’s cock as he guides your lips to taste him.
You respond eagerly. You always do. Your tongue darts out to savor the taste of his wet cock, eyes pleading with Xavier’s darkened blue- the color of the deep sea.
Xavier responds the way you need him too. He grips both sides of your face and groans as your lips part allowing him to slip in, sinking deeper, deeper, deeper until that giant horsecock, bottoms out. Caleb’s eyes widen as he sees the shape of Xavier’s cock in your esophagus, pumping slowly in and out. You moan and whimper on his cock as he hisses.
“God, pipsqueak. You like this? You need this? So greedy.” Caleb remarks as his hips piston faster, Zayne also moving faster in response.
God, you moan louder because you do. You do like this. You do need this.
“Like I said,” Sylus purrs as he and Rafayel get into position on your left and right sides. “You’d be surprised what kitten is into.”
It's overwhelming. It’s too much. It’s so many things you don’t have the capacity to name as tears fall from your eyes.
There is no way this is real. No way they could possibly love this much. No way you can survive in one piece.
But you ache to be undone by them. It’s not enough. Not until they all feel your love.
You grab both Rafayel’s and Sylus’s cocks, slickened with lube and stroke to the best of your abilities. Even if you are overwhelmed, you have to have them. Have to please them.
“So good, cutie,” Rafayel praises. A reward for your effort as both he and Sylus groan and rut into your hands. 3 holes, 2 hands filled. An insane, sick, wonderful, beautiful dream. All five of them in your bed tonight. It’s more than you could ever hope to ask and suddenly, you are a fiend, hands and mouth rocking with enthusiasm, clumsy and out of sync. But it doesn’t have to be good.
It just needs to be love.
Zayne and Caleb thrust faster, the impact not from gravity. No, you are still floating. But your breasts heave and bounce from the sheer force with which they take you, grunting like beasts.
You pull off Xavier’s cock and switch, gobbling Sylus down eagerly, your hand switching to clumsily pump Xavier. Sylus’s pre-cum tastes saltier, you note.
The sounds that escape you are desperate and interrupted from impact from all your holes. You pull off Sylus’s cock and gasp, desperate for air.
Can’t stop. Not even as they ruin you. Your hand still pumps Xavier and Rafayel when you pull Rafayel closer to taste him too.
You see Sylus stroke himself out the corner of your eye with one hand, the other grabs the back of your head and pushes you down on Rafayel’s cock with just a little bit of force. Rafayel’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he whimpers, hands caressing your face before you feel pressure rise, curling your toes.
Your whole body arches, every nerve alight as you rip yourself off Rafayel’s cock with a desperate gasp. A broken cry leaves your throat, somewhere between a sob and a moan, raw and involuntary. Your walls tighten around both Zayne and Caleb who nearly shout in response, cursing as they grip you for dear life.
“Pip… fu- Pip. Look at me—Look at me.” Your eyes connect as he presses his forehead against yours and you watch him break, burst, unravel as you feel his cock swell inside you. “PIP! GOD BABY!” He shouts, with one, two, three deep strokes as he releases hot and thick ropes that leave him shaking and for a brief moment, speechless. Then-
“Fuck, baby. You ruin me.”
You can only whimper as his lips crash with yours. A desperate kiss before he leaves you to be taken care of by another.
Zayne’s hips stop for a moment as he tried to guide you to focus on breathing and you need it. You still have a way to go and Sylus is the one getting into position next letting gentle pressure do the work to penetrate you as he presses your body into Zayne’s.
“Mmm,” He murmurs as he becomes fully seated and kisses you deeply. “Kitten, I know you understand now what I will do for you,” he whispers before his hips move, Zayne’s hips alternating, both groaning as it resumes.
Down to four. You are exhausted, heat radiating off your body, but four- your body is familiar with that number and you know you can handle. You feel the need to worship them like they worship you.
Your body twists just enough for Zayne to bring his lips to yours, his fingers gripping your hips with reverent desperation.
He rumbles, kiss passionate and sloppy, sweat slicking his chest to your back. “You feel like heaven. Like you were made to take me.”
God it feels good as his finger’s find your clit and roll it with surgical precision, even as his hips thrust more erratically, clear signs he is reaching his breaking point.
Your hands are back on Xavier and Rafayel, stroking, worshipping, but your body jolts as Zayne interrupts his clit circling with small, sharp smacks on your clit that feel like little shock waves of red-hot pleasure.
“Such a good girl, taking our cocks so well,” Zayne praises in your ear because he knows that you love it. You hear the strain in his voice as he speaks.
Sylus chuckles, “My-my, doctor. You have gotten quite filthy.
Under normal circumstances, Zayne would have a witty comeback, but right now, his hips are snapping erratically, powerfully, making you lose the rhythm with which you stroke Xavier and Rafayel’s cocks. He is battering at just the right angle for the sensation to swell.
“Oh god, Zayne!” Your muscles contract as you meet bliss once more, near howling, sobbing into Sylus’s shoulder.
With a gasp and a moan caught low in his throat, he thrusts once, twice and then he breaks, spilling inside you with a curse muffled into your skin. You feel his doting kisses across your sweat slicked back once more as he stays like that, just for a moment, breathing and holding you close, cock twitching inside you.
Sylus matches his worship, kissing dotingly across your forehead as Zayne murmurs, “You okay?” His hand trails down your belly, rubbing soft circles that ground you to breathe.
They know you now. This intimate dance is well rehearsed. They know what it takes to keep you going to the finish line and beyond. Breathe. Breathe. Feel.
Then they move you. You are still floating. Caleb hasn’t released his evol and Sylus lies back, pulling you on top of him.
But you need gravity to make this position work.
“Caleb,” Both you and Sylus say at the same time and you see that he is watching. He has been watching this entire time, eyes dark.
“You can kill the evol,” Sylus says and Caleb releases you slowly.
You have what it takes and you still have the need to please and be pleased as you climb on top and position yourself, drinking in the bliss on Sylus’s face as his kitten clambers onto him. But as you sink down, gravity shifts.
You slam down on Sylus’s cock involuntarily and gasp, knowing exactly why. And Sylus is very affected, gasping as he tightly grips your hips.
“Kitten, I-,” for second he thought it was you sending shockwaves of pleasure up and down his spine, but you are pulled up with force and crash down again. You observe the mischievous smirk on Caleb’s face and you are about to scold him when you see his finger flick up and down over and over again.
Your body moves with it, hips crashing against Sylus leaving you both gasping.
“OoOohh! CALEB! STO-,” your cries stop as Sylus suddenly starts thrusting up, making you scream, Rafayel and Xavier watching, waiting in the background, but looking very intrigued.
It's like Sylus is trying to power his way through it but its his undoing, gasping, trying his best to resist, he can’t stop as his balls draw up and he loses himself in you and holds you still, Caleb’s teasing ceasing as you feel Sylus pulse inside you powerfully.
“FUCK!” he growls, holding you close and closes his eyes. For a minute, you lie there, focusing on catching your breath. But when Rafayel tries to help you reposition, Sylus snarls, “I’m not done yet.” He holds you tightly still when his hips begins to piston like a machine, balls slapping lewdly, the sound of cum being fucked out of you loud and squelching.
“I’m never not going to fuck the shit out of you, Kitten.” He growls as Rafayel and Xavier curse, watching this exchange… and they are ready to match his energy.
“Cutie, you ready for this to get wild?” Rafayel asks as he settles behind you and Xavier gets down in front, knees on either side of Sylus’s face. With time and debauchery, the proximity and compromising positions don’t bother any of them anymore.
“Fuck yes!” You scream because you need them. All versions, all moods, all preferences.
Sylus pauses only for a few seconds and Rafayel plunges inside you causing you to cry out, muscles immediately contracting around them- not quite an orgasm but it affects Rafayel and Sylus all the same as they curse. And then, Xavier grasps your face for the second time tonight.
Xavier doesn’t just take your face. He claims it. Fingers curled under your jaw, thumb dragging across your bottom lip like he owns it. “Open,” he commands, and you do, greedy and eager, because his cock tastes like the end of the world and you crave it.
Its practiced. Far from perfect, but the sensation still defeats you as Sylus and Rafayel thrust inside you like animals. Sylus is unhinged as he watches Xavier fucking your face, drool dripping down your chin as they destroy you.
“God, Cutie,” Rafayel pants, voice cracking into a moan, “you’re going to make me lose my mind. Tightest, messiest, fucking dream girl.”
And even as you’re gasping, drooling, unraveling, you revel in the chaos. There is only the aching, beautiful truth that this is yours. This pandemonium. This love. This pack of men who break and build you in the same breath.
“Fuck this is like live porn,” Caleb remarks as Zayne re-enters the room and is immediately affected by what he sees. Both sit, watching, wanting to touch, but knowing you are overwhelmed. And one after the other, they begin to fist and pump their cocks at the same speed with which Sylus takes you.
Xavier’s cock pistons in and out of your mouth, hitting the back of your throat as Sylus and Rafayel’s thrusts grow more brutal by the second. Wet skin, slapped flesh, hoarse cries- you’re helpless to do anything but feel.
Your body is spent, but your pleasure hasn't dulled. You’re sobbing around Xavier’s cock now, arms trembling as you cling to Sylus’s chest for support. He’s snarling, biting your shoulder hard enough to hurt so good, but not enough to bruise. His hands hold you steady, grounding you as Rafayel pistons harder from behind.
“Fuck, you’re close,” Rafayel gasps, voice cracking. “I can feel it. Fucking fluttering around me like a good girl.”
Even with Xavier’s cock in your mouth, you scream, raw, ragged, vibrating through every part of you. Your vision whites out as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, muscles seizing, body arching between the three of them as they lose themselves right along with you.
Sylus comes first, with a violent grunt, arms wrapping around your waist as he thrusts deep and spills into you, trembling with the force of it.
“Fucking hell, sweetie. Take my come,” he groans, voice wrecked with reverence.
Rafayel follows seconds later, jerking inside you with a desperate cry, forehead pressed to your back. “Goddamn cutie, FUCK!” he chants, spilling into you like he’s giving you everything he has left.
“God, stardust,” Xavier gasps, voice cracking as he holds your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks even as his hips falter. “You’re perfect.” hands fist in your hair as he lets out a deep, guttural moan, hips twitching as hot, thick release coats your throat, eyes locked on yours like you're the only thing in the universe that matters.
You roll over on your back panting, boneless when you see unmistakable movement. Zayne and Caleb move closer and even though you have nothing left, there is a silent thrill.
‘Come on my face. Come on my face!’ you chant internally and when Caleb lifts your chin, your lips part to get a taste as warm droplets rain down on you.
“Fucking beautiful,” Caleb remarks as he looks down at you, gently smearing come across your lips as Zayne looks you over to make sure that physically, you are whole, brushing your hair back gently before squeezing your hand. He offers you more praise as they gather to dote on you.
You did it. You took them all. All five.
You feel whole.
The world tilts.
Or maybe it’s just your body lifted with such gentle care that you can’t tell who’s holding you until you recognize the familiar scent of Zayne’s neck and the steady rhythm of his breath against your ear.
“You did so good,” he murmurs reverently. “So good.”
Your body is trembling from exertion, and every inch of you feels raw, tender and used but in the best possible way.
You smell it before you see it. It is warmth, steam, the relaxing scent of lavender. The deep soaking tub is filled and ready. Of course he prepared it. He always does, with oils good for your skin and Epsom salt to zap away your pain.
He eases you into the hot water like you’re made of spun glass, arms wrapped around your back and knees until you’re lowered in, inch by inch, the salt and heat kissing every ache.
“Too hot?” he asks softly, brushing damp hair away from your temple.
“It’s always perfect… just like you.” A contented moan slips from your lips as you sink in deeper.
Caleb is next to kneel at your side, one of your legs pulled gently into his lap. He begins massaging your calf, fingers firm but tender, working knots and pressure from overstretched muscles.
“I’ve got you,” he says simply, his thumb tracing small circles behind your knee. “Not just now. Always.”
Rafayel appears with a bottle of water and ibuprofen. “Hydrate or I’ll cry,” he warns dramatically, though there’s nothing playful about the way he tucks the water straw to your lips and watches you drink.
“I love you when you’re bossy,” you manage with a dazed smile.
“I’m always bossy. But right now, I’m also your towel boy, water boy, snack boy, emotional support fishie… whatever you need, Cutie.”
When there is space, Sylus comes in with a face mask.
“You okay, Kitten?” he murmurs as he applies the cool cream to your skin. “Talk to me.”
“Floaty,” you whisper.
“Good floaty or need-to-ground floaty?”
“Good,” you exhale. “Just… a lot.” He nods, kissing your hair.
And when the bath is done, Xavier is there to brush your hair.
He doesn’t speak at first. He just watches you with those warm blue eyes full of awe. He finally says, voice warm, “You’re something else, stardust.”
“I’m sore,” you whisper.
“We’ll fix that,” he promises, and presses a kiss to your temple.
And in bed, you rotate from hand-to-hand, Zayne rubbing your lower back, Sylus massaging your scalp, Rafayel gently rubbing your thighs, Caleb applying moisturizer for you and Xavier helping you stretch to keep your body from seizing.
They’ve passed you around with love, treating you like more than just some party favor.
When tomorrow comes, whatever happens, you know you have 5 amazing men who can get you through anything.
Pairing: M/M/M/M/F Sylus x Zayne x Rafayel x Xavier x x Caleb x Afab Reader
‧₊˚✩彡Summary: In what scenario does MC get passed around like a party favor? This one!
‧₊˚✩彡WARNINGS: 18+ mdni!! GANGBANG, word porn with just enough plot to make your brain happy, double penetration, vaginal and anal sex, rough face fucking, rough cunniligus, creampies, reverse harem, butt plugs, multiple partners, multiple positions, actual funny parts, gratuitous self pleasing smut.
Don't let the group dynamic fool you.
This fic is all about consent and love.
No one looked happy when you came home after your conversation with Captain Jenna.
“I don’t like this. We let you go back to the Hunter’s Association for 5 seconds and things are already out of control.” Xavier’s voice doesn’t rise, but he looks away, the same way he always does when he is upset because it pains him when his eyes meet yours. He can sense your resolve before he sees it. Out of all the men you love, he is the one that is attuned to your feelings. And though he will try to fight it, he knows this is a losing battle.
Rafayel sits on the couch frowning, arms crossed, uncharacteristically quiet as Sylus leans on a door frame nearby.
“For once, I’m leaning towards agreeing with the sleepy one.” Sylus drawls, gaze calculated as he stares you down. “You can’t get into Skyhaven without proper clearance. I don’t even think I have the means to sneak my way in without setting alarms off everywhere.”
Rafayel’s foot taps impatiently, eyes darting in response; a nervous tick he is completely unaware is in full swing until Zayne taps his thigh silently to get him to stop. Scrolling through a few channels on his laptop, he offers you a lifeline.
“I think I can get in. They are requesting temporary travel doctors at the Skyhaven Hospital and they need someone specializing in protocore sickness.”
“That’s still not good enough,” Xavier huffs, eyes quietly pleading for you to change your mind.
Sylus pushes off the doorframe, arms folding as he directs his gaze at Xavier. “Why won’t Captain Jenna assign you too? You’re the obvious choice. The two of you work best together.”
Xavier doesn’t answer right away. He stares at the floor like the answer might shift if he waits long enough. Eventually, he exhales through his nose.
“It’s harder to keep a mission covert with more than one agent,” he says quietly. “Especially when one of those agents is me. The Unicorns can’t justify sending two of their top hunters off the grid to chase rumors about the Aether Core. We still have assignments. Monsters don’t stop wandering just because Skyhaven’s being shady.”
Sylus grunts. “Right. Bureaucracy over brains. Classic.”
“It’s not that simple,” Xavier mutters. “Jenna’s walking a tight line just letting her go. Any more special treatment and people start asking questions. Questions that might get her—”
He stops himself before finishing, but the implication hangs heavy in the air.
Dead. Caught. Disavowed.
You shift your stance, jaw tight. “It’s fine. One person can move easier. Blend in faster. And Captain Jenna has her reasons. I think it goes without saying, something is clearly fishy on the inside. And Captain Jenna isn’t trying to bring any attention to the situation.”
“That’s just a better argument for you to stay,” Rafayel says, flopping sideways on the couch with a scowl.
“She’s not going in alone,” Zayne cuts in. “They’ve been requesting specialists in Protocore Syndrome for months. If they’re still desperate, I can get stationed there. Quietly.”
Sylus raises a brow. “You going to save lives and spy at the same time?”
Zayne doesn’t blink. “I multitask.”
“That’s not multitasking. That’s a full-time job while you try to babysit your girlfriend.” Rafayel scoffs.
Sylus looks back to Xavier. “And you’re really okay just sitting this one out?”
“What do you mean?” Xavier’s jaw flexes. “It’s not like I have a choice. She has to do this on her own.”
“She is standing right here,” you mutter, cutting through the noise. All four of them look at you. None of them look particularly happy.
“You need to stop discussing this as if you can talk me out of it,” you say firmly and Rafayel huffs. He breaks his uncharacteristic silence, a scowl on his face.
“We don’t need to talk you out of it. You aren’t going. Not without all of us.” He sits with his arms crossed, gaze burning into you but you refuse to waiver.
“Caging her will just make her resent you,” Sylus says, voice low but even, eyes on Rafayel. “You know that.”
“I’d rather her resent me than have her get killed in some floating fortress run by a mysterious military force likely in cahoots with the enemy.” Rafayel retorts, expression pouty and indignant. “Literally any of us would step up and do this in her place. We should just start drawing straws on who it’s gonna be.”
“She’s the only one who can,” Xavier says quietly.
One simple, unexpected sentence from Xavier and everyone falls silent.
“She’s right. Jenna’s right. We all want answers, and this is how we get them. We don’t have the luxury of playing it safe anymore.”
You glance at him, surprised at his shift, but he won’t meet your eyes. His fists are clenched at his sides, knuckles pale.
“I hate this,” he admits. “But I’m not going to be the reason she walks away from something that’s finally going to give us answers.”
Sylus gives him a long, unreadable look. “Didn’t think I’d hear that from you.”
Xavier’s eyes remain downcast. His lips stay in a straight line, eyes slightly red. “I don’t have to like it for it to be true.” And though he remains quiet, the flicker of anger in his downcast eyes speaks enough before he walks away.
You step forward and place a hand on Rafayel’s arm. He looks at you, an intimidating, beautiful frown carved into his face. “You know I can handle myself.”
Rafayel exhales hard and begrudgingly nods before looking away.
Zayne closes his laptop. “They accepted my application. I’ll be there in 3 days.”
Sylus raises a brow. “Accepted that fast?”
“You’ve seen my resume,” he says flatly. “Would you reject me in their position?”
“You… have a point,” Sylus concedes as you leave to find Xavier.
You find Xavier alone in the hallway outside the common room, standing just beside a reinforced window that overlooks the empty corridor below. He doesn’t turn when you approach, but his posture shifts, shoulders drawing in slightly like he’s bracing himself for a conversation he doesn’t want to have.
“Thank you… for backing me up,” you murmur.
He nods once, hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweater. You turn to face him fully, but he still won’t look at you. His eyes stay on the floor, unfocused. Like if he looks at you, he might say something he regrets.
“This is hard for me,” he admits, voice weary. “Harder than I thought it would be.”
Your breath catches. Xavier is a man of few words, and for the first time, he isn’t clamming up to avoid confrontation.
“I don’t like this arrangement because I hate sharing you.” He finally glances at you, just for a second. “I agreed to it because I thought… if more people cared about you, then you’d be safer.” You’ve never heard him say it like that before, never heard the raw truth come out so plainly.
You reach for his hand, and he lets you take it. His fingers are cold, and they are never cold.
“But now I’m sending you somewhere I can’t follow,” he says. “Can’t watch your back. Can’t pull you out if something goes wrong.” His thumb traces a small line across your wrist. “And I keep thinking… what’s the point of all of this- of me being here… if I can’t even keep you safe?”
“Xavier…” Your voice cracks a little.
“I know you’re strong, and I’ve seen what Zayne is capable of,” he adds, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “But I still feel like I’m failing. Failing myself… failing you.”
You step closer, forehead pressed against his. “You’re not failing. You’re trusting me. That means the world to me.”
He presses you into the wall taking deep breaths as his lips trail softly across your temple. His hand tightens around yours.
“Just… come back,” he whispers. For a long moment, neither of you move. The hallway is still. Quiet. Just like him.
Then he kisses you.
It starts soft. Just a breath, the ghost of his lips on yours. But the tremble in his hand, the way his chest presses tightly against yours, gives him away. He’s barely holding it together.
Your lips part for him and hesitation melts. Xavier deepens the kiss like he’s been holding it back for days. Weeks. His hands slide to your waist, then up under your shirt, fingertips dragging reverently across your skin as if trying to memorize it. When he pulls back just far enough to press his forehead to yours, his voice comes out rough.
“I don’t know how to do this. Letting you go like this. Not knowing if…”
He kisses you like he’s been starving for you and only just now allowed himself a taste. His tongue slides into your mouth with a possessive, hungry stroke, and his hands grip your hips like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.
You gasp as he pins you to the wall, his thigh forcing your legs apart. He’s already grinding against you, hard and thick through his pants, the pressure perfectly placed between your legs. You arch into him instinctively, and he groans-- low and guttural, like he’s in pain.
“I can’t stand this,” he murmurs against your lips, voice hoarse. “You leaving. Me not going with you.”
“I’ll come back,” you whisper, even though your voice trembles.
His breath hitches at your words, and then he’s moving. Swift, practiced, desperate. He pulls your panties to the side under your skirt and unfastens his pants, breath ragged, freeing himself with shaking hands. He’s already hard, thick and hot against your thigh. There’s no ceremony, no teasing. Just raw need and the tight press of his forehead against yours as he lines himself up and slides in. And God, he’s big. He groans as he sinks past your soaked folds, hips pressing flush with yours, eyelashes fluttering as you moan. He is still for a beat before he whispers, “You’re already wet for me…”
You nod, breathless, and wrap your arms around his neck. “Please. Xavier, please…”
He hikes you up further against the wall, and presses his forehead against yours more firmly before—
“OH, GOD!” You cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders with his first earth shattering thrust. The stretch burns in the best way, and he groans deep in his chest, forehead pressed hard against yours as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed hard against your cervix.
“Starlight,” he breathes. “You feel so good. So tight.”
He holds still, buried deep, letting you adjust, but he’s trembling in his restraint. And when you clench around him, needing more, he snaps.
His hips slam into you, fast and rough, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing down the hall. He fucks you like he’s trying to etch the shape of you into his bones. You can barely breathe between the thrusts, each one deeper and more desperate than the last.
“You always take me so well,” he groans, teeth grazing your neck. “Such a good girl for me.
You whimper, nodding, too far gone to speak. He angles his hips just right and hits that spot inside you, again, and again, and again… until your knees start to shake. You claw at his shoulders, head thrown back as you desperately gasp for air.
“You’re close,” he pants. “I can feel it.”
His hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit with surgical precision. He rubs tight, perfect circles, never losing rhythm, and the orgasm slams into you like a wave. You cry out his name as you come around him, body clenching so hard it drags a strangled groan from his throat.
“That’s it. That’s my girl.” Breathing heavy. Forehead pressed to yours. Hands shaking as they cradle your waist.
You’re still pulsing around him, your breath coming in ragged little gasps when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you aching and empty.
“Xavier-” you start, but he’s already turning you, guiding you to face the wall. One hand splays over your lower back, pressing you forward. You brace yourself on the wall, legs shaky, heart pounding as you feel him line up behind you.
“I’m not done with you,” he says softly, but there’s heat in his voice now, low and sharp, like he’s holding back something feral. “You deserve more than one.”
His cock slides back in with one long, slick thrust and your knees nearly buckle. He fills you so deep from this angle, the stretch sharper, the pace brutal from the start. His fingers dig into your hips as he pulls you back into every thrust, his body flush with yours, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of this into your bones.
You moan, loud, helpless, and he groans when you arch for him, offering more.
And he takes your silent cue. All you can do is scream and take it as he pounds into you, relentless and precise. His rhythm is merciless, hips slamming against your ass with each thrust, the sound obscene, echoing in the quiet corridor.
His hand snakes around again, finding your clit without pause. Two fingers working you in time with his strokes, coaxing another orgasm out of you like he knows your body better than you do. Like he’s studied it. Memorized it.
“Come for me again,” he whispers, gentle, a sharp contrast to the near violent thrusting that sends you careening into the wall.
“Oh, God! Xavier!” Your whole body locks up, the pressure inside you snapping as you come a second time, your cries muffled by your own arm as your body writhes against the wall.
“That’s it, starlight,” he groans, barely holding on as you milk him, your walls fluttering around him in aftershocks. He thrusts once, twice more, then shudders with a strangled moan as he spills inside you, hips jerking as he empties himself twitching with each pulse of your walls as you coax more of his seed out.
He leans over you, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling against your back. His forehead presses to the side of your head as he gently strokes your sides, still inside you, like he can’t bear to pull away yet.
“I hate this,” he murmurs, voice cracking as he pulls out and turns you around to clutch you to his chest. “But if this is the only way… I’ll let you go.”
You cup his cheek, heart aching. “You’re not letting me go. You’re trusting me.”
And even as you both come down from the high, still tangled together against the wall, he doesn’t move. Not until his heartbeat slows, and the tremble in his hands begins to fade.
You're still catching your breath, spine pressed to the wall, Xavier's body warm and solid against yours, his forehead resting lightly on your shoulder. His hand is cradling the back of your neck, grounding you both, as if pulling away too fast might shatter something delicate between you.
His breathing slows, but his other hand still possessively gripped around your hip doesn't move. You feel the edge of guilt press into the moment, not because of anything wrong, but because it’s always like this with him. Like he gives you all of himself, even when it hurts.
That’s when Sylus turns the corner.
Sylus raises a brow, gaze sliding over both of you in a slow, amused sweep. “If you guys keep having sex in common areas, I’m not going to help you when you have to explain to Luke and Kieran where the birds and bees come from.”
“Oh God, you haven’t had that talk with them yet?” You ask, burying your head in the crook of Xavier’s neck where Xavier gently kisses your forehead and
rearranges your clothes so that you are decent again.
Sylus looks off contemplatively into the distance before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I honestly… didn’t even think about it until this exact moment.”
He reflects for a moment before motioning to Xavier. “I came here because I need to borrow the sleepy one.”
“What do you need?” Xavier asks, adjusting his clothes as well.
“We don’t have time and I’m not letting Kitten and Zayne go in without eyes. But getting Mephisto in might be tricky, so I need to cloak him. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
Xavier shakes his head, a determined spark in his eyes. “I just need 2 pairs of hands.”
“Then we have 48 hours to make Mephisto invisible. I can be a second pair of hands,” Sylus says, determined to have eyes on you while you are gone. Collectively, everyone rolls up their sleeves to prepare. Rafayel provides you with a homing beacon and Zayne creates a distress lexicon- code words to indicate trouble.
Without having to say it, they remind you that you are loved. And for them, you will do whatever it takes to come back.
***
Dr. Zayne has created a group chat
Dr. Zayne: We have a serious problem.
PrettySeaGod: If Zayne is the one starting a group chat, someone call 911.
StarBoi: is everything ok?
YourNightmare: What’s the deal.
Dr. Zayne: Caleb is alive.
StarBoi: Caleb the guy she cried over Caleb?
YourNightmare: Prick.
PrettySeaGod: That’s not fair. You haven’t met him yet.
StarBoi: She cried over him for months. He can’t be that bad…
Dr. Zayne: No, Sylus is definitely onto something.
PrettySeaGod: 😶
YourNightmare: Can we just kill him?
Starboi: The answer isn’t always murder, Sylus.
Dr. Zayne: You tried killing us and couldn’t. You’d think a lesson would have been learned.
YourNightmare: But that was 1v1. There are four of us now.
Your Nightmare: 4v1
PrettySeaGod: Wait. Sylus has a point.
StarBoi: Not you too.
Dr. Zayne: You think she’d forgive you if you killed someone she loved that much?
PrettySeaGod: Stop making so much sense. 😭
YourNightmare: Well, the good Doctor grew up with them. How big a problem will this be?
Dr. Zayne: He was dangerously possessive before all of this already. We met up in the hospital and she said she knows it’s the same Caleb, but he is unhinged. Something happened to him.
PrettySeaGod: Yeah. He blew up.
StarBoi: That’s enough to make me cranky.
Dr. Zayne: She said it’s almost like he is a different person. I’m looking through medical research here. Lots on chips inserted into the brain, suppressors, mind control…
YourNightmare: Get as much info as you can.
YourNightmare: She will want us to save him.
StarBoi: Change your mind that fast?
YourNightmare: Zayne is right. Not sure how this is going to go, but we aren’t going to be doing ourselves any favors by trying to cut this guy out of her life.
PrettySeaGod: There are already 4 of us!
StarBoi: Yes. We can count.
PrettySeaGod: Her poor holes.
StarBoi: She hasn’t complained yet.
PrettySeaGod: We are NOT adding a sixth guy to the mix.
Dr. Zayne: You are already assuming Caleb is just going to be a given fifth?
YourNightmare: Stop trying to fool yourself. Kitten… gets what she wants.
Dr. Zayne: I hate all of you.
StarBoi: Tell us more about him.
Dr. Zayne: He has a Gravity Evol.
StarBoi: Fuck.
PrettySeaGod: FUCK
YourNightmare: Fuck…
Dr. Zayne: If he doesn’t come quietly, it’s not going to be a fun day.
***
He probably would have called you a baby if you cried in front of him. That is, if there was enough of the old Caleb left in him.
Something was definitely up. Something sinister… terrifying. Something that made the pit of your stomach churn enough to keep you up all night.
This should have been a happy moment…
Finding out the boy you loved so much is still alive after you were certain you watched him die? This should have been a moment of pure bliss. But the past few days were simply uncomfortable and you can barely recognize the boy you once loved so dearly, standing in front of you.
“Make sure you eat on time… Look after yourself,” he says softly in a tone that makes you want to believe that the old Caleb is still in there somewhere. He looks down on you with sad eyes and you stay silent, knowing that with the snap of a finger, he could simply force you to come with him. You shudder at the thought.
You never could best his gravity evol.
You pick at a hangnail nervously as the turmoil upsets your stomach until it bleeds and you find yourself thankful for the pain because it grounds you and makes you focus on what’s in front of you. Determined and steadfast, you resolve to rescue him- to save him from the dark forces moving in the shadows… he still hasn’t figured out that his necklace is a tracker and you hope that he doesn’t become wise to it.
You are almost certain he has placed one on you somewhere but… fuck it. Let him come. The moment you enter the N109, you are safe, surrounded by almost all the men you love. Men that love you so much, they would help you get Caleb back, you are certain of it.
Zayne arrived home moments before you did after you made your obligatory stop at the Hunter’s Association to fill Captain Jenna in on the mission that “never happened.”
And when you stumble past the front doors to the base for Onychinus, you finally break down, sobbing as they draw near, like ghosts summoned by your grief.
It's hard to breathe, even as Xavier’s arms circle you and of course he’d be the first one at the door, always quiet, always feeling. He says nothing, only cradling you to his chest like something that is delicate and broken, careful that the pieces of you don’t fall apart.
The others soon follow, knowing just what you need. Silence. Support. Love.
“I thought I could reach him,” you choke out. “If I just… stayed long enough. If I said the right thing. If I loved him hard enough…”
One of them carried you to your room and delicately placed you on the bed. You didn’t register who, because despite your turmoil, you finally feel safe. Safe enough to sleep, surrounded by the warmth and smell of the people you trust.
You didn’t feel safe at Caleb’s.
A hand cups your cheek, another tucks your hair damp from tears behind your ear. There are no questions, no whispers, and no requests. Your eyes are swollen shut from crying and your chest tight, but they soothe you, bed dipping around you creating a nest of warmth and aroma that you’ve sorely missed.
Strong hands delicately undress you for comfort and it feels safe as you are stripped down to nothing but panties and tucked into a blanket, sighing as you feel their bodies surround you. Eyes still closed; you feel them all make space for each other as their arms circle you. You are tucked into the very center of the bed and they lay outward, pulling pillows to your sides so they can nestle their heads under your arms and against your hips. Mint, gunpowder, antiseptic, amber, lemons, the familiar scents mixed with their unique musks envelop you as you fade to black, gently humming your appreciation as you feel fingers caress your bare skin.
You can talk about Caleb in the morning.
***
You wake to warmth.
Soft, steady breaths surround you, and the bed is heavy with the weight of bodies tangled close. You're not sure who’s where at first… only that you’re safe. Cocooned in the men you trust and it pains you that this is not at all how you felt when you were with Caleb.
When you shift slightly, Sylus is the first to stir. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest. He presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring something half-asleep before settling again, breath slowing.
Your small movement causes a ripple. Zayne exhales deeply and shifts behind you, his hand splaying across your stomach. Rafayel makes a soft sound and nestles closer, still holding your hand. Xavier’s arm curls tighter over your thigh where he rests near your hip, face still hidden in your side.
You smile faintly into the pillow, exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This is what safety feels like. And in your safety, you fade back to sleep, nearly coming back each time one of them shifted.
Then the kisses began. It didn’t really matter who slept in your bed, they all kissed you awake slowly, dotingly. And this morning, Rafayel was the one kissing your hip above your panty line before nuzzling against your skin. He always tried to go back to sleep after this. But instead, he’d inhale your scent and grow needy, nuzzling to enjoy your musk and the feel of you until he needed more. You smile a bit in anticipation, sighing as Zayne comes closer, hand coming to cup and hold your breast in his sleep.
Rafayel doesn’t stop at nuzzling. His lips trail lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your hip, then moves lower, his breath warm where your panties cling damp to you. He hums softly, pleased, and his hand slides up your thigh, fingertips dipping under the fabric until he finds the soft bundle of nerves beneath.
You suck in a breath, hips twitching at the contact.
“Mmh… there she is,” he whispers, barely audible. His fingers move in slow circles, light and teasing, like he has all the time in the world.
Your mewl breaks the quiet and something in the bed shifts. Zayne makes a low sound behind you, his hand tightening around your breast. Xavier stirs at your side, breath catching. Sylus, ever attuned to your every sound, presses closer and noses along your jaw.
No one says anything. They don’t have to. The air grows heavier with shared heat, the kind that lingers, slow and inevitable. Rafayel presses soft kisses over your belly as his fingers begin to move with more purpose, savoring every shiver he pulls from you.
Your breath catches again as Rafayel circles your clit with slow, deliberate strokes, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh as he hums against your skin. There’s no urgency in his touch. There is only that familiar neediness he gets when he’s close to you, when the scent of you seeps into his senses and unravels him.
Zayne’s hand never leaves your breast, gently cupping it as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, mouthing at your skin with lazy affection. Xavier shifts slightly, trailing kisses across your stomach before resting his cheek there, one arm still slung heavy across your hips.
Sylus stays at your back, arm wrapped tightly around your middle, his chest warm against your spine. He presses a kiss behind your ear, murmuring something you don’t catch but feel in the way his thumb strokes over your ribs.
Then Rafayel’s voice breaks the hush, low and hoarse against your skin.
“What can you handle right now?” he asks. “One at a time, or do you want us all?”
The question barely registers through your fog and you smile through the haze of pleasure when Mephisto flies in squawking urgently.
Everyone jolts.
Sylus is the first to move, arm locking tighter around your waist as his head snaps up. His eyes follow the blur of metal wings as Mephisto dives low, frantic, before landing on the dresser with another sharp CAW!
“We’ve got incoming,” Sylus says, already reaching for his phone.
Zayne pushes upright beside you, hair mussed, face still flushed with sleep. “Is it Caleb?”
You grab your phone with shaky fingers, flipping to the tracker app. Your pulse spikes. “No. He’s still in the Deepspace tunnel.”
Rafayel is already off the bed, barefoot and shirtless, dragging on his pants. “Then who the fuck—”
Another CAW!
Xavier checks the Hunter’s Association comms. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Its an aircraft coming in fast. We don’t have time.” Sylus hurriedly pulls on his clothes and you follow suit as you pull your tracker up on your phone.
“If it is not Caleb. They’re here for me,” you say quietly, heart sinking as you clutch the sheets to your chest.
They all freeze for a beat. Not Caleb. So… who?
Down the hall, in the dining room, Luke’s head jerks up from his plate. His twin is already standing, a flicker of unease in his eyes.
“Yeah,” Kieran mutters. “Something’s wrong.”
Jeremiah was called in the moment Zayne had mentioned Caleb’s existence and was already moving toward the front bay window, bootsteps slow but heavy. His stance stiffens, body reacting before his mind catches up. “Something’s coming in fast. I can feel the vibrations through the ground.”
Luke rises next, grabbing a tablet off the table and pulling up security system for the base. “Aircraft,” he says. “Farspace Fleet insignia.”
“Flying close enough to the ground to make the trees scream,” Jeremiah remarks ominously.
Kieran swears under his breath. “Let’s go.”
“I call the big rocket launcher!” Luke shouts as he runs for the armory.
Footsteps thunder from every direction as the crew converges on Sylus’s private armory, an entire wing filled with rows of high-grade weapons, sealed crates, and gleaming tech. The lights flick on automatically, casting a cold glow over the walls of organized destruction.
“Jeremiah!” You call out in shock and he smiles, offering a small nod. But unfortunately, there is no time for explanations.
Luke whistles low. “Every time I come in here, I feel like we’re about to rob a small planet.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Kieran adds with giddy.
“Where’s the rocket launcher rack? I know I saw them last time…” Rafayel shouts already sprinting into the far back of the room.
“Back left,” Sylus says without looking, opening a hidden drawer and pulling out several holsters and bullet proof vests. “Grab what you need and move fast. We don’t have time.”
Zayne only gears protective gear and tech, preferring to fight with his evol.
“Farspace Fleet doesn’t drop in unless they plan on taking someone.”
“They’re not taking her,” Xavier says flatly, strapping on a bullet proof vest.
Jeremiah senses movement with his evol. “They are spreading out very fast. Each of us has a lot of ground to cover.”
“Found it!” Rafayel crows from across the room, lifting one of three massive rocket launchers, cradling it like precious cargo. “I finally get to fire one of these things!”
“The first time is the best,” Luke shouts with glee, grabbing another launcher off the wall.
Kieran practically dances as he arms the third. “Don’t miss.”
“This is a serious engagement,” Sylus says without turning around.
“So are rockets!” Rafayel shouts as he runs out of the armory with the twins.
“Kids are going to ruin my lawn again,” Sylus mutters as he grabs extra magazines.
You jog out last, already strapping on a tactical vest, pulse racing. Everyone freezes just long enough to hear the low whump of engines outside. The aircraft is descending fast.
You’d done drills for this scenario a dozen times but nothing prepares you for the feeling of your heart violently thumping your chest, racing so fast you can even feel it in your ears. And it certainly didn’t help that you simply couldn’t count the paratroopers that dotted the sky, but everyone watches with baited breath as Luke and Kieran walk Rafayel through arming and aiming the rocket launcher.
And the kick off, the rocket aims true, bringing the aircraft crashing the ground as the twins and Raf cheer.
But… most of the soldiers have already made it to the ground.
The revelry in chaos and destruction is short lived. The cheering stops, because its waves of soldiers and they are well trained, backed with the full might of the Farspace Fleet. Formations are formed quickly and they are close enough for you to hear them begin to bark orders.
“Everyone knows the drill for ground attacks. Hold the line.” Sylus orders and everyone readies themselves as Jeremiah moves first and suddenly you realize you have no idea what his evol is. He stretches out his arms and a large trench begins to form in the ground as trees begin to form a large barrier, certainly not enough to stop them, but enough to at least slow them down.
“Oh. Yeah, I like this guy,” Sylus remarks as he sees just why Jeremiah laid down trenches, in the distance, tanks approach. “Alright, we have 3 more tanks and 2 more rocket launchers. Aim true.”
Luke and Kieran are already in position aiming for the tanks on the left and right in sync, they launch their rockets. And… *boom* the shots indeed land, taking the tanks out with them, but something doesn’t seem right to you amidst the chaos.
Coordinated and without needing to communicate, Xavier and his light blade acting as a line breaker, paves the way for Rafayel and the twins. The twins wreak havoc on incoming soldiers, riding around like fiends on their motorcycles and armed to the teeth as Rafayel pushes forward to reach the final tank.
“You aren’t supposed to touch the rocket launchers, Rafayel. The rocket launchers are dangerous, Rafayel,” Rafayel whines through comms. “Well guess what? I’m more dangerous than a rocket launcher, BITCHES!” he shouts as he leaps up, firing at the final tank and melting it to the ground.
“Yeah. Good for you,” Sylus responds dismissively as Zayne and Jeremiah bolster barricades with earth and ice. The only reason you know Xavier is still alive is because you see light flash across the battle field. He moves in zigzags, cutting people down before they even know what hit them.
They may be worth a thousand men in the battlefield, but that is what you are facing… thousands. And even as Rafayel and Xavier cut down formations effortlessly, air filled with the sound of the dying, the frontline still reaches the edge of the base.
You start to move, weapons ready. You are dangerous yourself; you know it. But both Sylus and Zayne stop you.
“I have to do… something,” you say heatedly. This mess is because of you. You can’t stay idly by.
Zayne lifts your chin to meet your eyes. “You are their goal. It doesn’t matter how skilled you are, if we let you fight, its like putting the ball right in the other teams’ hands.”
He is right of course, but that doesn’t stop you from hating him for it. Zayne has never been good with words and you watch the conflict on his face for a split second before he simply presses a kiss to your head and leaps away, into battle where you are forbidden to follow.
“We are the last line, kitten.” Sylus says, bolstering you as he looks out on the line breaching Zayne’s and Jeremiah’s walls. Jeremiah moves a lot faster than you could ever expect from someone who is living in peace selling flowers.
To their credit, they are right. Hundreds are running at the base right now and its all you can do to keep up and you fire shot after shot, even as Sylus’s home defenses activate. Turrets begin to fire auto targeting the enemy, and it becomes abundantly obvious now, why Sylus had your body scanned from a hundred different angles the first time you stepped foot into the base.
“This… doesn’t seem right,” you observe, the tension in the air adding to the pressure suffocating you in your chest. “If there are only here for me, a full-frontal attack makes sense.”
Sylus focuses on the breach on the left as you take a minute to think. No bullets, a full-frontal assault. An overwhelming number of soldiers for 1 person.
This was a distraction.
You start speaking into your comms, you try to let them know, but another farspace fleet aircraft begins to descend on the base and you just know that this one is the one that is coming for you.
“The frontal assault is a distraction, there is another-“
The comm is yanked from your ear and you are squeezed so tightly you can’t breathe. You barely recognize the hiss of a slimy snake as his voice slithers its way in your ear, unsettling and making you shiver.
“Heh, come quietly and we won’t hurt your friendsss.” His limbs stretch impossibly long and he squeezes you tighter. You can’t answer. You can’t breathe. He carries you as your lungs burn and vision slowly fades to black. And you look at the aircraft hovering when a single figure descends from the sky.
Sylus is drowning in bodies wasted at his feet, but it doesn’t matter because he needs you to be safe, returned to his arms and he comes at you with every bit of fury, mounting a bike as Viper binds you and throws you into the back of his car.
The whole team is rushing, converging to one point with a singular goal; You. And just as everyone gathers behind Viper’s escaping vehicle, the figure descending from the plane lands, right in front of the escaping vehicle.
“Pain in the asssss!” Viper shouts as he tries to dodge the figure, but suddenly it feels like you are floating and strong hands rip you from the back of the vehicle. The whole car is floating, 4 tires spinning with no traction when it’s flung to the side with little care. And as the figure unbinds you, a familiar scent envelops you to confirm what you already know.
“I don’t know who the fuck you guys are, but I’ll deal with you later,” Caleb says coldly before leveling every threat, his evol forcing the Farspace Fleet to the ground.
The group freezes for a moment, unsure how to react to this turn of events when Zayne breaks ranks, approaching Caleb fast, expression blank.
“Oh, Zayne? Is that you?!” Caleb lets his guard down for a moment and that is all Zayne needs to cock his fist back and punch Caleb in the face, knuckles connecting square with Caleb’s jaw and you gasp. You barely register Rafayel’s low whisper, can’t see Sylus’s eyes widen just slightly in shock, can’t see the jealous scowl Xavier wears, or the awkward glances that Luke, Kieran and Jeremiah exchange.
But here, Zayne somehow maintains his composure, flicking his fingers and wrists as Caleb clutches his jaw and coldly says, “That… is for making her cry.”
Pairing: M/M/M/M/F Sylus x Zayne x Rafayel x Xavier x Afab Reader
‧₊˚✩彡Summary: In what scenario does MC get passed around like a party favor? This one!
‧₊˚✩彡WARNINGS: 18+ mdni!! GANGBANG, word porn with just enough plot to make your brain happy, double penetration, vaginal and anal sex, rough face fucking, rough cunniligus, creampies, reverse harem, butt plugs, multiple partners, multiple positions, actual funny parts, gratuitous self pleasing smut.
Don't let the group dynamic fool you.
This fic is all about consent and love.
StarBoi: I need your help with something
ThatHunterGirl: ??
PrettySeaGod: ??
StarBoi: So I was explaining our situation to people at work…
ThatHunterGirl: YOU WHAT? 😮
StarBoi: And one of the other hunters asked, “So if all of you go down on her, do you call it a family meal?”
YourNightmare: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😏
ThatHunterGirl: I’M GONNA DIE! 😩
PrettySeaGod: 😂😈
PrettySeaGod: So what’s the problem?
StarBoi: I don’t know what that means…
YourNightmare: … you know that thing we did on Wednesday night after kitten got out of the shower?
StarBoi: Oh. Ohhhhhh.🤭
Dr. Zayne: I would like to place an order for a family meal.
PrettySeaGod: Daaaaayum. Zayne is a freak.
Dr, Zayne: I know what I like.
ThatHunterGirl: I can never show my face at the Hunter’s Association again.
YourNightmare: You will feel better after a family meal.
“Look, Sylus… I’m just saying. After all the recent missions we’ve been taking together to get the Aether Core, getting a minivan is a good idea. Leg room, weapons storage, etc. We can take turns driving on long trips! There are no downsides!” Rafayel insists. He’s been trying to get Sylus to budge on the issue for a while.
“Absolutely not. Stop asking,” Sylus says as he cleans his new favorite firearm. A Bodyguard 2.0 from Smith and Wesson unassembled on the table in front of him.
“But everyone thinks it is a good idea but you!” Rafayel whines, trying to bring the others into the conversation. Xavier is nearby on the couch, asleep under a book and Zayne is charting data quietly in a corner. Rafayel shakes Xavier awake.
“Isn’t a minivan a good idea?”
Xavier blinks slowly before looking between the two.
“Can I nap in it?” He asks quietly.
“Yup!” Rafayel happily chirps as Xavier seems to lean into it.
“It’s a good idea,” Xavier concedes before rolling over and falling back asleep.
“And you, Zayne?” Rafayel asks, trying to get the stoic Doctor to chime in.
“I have no opinion…” Zayne says, not looking up from his laptop. “Well… I have one. You make a lot of money. Why not buy one yourself.”
“It’s the principle of things. These missions are his missions. We are helping!” Rafayel insists.
“You won’t catch me dead driving a mini-van around. At least be sensible and ask for a full-sized SUV…” Sylus declares before reaching over to scratch Rafayel Jr. under the chin.
“But mini-vans are more comfortable!”
This argument had been an excellent source of entertain for you for long enough and you’ve grown bored of the back and forth.
“Sylus, babe? Can I borrow your black card?” You ask sweetly. Sylus looks up at you quizzically.
“Kitten, I thought I already ordered a secondary card for you.”
“Came in the mail today,” Kieren shouts as he carries in the mail. He hands you the envelope from American Express and you immediately activate the card and start shopping around online.
Rafayel continue to bicker at Sylus who is not really paying attention anymore as Zayne starts to chime in to offer SUV alternatives they could settle for.
“Loves?” You ask and everyone looks over at you.
“I just bought a nice mini-van. Can one of you drive me to the dealership to pick it up?” Zayne snickers softly in the corner as Rafayel beams and Sylus palms his face.
“Kitten?” Sylus asks, his deep voice vibrating the way it does when he starts to get turned on.
“Yes, baby?”
“I love you.” You grin as he walks over and kisses you on the cheek. Rafayel leans in to kiss the other.
…
Dr. Zayne: Pardon me.
PrettySeaGod: … Zayne is starting a conversation?
Dr. Zayne: What is going on in the living room?
ThatHunterGirl: Xavier and I were building a pillow fort!!
PrettySeaGod: What? Really? 😮 I’ll come down from my room to check it out soon!
Dr. Zayne: I know what it is… I just wish you waited for me to come home.
StarBoi: You… like building forts?
Dr. Zayne: … I like building things.
YourNightmare: You were a lego kid, weren’t you?
Dr. Zayne: … how did you guess?
StarBoi: Well, we aren’t done yet. We just went to raid the kitchen for snacks.
ThatHunterGirl: And the rest of the compound for supplies.
Dr. Zayne: I will help.
ThatHunterGirl: Yay! 😁😁😁 Best day ever!
YourNightmare: What is a pillow fort?
PrettySeaGod: What?!
Starboi: Really?
ThatHunterGirl: YOU’VE NEVER BUILT A PILLOW FORT?
Dr. Zayne: It’s a cozy fort you build out of blankets and living room furniture to hang out in with your friends.
YourNightmare: Okay, I’m in the fort…
YourNightmare: Its… pretty nice.
YourNightmare: Wait… is this why my seat cushions are missing?
Dr. Zayne: Yes. It is pretty cozy in here.
YourNightmare: It stopped being cozy. I’m too big. It collapsed.
PrettySeaGod: What?
PrettySeaGod: Nooooo! 😠
PrettySeaGod: Bad kitty!
Dr. Zayne: Help? I’m trapped under the gray cushions.
…
‘What… what is happening?’ You think to yourself as Rafayel pins you to the bed, his aura ominous.
“Again! Say it again!” He demands as his rips your shirt into pieces.
Just a moment ago, you were having a sweet, doting exchange in the hallway. He was talking about another Gala he didn’t really want to go to but it was for charity so of course he was still going to go. You remember saying, “That is one of the reasons why I love you.”
It was like a beast came ripping out of his chest to take possession of his body and he picked you up, charging into the bedroom and tossing you down on the bed.
“SAY IT AGAIN!” His lips take you in a bruising kiss before his teeth latch as your pulse point making you whimper. Your world is spinning and he won't relent.
“I love you,” you relent and he growls, pulling off your tights and panties in one swoop.
“Again!” He demands. He pulls your legs apart, burying his face between your thighs with no warning. You cry out, back nearly arching completely off the bed as his tongue laps up and down your slit with no hesitation.
“I love you!” You squeal. How he finds the perfect spot to please you without wandering first blows your mind.
Rafayel gave you no time or room to notice, but Zayne was sitting on the couch in your room the whole time and during this display. He quietly pulls out a journal and checks the time on his phone, looking over at them and recording information.
You grip Rafayel’s hair and cry out as he applies firm pressure to your pearl. His tongue swirls in a circular motion causing a pin prick sensation of pleasure shooting out from your nub and you can feel it down in your toes as they curl.
You nearly yank him off of you when he inserts two fingers and begins to piston with firm and even pressure, even as his tongue continues its attack on your clit.
“Raf! Oh! Ohhh! Baby stop! Stop! I’m about to-“ it feels like you are about to pee, but he keeps going and the pleasure is so intense you simply wouldn’t dare to bear it if he wasn’t pinning you down and forcing you to ride through it. You curse him and writhe but you can't escape his grip.
Sylus wanders into the room munching on an apple.
“Hmm… free show.” He looks over at Zayne. “What are you doing?”
“Recording a pattern,” Zayne answers simply.
“Rafayel’s tongue bears down with more pressure when he curls his finger hitting a spot that feels spongy inside you.
“Oh, God!” oh, no. Oh, yes? What the hell? Rafayel is doing something so intense inside you and you body has no idea what to do or how to react and you start shaking when suddenly-
“FUCK!” You have no control over what happens next, but your orgasm sweeps too fast to warn Rafayel and you squirt, pulsing in waves, liquid gushes down his chin as you flail, crying out his name and gripping his hair harder until you are done screaming reduced to a beautiful mess lying in a pool of your own arousal.
You are given seconds of recovery time as Rafayel divests himself of clothing before covering your body with his, kissing you deeply before grabbing your chin.
“Again!”
What? Oh.
“I love you, baby…” You utter breathlessly and he pulls your legs onto his shoulders. You feel him take a half second to adjust, but he slides into you, stretching you out and sets a near sadistic pace that you love.
“Say it again!”
Rafayel looks like a possessed man, nostrils flaring, lemurian scales on display and eyes burning for you as he moves relentlessly. His hips bounce off you and all you can do is hold on and whimper with each thrust.
“I love you!” You whimper and it only makes him pound you harder. The way he slams into you hurts so good, you know you are doomed.
“God! You are about to make me cum!” Rafayel only becomes more locked in, hips practically flying.
Your cries become deeper when you walls tighten. Rafayel’s hips keep pistoning throughout your climax and you whimper, crying his name as the pleasure radiates from your core. He releases your legs from his shoulders and covers your torso with his, nipping at your neck in many places before soothing it with gentle kisses as his thrust become deeper and less fevered.
“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly in his ear and you feel him shudder.
“I love you too… my beautiful bride.” He holds you as he cums, and he cums and he cums, until it spills out of you and onto the sheets.
Sylus whistles low and for the first time, you and Rafayel realize you have an audience. At this point it hardly matters and Rafayel chuckles as he rolls to your side.
“What..?” You murmur, still overwhelmed. “What even was that?”
“I think I know,” Zayne remarks as he pulls out his notebook. Everyone in the room turns their attention to Zayne. The question was rhetorical, so it was surprising when Zayne seemed to have an answer.
“I noticed that not only does Rafayel’s mood change swiftly and frequently, but there seemed to be a pattern. After a couple of weeks of cross referencing metaflux, electromatic waves, solar storms and the like, I have come to the conclusion that Rafayel’s mood changes with the tide. His highs- temper, energy, etc. come during high tide. His lows- calmness even sadness occur at low tide. And during tide changes, he has about 5 minutes of explosive reactiveness… like now.”
“… you’re telling me that I could have avoided Rafayel for half the day and I would have found him less annoying?” Sylus mutters.
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right here,” Rafayel chimes before kissing your shoulder. “You okay, cutie?” You nod in response, nuzzling him back."
“There has gotta be an app or something to track this data.” Sylus pulls the app store up on his phone.
“There is. It is called Waves.” Zayne had been using it to confirm his data.
You grab your phone and download the app smiling at Rafayel as you find it.
“I’ll see you again at 3:58 PM.” Rafayel looks at you and chuckles.
“For science,” you add playfully.
“I’m not complaining, cutie,” Rafayel whispers as he leans in to kiss your temple.
Xavier suddenly storms into the room from a mission with the Hunter’s Association.
“Good, you are naked already,” he says with a weary sigh as pulls you towards him and flips you on your stomach. He begins pulling off his clothes in earnest before crawling onto the bed.
“Fuck, baby! What’s wrong,” you ask. Xavier never gets like this.
“Rough Day. Need to be inside you.” His body covers yours and he kisses hot open mouth trails, making you whimper sweetly. “Is this okay?”
You nod and feel him enter your from behind. He grabs your hair and pulls your head to one side, exposing your neck to press more kisses as you whimper and moan. He fills you so full, you lose words and begins to take you so hard, your cries echo through the room.
“So, what’s his deal? Sun storms?” Sylus asks curiously.
“Xavier? Nothing,” Zayne answers.
“You sure there is nothing going on there? Tides and metaflux aren’t a factor that make him sleepy or moody?” Sylus insists.
“Maybe Autism?” Zayne suggests.
“Hmmm,” Sylus scratches his chin. “A touch of the ‘Tism?”
…
YourNightmare: Is that… someone knocking on the front door? 🤔
Dr. Zayne: That’s odd. Everyone is home.
PrettySeaGod: 😩 Eww. Who knocks on the door anymore.
Dr. Zayne: … why are the 2 most likely people to open the door also the 2 people not responding to the group chat?
PrettySeaGod: Uh-oh. Xav? Cutie?
YourNightmare: Great… there are salesmen in the living room now, aren’t there?
ThatHunterGirl: … no.
ThatHunterGirl: Jehovah’s witnesses.
YourNightmare: … Kitten.
ThatHunterGirl: They looked thirsty!
Starboi: 🤔This end of times stuff makes sense🤔
PrettySeaGod: Nooo! Xavier!
PrettySeaGod: Wait… why do I hear screaming?
Dr. Zayne: My room is closest to the living room so I can hear.
Dr. Zayne: Sylus just went out and described last nights gangbang in detail.
Dr. Zayne: The Jehovah’s witnesses started screaming and calling them sinners and ran out.
PrettySeaGod: What about Xav?
Dr. Zayne: As soon as they started getting judgmental about the sex stuff, Xavier said forget it.
Starboi: Nobody gets to tell me what we do behind close doors isn’t absolutely beautiful. Right, babe?
ThatHunterGirl: 🥲
…
You wake up to a house that is simply too quiet and a bed that is too empty. But what really got you up was an awful burnt smell coming from downstairs.
“Oh god,” you say to yourself. “I wonder what the guys are getting themselves into, now?”
You descend the stairs and smoke is billowing out of the kitchen.
“OH GOD, IS THE HOUSE ON FIRE?” You scream as you see the guys’ figures in the smoke.
Xavier opens up the oven containing the source of the fire as Rafayel panics, holding a giant platter like a shield.
Zayne calmly grabs the fire extinguisher and puts the fire out before turning and flashing you a slightly amused smile. “Xavier wanted to get up early and make you a special birthday breakfast… I came prepared.” He holds up the fire extinguisher.
“Smart,” You remark as Xavier looks at you a bit sheepish.
“I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing his neck. “I wanted to surprise you.”
You pull Xavier into a sweet hug and kiss to reassure him. “It’s fine, baby. You are so sweet for trying.”
You hear the whir of a milk frother from the corner of the kitchen. Sylus calmly froths a delicious iced coffee before handing it to you.
“Happy Birthday, sweetie.” He kisses you so sweetly on your temple.
A knock on the door gets everyone’s attention.
“Another Jehovah’s witness?” Rafayel speculates.
“No. Breakfast. One that isn’t burnt.” Zayne gets up and picks the delivery up at the door.
“So, kitten, what do you want to do for your birthday,” Sylus asks, looking at you with that glowing eye. Your thoughts fall far short of innocent and he grins from ear to ear.
