don’t i taste just like candy?
your first makeout session with him mdni. suggestive+nsfw content. wc: max 1.5k each <3
content: afab!reader/mc. xavier - almost getting caught+dry humping potential if you squint, rafayel - semi-public kissing+mc using raf’s thigh, zayne - mc taking the lead+pathetic, scared (in an erotic way) zayne who’s eager to follow, sylus - pollenated kissing+references to dirty dreams, caleb - mc being angry=hate-kissing+swearing+basically dry humping
a/n: this took too long to complete. and i wrote too much for each li despite this being my first multihc so what did i expect!! anyway, i hope you all enjoy, pls lmk what u think! this may just be the first and last time i do this LMAO. did my best to stay in character but yk. tell me. like should i never write another li again NJNSJNS (pls..i have a snowapplemc fic in the works. pls)
titled after: ‘candy’ by alyzée
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ xavier
You’re not meant to be doing this right now, not here at least. People are still around - and not just any people, but your own coworkers and higher ups. This is so incredibly wrong, you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but falling into Xavier is something you’ve never been able to resist.
This time is even more precious though. There’s more of him you’re discovering. Of course, there’s the usual: his warmth, his softness but now there’s hints of roughness. Roughness that you should be discovering anywhere but here.
When he sighs into your mouth, you forget about your worries.
It was meant to be a late night at the Association for you. You’d planned to finish your report and hand it in today, even if it meant being the last one out of the office. You were almost there, there was just a few more pages left to fill in, but then another chair rolled up next to you and soon you were coaxed into taking a well-needed break.
Somehow, this break meant sitting in your boyfriend’s lap and kissing him like you’d never have the chance to again. At your workplace. His one too. The one where you share the same colleagues and report to similar higher ups and have to look at one another with a straight face after this.
It’s quiet in the office, it’s far too dark and there’s only the glow of a few hologram displays nearby that illuminate your knitted figures. Beyond the doors there’s voices, there’s meetings, and here you both are.
Shivers run down your spine when his fingers skim over it, and heat plummets in you when you consider how close he is to you. This is all too much for your first time kissing him like this, but your hands thread through his soft locks anyway and his other hand grips onto your thigh for support when you tug.
And he’s— God, you can feel how much he loves this. It makes your head spin when you realise how far you’ve gone now, but Xavier’s there to keep you grounded. His fingers press into your back, his palm brushes up your thigh, finds the curve of your silhouette, and you whimper when his tongue meets yours.
It takes your absolute full strength to pull yourself away, your body begs to stay in his embrace, but you know you’re pushing it now. You clear your throat, eyes adjusting to the dark when you whisper, “Xavier, we— I’m not sure if—”
But the words are stuck in your throat when you gaze down at him. Serene blue eyes pierce through despite how heavy-lidded they are, you see the way his lips are coated in a mixture of you and him and his heartbeat can be heard over the cars and civilians bustling just outside.
It’s fast, it’s so unbelievably fast, and that’s all because of you.
Xavier’s chest is heaving, and alongside his heartbeat comes the sound of hushed pants pushing past slicked lips. You've got one arm braced on his shoulder, and he leans into your forearm, seeking your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, just to catch his breath, and finally his voice comes into focus.
“We can stop. I’ll follow your lead.” It comes out in a broken whisper, struggles to find its footing between a steady tone and sweet quietness, and that also sends heat pooling between your thighs.
You see the eager shine in his eyes, the silent plea that restrains him, and God he’s too pretty. You don’t want to stop— you can’t. You lean back in, and he’s there. His hand stays firm on your back, your thighs keep him in place beneath you and only the sounds of strained whimpers, reverent sighs and chair squeaking float from your cubicle.
You’d started it, really. Xavier had simply stopped by to check in on you, give your mind a rest from battle jargon. He’d slipped you a small kiss, a promise of seeing you soon, but something took over you. You kissed back, a little harder, and he’d been more than keen to reciprocate.
Tomorrow you’ll blame it on the atmosphere and the thrill of being caught.
No one could blame you though. Xavier had been so sweet and gentle with you thus far, but you knew you were approaching your breaking point. His presence was always too close for you to be able to ignore him - he was on your mind more often than not. Being left alone with thoughts of Xavier meant wondering about the sides of him you hadn’t seen yet.
When he bites on the plush of your lip, you’re grateful that today’s the day you finally get to learn so much more. When you whimper from the delirious sting, his palm kneads into the softness of your ass and coaxes another whimper out of you.
You’re about to whine, to ask him for more - you’re not even quite sure what that may be yet - but the sound of footsteps draw close and soon the door to the office is being opened.
Light breaks through and tears apart the harmonious blacks and blues previously streaked across the room. Heat dissipates from you, your head spins, but you’re alone in your chair now. Xavier’s neatly arranged you back onto your chair, spun you round the right way and hidden himself somewhere.
You make eye contact with the colleague who’s just walked in and give a quaint smile, trying to appear as though your heart rate was completely normal.
You think Xavier’s teleported, but when you roll your chair closer to your desk a hand places itself on your thigh. You jolt at the feeling, and thank the stars above that your colleague is busy at their own desk.
His touch kicks in some sort of survival instinct; you try to subtly re-arrange yourself. You pat down your clothes, glance at the reflection in the monitor and tame stray hairs. It’s probably too late for that, but anything is better than thinking about Xavier’s hand that is… far too close for you to be normal about.
A quick peer under your desk shows you a sight you’re not prepared for.
He’s not even looking at you. He’s not trying to. His eyes are fixated on his hand, the one that rests higher up than it has before. His cheeks are flushed, his ears burn red, and his chest rises and falls in quick succession. He’s beautifully dishevelled and the definition of bliss.
It takes him a moment to realise you’re watching him, and Xavier slowly glances up. There’s a flicker of surprise, like you’d stumbled across a private moment, but it morphs into the sweetest of smiles. One that speaks of innocence and carries a hint of guilt.
When you shut your legs in realisation, he flops his forehead against your knee. Your body jolts, and he places a small kiss in apology.
ଳ⋆˚࿔ rafayel
“You know, I really think it’s unnecessary for you to buy a new outfit everytime you get paint on your clothes.”
“What do you have in mind then, cutie?”
“I don’t know… Maybe try a washing machine, or hand washing them. Or having a set only for when you paint so it doesn’t matter if it gets a bit messy. Maybe even—“
There’s a zipping sound just past the curtain, accompanied by a flurry of movements. “In order to paint, I need to be just like my canvas. Completely clear, brand new, ready to be washed in colours. Besides, I think a certain someone enjoys these little shopping trips, wouldn’t you agree?”
You scoff and cross your arms, scrutinising the figure behind the curtain. Like always, Rafayel had dirtied another pristine white set of his and begged you to accompany him shopping. He should have been perfectly aware you’d be against the trip - it’s not like you bought a new uniform every time you fought a wanderer - but he’d only taunted you and said he’d happily buy you one each time if you asked.
You’d gone round and round in circles, never learning to not make eye contact with a pretty shirt or tailored pants hung on display. He’d always somehow catch on and immediately be adding the piece onto the forever growing pile of clothes in your arms.
“Why is it that when we go shopping for you, I’m the one who has to carry stuff?” you’d asked.
“I’m too weak to carry them. I’m tired. Isn’t my bodyguard supposed to do this?” He’d replied, not without a flick to his forehead.
He’s lucky he’s cute.
You have to press your lips into a thin line when you think about his infuriatingly teasing expression - you can’t reinforce this behaviour. It’s not been very long since you started dating, but you think Rafayel already knows his charms work too easily on you.
“Prepared to be blown away, cutie?”
“Show me what you got.”
In all honesty, you’re not really prepared. He’s styled in a silky white blouse and crisp black trousers, and whilst it’s a colour scheme you’ve seen him in before you’re still getting used to how pretty he can be. The lavender hues of his hair are striking in contrast, the blues and pinks in his eyes beam at you - only ever for you - and blush lips spread into a stupid smirk.
He’s going to be the death of you, and he knows it.
Your eyes drift and catch onto the detailed embroidery neatly displayed on the blouse. A motif of seashells and foam trail over his shoulder, down his chest and wrap around his waist. You don’t remember picking this one, and you’re intrigued.
“That’s… actually really nice on you.”
Rafayel shakes his head, and pouts at you. “Are you surprised?”
You can’t think clearly, too focused on the intricacies, so you step forward and your hands begin to trace over the embroidery. You skim over the bold print, and learn the neat stitches story. From top to bottom, you admire the little details in it. There’s tiny crabs that scuttle over, specks of fish that waft through and coral that dance beneath your fingertips.
A hand catches your wrist. When you look up from the embroidery, a blushing Rafayel fills your view. He’s looking away, another pout pressing into his lips, and your breath catches. You’re about to apologise, you didn’t realise just how in his space you were. It dawns on you then that you’d been touching him too, the thinness of the blouse hadn’t concerned you in the slightest, oh—
It happens quickly, and you’re disorientated for a second. He’s pulled you into the changing room with him, a small space made for one really. The curtain is drawn behind you, and Rafayel moves from gripping your wrist to lacing his fingers through yours.
His voice is hushed when he says, “If you wanted a feel, cutie, you could’ve just asked.”
You’re floundering through apologies, and he’s quick to shush you. There’s not much room for you here, and he knows it. He takes one—two steps towards you, and you naturally scuffle backwards. Soon your back is pressed against the wall, and Rafayel has you where he wants. His eyes flit between your eyes to your lips.
For the first time since you got here, it’s silent. There’s the bumbling of customers just outside the cubicle, and you can’t help but gulp at the intensity of his eyes. He’s watching you keenly, and you feel hot under his gaze. You’re about to open your mouth, another apology ready to be said, but he disrupts you.
It’s eerily gentle, the way in which he finally speaks. A soft whisper of “Please, can I?” is all it takes for you to abandon any concerns about his feelings. He’s more than fine, you realise.
His pink cheeks speak of want, his eyes sparkle with desire and you’re more than happy to apologise for invading his space with a soft kiss.
It’s wouldn’t be the first time, of course. You’ve kissed him plenty of times before, but something has you questioning if gentleness is all he wants today. You think it’s the lack of room, the way he’s hazily watching you, his open clavicle you’re suddenly too aware of.
The sound of conversation nearby reminds you that you’re in public - what if a worker walked in and questioned the two pairs of shoes peaking from under the curtain?
Still. You can’t deny him because you don’t want to. He’s asked so nicely too; it was rare for him to be polite. That’s the kind of behaviour you should be rewarding.
You respond with a chaste kiss, delicate and sweet as always. It dawns on you, though, that this was the wrong move. Your earlier intuition was right, because soon Rafayel’s hand is pinning your wrist low against the wall. His other hand latches onto your cheek, softly pressed into your skin, and you’re drowning in him.
It takes a moment for your brain to reboot, but when you’re finally there it’s a quiet match filled with pleasurable sighs and hushed whimpers. He takes the lead and flourishes you in harsh kisses, and your hand struggles to not scrunch into his pretty blouse.
When his tongue slides into yours, your brain short-circuits and you’re tugging him closer, harder, into you. You can feel him smirk into the kiss, and it sends a wave of lightheadedness floating through.
With each kiss, each pang of dizziness, comes the steady collection of slick between your legs, you gasp. It’s too soon to be feeling like this, yes this was a lot more of a passionate kiss than usual, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. You just hope he hasn’t caught on, because you’re more than aware that you’ll be endlessly teased by him.
He pulls away from you, and a string of saliva connects his lips to yours. He’s panting, and your knees buckle from the heavy look he gives you. You see how quickly Rafayel’s eyes flash with realisation, and he’s caught between a laugh and moan - a ragged sound that has you shuddering. You stare at him helplessly, borderline needy, and he’s nodding and catching you once more.
When he closes in on you again, he purrs into your ear, “I’ve got you, pretty baby.” Any sound you could make from the new name is muffled by his lips reaching yours again. His knee slots perfectly between your thighs, and a quiet moan manages to escape from you at the sudden pressure.
He kisses you again, and again, before pulling away once more.
“Is this okay?” Rafayel asks, and you want to laugh. Instead, you clumsily nod, and his thumb caresses your cheek. His voice is wrecked, his skin hot on yours, and the way he’s still watching you drives you crazy. You can’t help but buck against his knee, the undivided attention overwhelmingly delightful to you, and that…
Rafayel’s eyes flutter watching you. He can’t stay away anymore, and soon he’s back on you. He kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck, and commits each sound you make to his mind.
He’s definitely buying this shirt.
₊°｡❆ zayne
“Thanks for inviting me out, Zayne. Even if your taste in fusion cuisine is skewed, I had fun.”
“I feel like you’re teasing me. As I recall, someone was perfectly happy trying out my meal. I distinctly remember a few bites missing from my own plate each time I looked away.”
You squint your eyes at him. “Well. It sounds to me like someone doesn’t want a kiss goodbye.”
Zayne laughs, but you're stoic and refuse to break character. You look away and twist your body away from him too. There’s only so much space in the passenger seat though, so this is the most brutal move you can pull as he drives you home.
He calls your name a few times, and you still refuse to speak. It's only when his hand shifts from the gearstick to your thigh that you acknowledge him.
“I’m sorry. It seems I mistook you for a little mouse,” he says, mirthful eyes focused on your figure after pulling up to a traffic light.
You huff and nod earnestly. “That’s right. I would never take your food without asking. Especially not for something so… sweet.”
He smiles softly and moves his hand back onto the gearstick, driving off and closer to your home. It returns back to your thigh, and your hand clasps over it.
That is, until you hear a quiet, “And yet, everything on your plate was clear.”
When you pull his hand off your thigh and softly throw it elsewhere, he apologises endlessly as you refuse to engage.
It’s a quick drive, and you hate it. Even though he can be so mean, you want to spend every second with Zayne regardless. You miss him the moment you’re apart, and you’re not ready to feel that.
The universe clearly doesn’t care though, because the sight of your apartment building sends your heart dropping. You think he feels it too. The air chills ever so slightly, and there’s a lingering silence as the car finally stops. You turn to face him, heart panging when you catch his mournful expression.
“Thank you,” is all that comes from your mouth. If you say goodbye, then you have to leave, and you’re really not ready yet.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then Zayne’s leaning over the console towards you. His voice is full of quiet and wrapped in silk when he murmurs, “It doesn’t have to be a kiss-goodbye.”
“No? What should it be then.”
“…A kiss see-you-later.”
You laugh and he smiles with you, a little meek and pink. Your hands come up and cradle his cheeks, squishing them as your move his head side to side. He doesn’t resist, letting you coo and squeeze him as you please.
“You’re such a romantic. Fine, let’s have a ‘kiss see-you-later’ then.” Your eyes flutter shut as Zayne leans closer. His lips move against yours softly, and one hand come to rest at your nape.
The kiss is sweet, as it usually is. You’ve only ever known tenderness with him. It’s always been that way with Zayne though - his love is quiet but firm. His presence has always been soothing; he’s never been a problem in all the time you’ve known him, only a solution.
Perhaps that’s why tonight you want more.
You’re tentative at first, your hand rising and hesitating before finally settling on his tie. It wraps around the cloth as you feel Zayne about to move away. You know he’s about to ask what’s wrong, but courage takes over and you’re tugging him closer.
You hear surprise as he’s dragged into you. A sudden “mmph” breaks between the sound of slick lips moving together, and that… It’s a sound you’ll remember for the rest of your life. You’re not sure how you’ve ever been able to live without it before.
You want to hear so much more.
Your curiosity about the soft doctor wins, and encourages you to kiss harder, faster, rougher. And Zayne— he only struggles for a second. The change isn’t too much for him, not when he’s spent years fantasising about having you like this.
He’s beyond grateful that you’ve reached this point of comfort with him. After all, there’s nothing more that Zayne wants than to learn everything you like, and help you with whatever you need. Judging by the way your hand tightens against his tie, the quiet whimpers that escape when his tongue slips into your mouth, he understands that you’ve needed this for a while.
—At least he thinks he understands, because any sort of confidence Zayne had in taking the lead from you is banished when you suckle on his tongue, savouring honey and sage as you go. Your lungs burn for air, but you keep a steady pace at licking out any whimper or gasp you can from him.
You’re impressed with how he keeps up with you, he never once tries to pull away from your touch. Your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head and you giggle when you feel the hot tip of his ear sear against your palm as you move past. Zayne simply squeezes his eyes shut, humiliation rolling in waves.
When you disconnect for some air, you finally get to see his flushed pink ears, the slack jaw that shallowly takes in each breath. His shirt’s crumpled from each drag of his tie, pulled taut from your desperation to melt into him, and yet he’s never looked so much like himself. Like Zayne was made to be used as you please.
He slowly gulps, eyebrows twitching as he tries to compose himself. “I—“ He inhales deeply, eyes flitting from your hand that still clutches onto his tie and back to your face. “…That—“
You groan as you slump back onto your seat, and it’s a mixture of pent-up energy and laughter. Zayne eyes you curiously, heart still racing and on edge as he anticipates - hopes for - your next pounce.
Your hand stays fiddling with the end of his tie.
“You’re so cute Dr. Zayne, did you know that?” There’s no earnest teasing or wide-eyed compliment that follows. Instead you watch him carefully, letting each syllable hit hard as they lazily drag past your lips.
You can’t help feeling smug when you see how baffled he is, all twitchy and red in the face.
After a moment of silence, he finally sighs and shakes his head. “You’re… relentless.”
“You’re just realising that?”
You lurch towards him, lips immediately finding his, and It feels deliriously good to be close to him again. For a brief moment, you’re mourning leaving the car - you’re not prepared to return to a life where Zayne isn’t kissing you rough and fast, just like this, but he moans when another whimper leaves you, and your brain short-circuits entirely.
Holy shit.
It’s what makes you jolt forward, your hips fighting against the rigidness of leather beneath you and eager for Zayne to be there instead. Your hand frantically skims on the underside of his tie, reaching the knot. It takes a little fiddling, but your fingers are soon digging in and prying the knot loose.
Everything shifts; your mixed pants grow heavier, needier, and even Zayne’s hands begin to lift and seek a place to clutch. The car’s windows fog, condensed entirely from keen whines and aching groans. Finally, fuck finally , your hands smooth over his burning skin beneath and—
Honk!
You jump away from one another as the sound blares from the car. Your eyes jump from Zayne to the car horn, and when you see his elbow hovering near it you can’t help bursting out laughing.
And Zayne… He’s entirely mortified. He feels the way his skin flushes, the sensation of blood rushing and pooling into his cheeks and ears - but watching you laugh in front of him helps. Perhaps that’s why he laughs with you too.
It takes a while for you both to calm down, the nerves of harsh kisses and loud horns still coursing adrenaline through your beings. Soon, a comforting ambiance of softened pants takes over.
Between shallow breaths, Zayne tries to calmly say, “That was— one way of having a kiss see-you-later.”
There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that tries to reason with you, and perhaps coyness should have visited you then, but the sight of the usually collected man before you panting and blushing with his clothes roughed by your very hands was enough to keep it away.
Instead your shoulders shake with laughter, and you shake your head.
“You really are too cute, Dr. Zayne,” you hum, and his ears somehow redden further. “Should I be worried though? Does that mean you didn’t enjoy it?
“On the contrary, I loved it.”
And you’re not sure, but from the look in his eye you have more than enough reason to spend the rest of your night overthinking that statement.
.ִֶָ ♱ ་༘࿐ sylus
You feel a tap against the back of your hand, the one that was busy scrounging into the fabric of your jeans as you rambled, and you look up.
His voice drips with sweetness, like it always does, when he says, “Take your time, sweetie. Try again.”
You turn your hands over, catching his fingers in your grasp and giving them a squeeze. You’re all too aware that your palm feels sweaty, but Sylus doesn’t pull away and you know he doesn’t care. He just wants to listen, like he always does.
“I—” One breath in, one breath out. “—kept dreaming of these, and you were always there in those dreams. I think it’s because I’ve seen a few of them when we’re out at night. It’s funny, the meaning of them isn’t exactly great but still, I thought you’d like them. I’ve actually been growing and tending them myself. For you.”
You lift his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth knuckles there before swapping your hand out for the bouquet of dark flowers. The veins of his hands pop against the pink silk bow tying the bunch together, and you squirm trying to gauge his reaction.
Sylus doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s focused on the flowers, and the adoration you’d seen him enter the room with is enhanced tenfold. There’s a sweet glow in the vermillion of his eyes, but the muscles beneath tense ever so slightly.
Perhaps they were too girlish? You cringe upon reflection, gaze fleeing towards the fireplace the two of you are sat before as you ponder. The big boss man who lords over the N109 Zone being gifted pretty flowers was maybe a little too ridiculous.
You rush to save the moment. “They’re called daturas. Apparently they symbolise power, caution and spiritual transformation. Obviously, the power and caution speak for themselves— I swear I didn’t just grow them because I thought they just looked nice. Mm, I guess the spiritual transformation doesn’t quite fit, but—“
His gruff laugh silences you, and the worries you had dissipate right before you. He’s smiling in his arrogant way once more, and you can’t find the stiffness previously etched in his muscles.
Perhaps you were simply in your head about it.
“My soul found yours and I finally felt peace. I’d say that’s rather fitting, wouldn’t you agree? In any case, I like cute things too. If I didn’t, there wouldn’t be a sweet kitten staying at the Onychinus base.”
You can only blink at him with parted lips as his words wash over you. Trust Sylus to take your romantic moment and make it his own.
“So you like them?”
“I do. It’d be rude of me to dislike this bunch when my balcony is already overflowing with all the flowers you’ve brought over.” He tilts his head just behind, but it’s an unnecessary movement. The trails of flowers and the petals that can’t help but detach have been flowing in and out of the room the entire time you’ve been here.
You certainly have left your mark here.
Sylus’s gaze sweeps from you to the daturas still in his hand. He gently whispers, “After all, these ones were specifically tended to just for me,” before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
When you look up, you’re shrouded in him. You’re not sure when the two of you had moved closer together, but the enamoured look on his face has you leaning in for a kiss. You feel shy asking like this, no words exchanged, but he’s always telling you to go for what you want.
You hear him gently lay the flowers beside him before he scoops you onto his lap.
You shriek at the sudden movement, eyes jolting open, but Sylus pays no mind. His hand trails the dip of your waist, and your eyebrows scrunch together ever so slightly at the sudden confidence. You flit between either of his rouge eyes, noting the half-lidded expression, and your heart stutters.
The flames from his fireplace crinkle behind the two of you, and your knees dig into the plush of his rug as your body steadily settles on his lap.
His voiced is hushed, “Did you notice anything when you were caring for the daturas?” His breath fans over your skin, reaches past your neck and tickles the ends of your hairs. You’re on high alert, still adjusting to the sight of Sylus so close to you, and you jolt from the feeling.
His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly - a warning that falls on deaf ears, much like the futile question itself.
Each word was muffled in the haze of the warmth you now share, your mind too busy scrambling and desperately trying to find footing in this shift between the two of you.
Sylus watches you far too intensely the entire time.
Did anything happen? You knew they were toxic so you did your best to wear the necessary protection needed to tend to them. You were thorough in washing your hands after too. Sure, there were times you were somewhat dizzy and had to sit down, but that was all.
Honest.
When you still don’t respond, he continues, “They’re known to be hallucinogens.” His hand engulfs one of yours, dragging it to the curve of his cheek. Sylus presses his cheek into the soft of your palm, eyes fixated on you. “Even the smallest amount of pollen can have an effect. You mentioned dreams of them, and even said I was there.”
His head tilts, and the brush of his lips against sensitive skin tickles ever so slightly. There’s an edge of mirth in his voice when he whispers against your palm, “What were they like, sweetie?”
Ah.
It seems he may know a lot more about daturas than you did.
Residue from the petals you’d been caressing before his arrival sweep over his skin, melting between the point of contact between the two of you.
Your head spins.
On one hand, you’re glad that your keen eye meant you’d stumbled upon Sylus’s favourite flower. A part of you swells with pride at getting that right - they truly were a good gift then. On the other hand, you’re both stepping over a line that has only ever been treaded along. You know exactly what he’s asking, but the teasing tone in his voice tells you you can end this new game now if you’d like.
You’re… not sure if you want to.
A gust of wind billows from the balcony, and the once energetic fire is tamed. With the wind comes the scent of daturas that flutter around your figures. Your body reacts before your mind catches on, and you’re biting his lip between yours and drawing blood.
He groans into your mouth, and only then does a singular thought cut through - this is rougher than how you usually kiss him. You can’t quite remember what usually kissing Sylus means though, because roughly kissing him feels like it’s always been second nature.
Your mind fuzzes and swirls with notes of Sylus’ cologne and sour pollen. The heat of his lips never fades - he’s so warm and close and entirely yours if you’d like.
He meets your pace now, matches the brutality of your lips, and the room echoes of whimpers and groans. You pull on the softness of his hair, your other hand having snuck its way to the nape of his hair. He groans and grips tightly onto your waist, which only makes you gasp and jut forward.
You hear him grit his teeth, restraint oozes out of every fibre in his body, and that only makes you moan. Each brush of his lips and caress of his tongue drives you mad, like there’s a never-ending ache that can’t be satiated even with his touch. Not tonight, at least.
When you reluctantly pull away for air, Sylus huffs a laugh seeing the blooming crimson on your lips. It’s a scratchier sound than usual; his pupils are dilated beyond belief and the creeping realisation that you are the sole reason for his flushed skin sends your mind reeling.
You’re lost in the heat of your desire for him, you don’t think for a second, and suddenly you’re pushing him down. He admires you above him, memorises the way the light is consumed by your dark figure, and merely smirks.
Sat atop him, you snake one hand over his chest. You feel the thrum of his heart beneath your palm. When you slide your hand further up the curve of his neck, you feel the intense spike of his pulse. It dawns on you right then that his arrogance is all for show.
He’s just as lost in you.
Your plant your hands on either side of his head, the marble cool against your palms. You duck down and catch his bottom lip between your teeth once more, and Sylus works to keep up with you. You’re relentless, taking everything he can give you and more.
With each gasp and heavy breath comes the quick inhalation of daturas, and you fall into a never-ending cycle of consuming one another.
. ݁ ❦ ˖ caleb
You try not to sigh as Caleb keeps talking, it’s like he doesn’t even care about being somewhat alert tomorrow. For someone who loves to mention his position as Colonel, often as a meaningless scare-tactic to keep you from snooping where he thinks you shouldn’t, he really didn’t seem to care about actually maintaining the role.
“—And then there was that time you would not stop crying until your dear Caleb came back to you. You were so clingy, though I guess you still are, huh?”
You don’t bother tilting your chin up from the comfy spot you’ve found on his chest. There’s no point responding or making eye contact when he’ll just continue prattling about the old days - and trust, you liked reminiscing just as much as him! - but it’s 1am and you just want to sleep.
“Caleb.”
“Yeah, pips?”
“Go to sleep.”
He shuffles beneath you, jostling your leg that had been perfectly slung over his own thigh. You grumble as you mould yourself back into his side, trying to find the perfect angle in this cuddle pile you’d created.
Perhaps sleepovers in Skyhaven should be off the table until Caleb learns some etiquette.
You hear him tut, an offending sound that resonates in the crisp of his bedroom. You try not to roll your eyes, because you’re pretty sure you’ll hear a lecture about that if he so much as hears it.
If the tut wasn’t enough, he makes sure to heavily lay on the (fake) hurt when he mentions, “There was a time when you listened to my every word, you know. What happened to that?”
Your eyes roll anyway, and the dredge of sleep crawls back over you. “I genuinely have no idea where you’ve got that from.”
“Pips, I literally just told you about those times. Weren’t you listening?” Caleb says, and you can literally hear the pout in his voice. He shuffles again, and you grumble in response. “Okay, from the top! So, back then—“
Your head whips up and catches sight of an overly awake Caleb whose eyes dreamily stare at the ceiling. He’s happily chirping away, like the minutes on the alarm clock next to him mean fuck all.
You’re too grouchy for this.
There’s only a small bite to your words when you groan, “Oh my God, Caleb! Shut up!” Any hurt he could experience is immediately soothed over, because you’re dragging yourself upwards and planting your elbows on either side of him.
Your hands cradle his face as you press your lips against one cheek, then the other, his forehead, his nose and finally a sweet peck on his lips. You’re more than relieved when you pull back and see he’s been stunned into silence.
You put on your best stern expression, and squish his cheeks together. One pat, then another, and you think he’s finally gotten the hint, so you slither down to your cosy spot on his chest and rest your eyes.
…It’s a bit difficult to actually settle though when the person below you won’t shut the fuck up!
“Caleb.”
“Yeah, pips?”
And God, he’s actually smug— he’s not even trying to hide it. You grit your teeth when you realise he probably thinks he’s the smartest man in the world; annoy his partner enough and they’ll kiss him quiet, that’ll do it.
You sigh deeply as the realisation strikes you.
Apparently the dog tag wasn’t enough to satisfy his overeager, puppy-like behaviour clearly. It’s become very obvious to you now that Caleb may need some actual training.
So you push yourself up, rubbing the sleep out your eyes. There’s a bleary smirk wiped across his features, the dumbest, dopiest look ever that you can so easily distinguish in the dark of his room, and something simmers within you.
You don’t say anything as you move closer, you’re gentle with your movements and Caleb waits patiently. You settle your entire weight on him, pressing your torso flush against his, and his hands hesitate before naturally come to rest on your back.
You don’t react despite how intimate the position is. You’re too tired to feel embarrassed.
Sure, you’ve cuddled with Caleb plenty before, but this version is entirely different. Your hips are spread, legs parted and pressing into his side. You’re practically folded on top of him like this, and you recognise one shift could change the entire trajectory of your night.
It’s comfortable though, the stretch is more than pleasant and you moan a little from the sensation. You feel Caleb tense beneath you, and you feel triumphant.
He relaxes once you’re settled, no doubt revelling in the intimacy of the cuddle. He has no reason to question your motives when you dig your chin into his collarbone, sweetly resting your face in the crook of his neck. Instead, he softly laughs.
“I’m not sure if you realise, but my voice is only gonna seem louder if you’re higher up like this,” he teases.
You merely shake your head, keeping your voice light as you murmur, “I know. That’s okay, because you aren’t gonna talk anymore.”
“Is that so?” He juts his chin away, trying to get a look at you. “Why’s that?”
You raise your head, fluidly connecting your lips with his. You feel him smile into the kiss, no doubt feeling beyond loved with how soft and warm this all felt. He was so clever, of course he’d somehow outsmarted you and gotten what he wanted.
Right?
It’s abrupt the way in which you lunge; you tug at the bottom of his lip and take advantage of the gasp that escapes. He’s barely found a second to place a hand on your face when you’re immediately licking into his mouth, savouring mint and hot wetness as you slide your tongue along his.
Finally, his hands tremble on the nape of your neck, and you press yourself infinitely closer. The feel of warm, slick muscle and hushed breaths has you both moaning into one another - your head spins as you realise there are prettier sounds that can come from Caleb.
Before you can balance yourself to launch your next attack, Caleb takes the lead and suckles gently on your tongue. He’s confident suddenly; his once shaky hand resting comfortably and pulling you closer to him, an act you didn’t even think was possible at this point.
You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling, unable to keep your whines at bay.
It’s filthy, the sounds of squelching and whimpering that resound has you scrambling to keep up. You refuse to let this become his moment - this was meant to be your punishment after all.
You clench onto the fabric of his shirt, a frantic move accompanied by your groans and his sighs. His hands stay infuriatingly polite, simply resting on the barest slither of skin available to him - but you know he wants more. You can practically feel his hands itching to at least press the pads of his fingers deeply into your skin.
To trace you, to breathe you in and consume you entirely is all Caleb wants. You’re more than aware of that - with memories of the old days comes the recognition of knowing you’d felt the same way too even back then. He’s always wanted you, and you him.
You hike your leg higher up in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your knee drags against his waist and you feel him jerk from the change.
It’s a singular move that causes a sudden spiral because your heat rests against him entirely and— oh God, he was so big, wait—
“Pips– I—“ One kiss, another, you grip his hair and he moans into your mouth. “We should— Hah, we should— stop.” And really, it comes out weakly, a slurred command that has no precedent over when you decide this ends.
Could he feel your clit throbbing against his cock? Was he desperately trying to stop himself from rutting into you?
You rock gently, just once and ever so subtly between every flick of your tongue against his, and try not to grin when you feel the air knocked out of his lungs.
Poor Caleb, he must be losing his mind trying to restrain himself.
For a moment you pity him, but then his voice hums between kisses and logic suddenly kicks in. You can practically hear all the excuses he’d use to explain getting this far - it’s always you being too innocent, or not understanding what you’re doing.
The thought enrages you, and it’s enough to remind you why you’d started this in the first place.
There’s an itch inside of you that begs to continue, to ignore your dignity and use him as you please - you could prove him wrong, show him just how pissed off you are and satisfy your needs at the same time.
You really do want to do that.
Hm.
Caleb whispers your name, a sound that sends you into a realm beyond here with him.
And yet, somehow, you crawl right back.
You chirp a quick goodnight and scramble under the covers, turning away as you nestle into your side of the bed. You’ve barely caught your breath, but feeling the tenseness of Caleb beside you has you giggling and catching it back all at once.
“Night Colonel! See you after work.”
a/n: i forgot to add this here but pls plssss tell me if any of this was ok!! i hope it wasn’t too ooc ><
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