Moria's Secret World

Moira 32 yro she/they, Cryptid Punk-Goth Biromantic-GrayAce// Find me nose deep in a story or prep-ing for my next physics class//Old enough to be haunting you//Tend to ghost mode for months on end, but will always come back Home

[kingsheir]

So after having a soft day, and needing the love from these boys. I figured it was finally about time I shared the commission I got from the lovely @beachbeibi ! She worked so hard on this for me and was so lovely to work with to get my ideas down on paper! Thank you so much again for giving life to me and my comfort characters as vampires!

[loveanddp]

Masterlist Chapter Nine

CW: this is an Omegaverse AU and does include adult content and themes not suitable for minors. 'Reader' here is a fem presenting afab, though I have done my best to avoid any description. Triggers for this chapter for canon-typical violence, trauma, and some medical details.

AN: later than I wanted bc apparently action is way harder to write than I remember? Anyway, this first section is now my new favourite thing I have ever written.

There is a story you have never been able to tell.

It begins when you are underwater. These are your earliest dreams. Your hair is cropped and uneven, drifting faintly in the corners of your vision when you open your eyes. You don’t question how you can breathe, only that the bellows of your lungs rattle in your ears. Men and women walk back and forth on the other side of the glass as if you are in an aquarium. And when you turn your head, there is Caleb.

It begins when there are dragons. These are your earliest dreams. You open your eyes to screaming, to the walls cracking like glass. The doors are locked and yet you are not alone. Even in your dreams someone cradles you to them, their chest like a living furnace, and their humming off-key. The sky roars open above you but you are safe, you are held. They place you like a precious thing in a half-buried stairwell when the animal wails of wanderers draw too close to ignore any longer. Wait for me, they say. But you are too exposed here, and you have to bury yourself further, crawl deeper into the ruins of the building until dust coats the inside of your throat. Caleb is there. You find him sleeping with blood in his mouth, and you curl around him and wait for the storm to pass.

It begins and ends with Caleb. Caleb. Caleb. Caleb. His name is your heart in your mouth.

I’ll always be by your side, he tells you at the children’s home. I’ll always be here, he tells you when Josephine is forced to adopt him too because you snarled, feral and hurting when they tried to pry your hand from his. Nothing will take me away from you, he tells you when you are in the hospital with monitors that spike and fall irregularly.

Protocore syndrome, the doctors say. Radiation from the Deepspace tunnel. A piece of shrapnel from the rift opening that has torn a hole in your heart and left fragments behind. We don’t know how much time she has left, they say to Josephine on the other side of the door, unaware that you and Caleb have stopped talking and can hear every word. Caleb’s expression is savage fury and sits strangely on his child features.

But there is time. There are years that pass. Years where you hang a banner across the front door for Caleb’s birthday, where you have a water fight in the front yard that becomes so violent a woman walking her dog gets caught in the crossfire, where you go on holiday to the beach and tell Caleb stories about the merman you met because he was sick with food poisoning so he can’t call you a liar. Years where you help Grandma in the garden and then watch the roses die because the autumn was nothing but rain and the garden gets so waterlogged that the basement floods. Years of homework and boredom and arguments. Caleb locks you in the attic one day and you cry until you can’t breathe, and he feels so badly about it that he apologises sporadically for the next eight months. Another time you kick him so hard in the stomach that he has a bruise in the shape of your heel.

He presents early, and his first rut Grandma sends you to stay at the main pack house down the road. As soon as the adults are watching TV in the evening you escape, slipping out the back door and running as though every shadow you pass is a wanderer waiting to gobble you down. You let yourself in using the key beneath the flower pot, and scratch at Caleb’s door like a cat until he lets you in. He is a mess of sweat, eyes glazed and cheeks pink. He started growing that summer and his limbs are as thin and unsteady as a colt. What are you doing, goober, he said. It was his new favourite insult. Sometimes you were pipsqueak because you were still waiting on your own growth spurt, and sometimes you were goober, and sometimes you were snotrag and sometimes squirt. He almost never calls you by your name. Likewise, he is meanie and idiot and dummy. Sometimes Cal or Cabe. But in your heart he has always been Caleb. Xia Yizhou. You keep his name where you keep all of your earliest dreams.

It was boring there, you told him. Let me in. He did, and you lay on top of the coverlet of his bed while he crawled back beneath. You ate his snacks and started to tell him a rambling story you made up about a sleeping prince and a planet full of flowers.

I hate that story, he said. Tell me a different one. And you hit him because you just made it up, so how can he hate it already.

In the morning there was a huge commotion when you went down to get some more food, and Grandma suddenly realised you had come back. It was the first time you ever heard her raise her voice. But it is Caleb. The boy who learned to braid so that he could do your hair for you before school. The boy who listened at keyholes with you and made fart noises using the palms of his hands, and who can run faster and jump higher than anyone else you know. He’s your stupid older brother, and he is the axis on which your world turns, and he is the first person you go to when you get a good grade, or fail a test, or cut your finger-

He is the first person you call when you realise that you’re not coming down with the flu. I think it’s fucking Heat, you hiss down the phone, mortified and horrified and delighted, because Caleb is an alpha so if you are an omega then you are right for him. You can still be what he needs. You can still be the most important person in his life.

You think, or you know? Caleb sounds unconvinced. It’s not exactly a maybe kinda thing, Pips.

It’s not a maybe thing. You feel as though you are burning from the inside out. Caleb is in Skyhaven, but he calls in sick to his lectures and flight-time, stays on the phone with you. He tells you a rambling story about two cyborgs on the run from a corrupt planetary government. That makes no sense, you interject. You are too old for bedtime stories. He doesn’t get mad. He almost never gets mad at you.

Oh yeah, he says. I thought you weren’t listening to my nonsense any more?

You roll over and groan into your pillow at the tinny sound of his chuckle through your shitty phone speaker. But he stays with you. Through all of it.

I’ll always be here for you, he says. Later. Whatever you need. You call me. Okay?

*

You find Zayne’s ID badge beneath the coat rack in the morning. He has already left – according to his calender he has two surgeries scheduled for the day, as well as two consultation meetings and an hour labelled ‘prep RX protocore data report for RSA conference’ which you are sure means something, but not to you. Regardless, you are pretty sure that having an ID badge is important, even in a setting in which you are as senior and well-regarded as Zayne.

For a long moment, you stare at it in your hand. The picture of Zayne; thinner, more tired-looking. His name, the word ‘cardiology’ and the Akso Hospital logo. Your first thought, ridiculous, is that you need an adult to tell you what to do now. Xavier is- somewhere. The Hunter let himself in last night as if it were a regular occurrence, and once again nearly gave you a heart attack when you came out the bathroom drying your hands and found him hovering dubiously over the pot of pasta you had set boiling on the stove. Somehow in the span of moments it had been reduced to a glutinous mass, and you are still not entirely sure what it was he did to it.

Rafayel is in the studio, apparently expecting a delivery of pigments, and you have hardly seen Sylus since your heat split last week.

Zayne, as you had half expected, had a medical informational pamphlet as well as several peer-reviewed studies, and offered to make you an appointment in case you wanted to talk about it with Doctor Greyson. You declined the research papers with their diagrams of different hormone chemical structures and brains with labelled cross-sections and the appointment, but glanced through the dense text and weirdly cheerful-looking cartoons on the pamphlet that explained that Heat is a natural process by which a mature omega signals their readiness to find a mate! This is the result of a surge in lutenising hormone following- you skim. Turn the page -‘phantom’, sometimes called ‘split’ heats occur at least once in 15-20% of mature omegas! These are usually nothing to worry about!

There were too many exclamation points and you put it down. Then you thought better of it, and hid it within an empty biscuit box and buried it at the bottom of the recycling bin because you knew that if he found it Rafayel would read it out loud.

A quick search online provided a short ‘presenting with symptoms of heat, however without ovulation the absence of LH hormone will lead to stabilisation and cessation of symptoms within 12-24 hours’ overview, which answered at least one question, and with fewer exclamation marks, which you considered good enough as you deleted your browsing history.

You know, logically, that it was nothing to do with Sylus. But you blame him regardless. That animal, instinctual part of you that sometimes scents the air, and that now avoids even walking too close to that area of the couch where you saw Sylus and Zayne. You know it’s not his fault that he has Zayne.

You turn the badge over in your hand and see where the clip has come loose and fallen off his lanyard. You have your old school lanyard somewhere. You could probably fix it, but it would be easier just to buy a new one. You’re being silly. Akso probably has an admin department somewhere that has a whole cupboard full of these things. You just need to get the badge to Zayne.

Your jacket hangs just beside the space where Zayne usually leaves his doctors coat. There’s a crisp white denim hanging on a hook that you think you have seen Xavier wear, and a blazer with orange paint on the elbow that Rafayel forgot to take. You thought when you first saw it that you should get it dry cleaned, and you think that again now. Perhaps you could drop it off on your way to the hospital?

You don’t know when you decided, but your body is moving ahead of your mind, slipping on your sneakers and checking that your card is in your pocket with your phone. You take the key off the hook and let yourself out, shivering slightly at the temperature change. Summer is still waxing, but the glass walls seem to do nothing but trap warmth until the entire house is practically tropical. You already know the route. You looked it up when you were taking a break once, and you know that the bus stop is at the end of the road. You can do this. You are an adult.

The bus arrives, and you tap your card as nonchalantly as you can. If you pretend that you do this every day, then perhaps it will be easier. As you sit, you wish you had brought a book with you, or your headphones. You look out of the window. It is not that you haven’t been outside since you were bonded, it’s just that- just that you were always with Zayne. Just that he drove you both to the grocery store and into the shopping district, and to visit Rafayel at the gallery when he insisted that he needed your eyes as a part of the re-hang now that he has removed the flowers to your home.

His new series is inspired by coral reefs and is full of flickering movements and paints so glossy and thick that they seem to almost drip from the canvas.

You change buses once, and after that it is another twenty minutes before you are pulling up alongside the glass and steel of Akso. You step out and look up, your fingers tight and hot around Zayne’s ID badge in your pocket. Memories prickle at your skin. Your Grandma’s phantom presence and the awful exam, and older, memories of your breath forced through tubes and adhesive patches that left traces of glue on the skin of your chest. Of crying because your heart would not stop hurting, but when you opened your eyes you saw that Caleb’s tears were the mirrors of your own.

‘Excuse me,’ you say to the receptionist. Your voice is quieter than you would like, but he looks up. Beta. His hair is scraped into a low bun at the back of his head and his nose has three rings in it. He looks far too cool to be working at the reception desk in a hospital. ‘I’m looking for cardiology.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No, I’m looking for Doctor Li, I’m his- I’m his pack,’ you do not flinch at the stumble. ‘He left his-’ you hear your name and you half turn, thinking it must be a mistake. Then the nurse says it again and grins. You recognise her. From last time. What was her name?

‘I thought it was you!’ She says. ‘Yvonne. I’m one of the nurses upstairs. Remember?’

You’ve done your absolute best to forget the ordeal of your pre-bonding exam, partly hoping that you never had to see anyone involved ever again. But you do remember her. You remember how careful she was, how kind.

‘Yes,’ you say, only belatedly realising that you should reply.

‘You here for Doctor Zayne?’

You pull the badge out from your pocket and she gives a bright laugh. ‘He left this at home,’ you say. ‘I thought I should-’

‘I think he’s just in his office,’ she says. ‘Come on, I’ll show you. It’s on my way.’

Akso is a modern hospital, but it is still a hospital, and your nose burns with the overpowering mix of chemicals for cleaning, the mild scent dampener in the air filters, along with the heady burn of cortisol. You think, if you worked somewhere like this, you would go nose blind inside of a week. You follow Yvonne up a flight of stairs and along one of the innumerable stretches of corridor until you turn a corner and find a small nurses station and waiting area.

‘Doctor Zayne’s office is that one,’ she points at the door just ahead, and when you look you locate the small silver plaque to the side; Doctor Zayne Li, Head of Cardiology. There is a box of biros on the side of the nurses station, hastily ripped open along one side, and Yvonne reaches in to take one, twisting it between her fingers as she clicks rapidly on the screen, apparently back to work.

You’re not quite brave enough to just open the door, and your first knock is too quiet, but you try again and this time you hear Zayne’s voice, muffled. You keep your hand on the door handle as you let yourself in, not fully closing the door behind you. If Zayne is surprised to see you, it doesn’t show.

You hold up his ID badge by way of explanation. ‘I think this fell off your lanyard. The clip is broken.’

‘I was wondering,’ he said. ‘I had already contacted HR to have the access use blocked. You shouldn’t have come out of your way.’

Your heart sinks. Right. Of course. There is a moment when your cheeks burn and you are just tired.

‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate it-’ he adds, and you nod automatically. He breathes out. Sharp. It could be a sigh, but it is too short for that. He says, ‘I have surgery in half an hour.’

You nod again. You know this. You have access to his calendar. Currently you are interrupting ‘patient CI, review clinical notes updated obs’.

‘Sorry,’ you say. You feel about an inch high. It’s not a feeling you’re unfamiliar with, but from Zayne-

‘Please don’t misunderstand me,’ he says, and suddenly he is much closer. You don’t know when he stood up, or crossed the space between you, but his hand is on your cheek, his thumb barely brushing the corner of your eye. If you closed your eyes now he would feel the flutter of your eyelashes. ‘I am glad to see you.’

Your breathing feels strange, unsteady and too shallow. He is so near and it would be the most natural thing in the world to close those last inches between your mouths. You wonder if he would be as gentle in this as he is with the rest of you. And there is a moment when you think he will. Where you are close enough to see the brief flicker in his eyes as he looks at your mouth and his fingers tighten and release fractionally as if he were thinking about drawing you in and up to meet him.

Then he is looking away and it is gone. Your pulse is thrumming beneath your skin, you are a bow drawn taut with no release. He says, ‘I’ll be a few hours. I know you are busy with your work, but if you wanted to wait-’

‘I handed in my last literature essay on Monday,’ you say. ‘And my portfolio isn’t due until the end of the month.’ His expression is opaque. ‘I have a book,’ you amend. ‘I can wait.’

He says, ‘The cafeteria here is good,’ in a way that sort of makes you want to laugh and sort of makes you want to shake him. It is as though he is talking to a stranger, as though you are both talking in code except someone forgot to fill you in.

You say, ‘Right. I can wait there.’

‘It’s not very comfortable,’ he says. ‘The bakery down the road-’

‘Macarons?’

‘Tiramisu.’

You do laugh this time. An undignified snort under your breath. ‘Okay. I was going to find a dry cleaners for Rafayel’s blazer anyway.’

‘You know Rafayel is not the head of our pack, you do not have to run errands for him.’

He say it so casually, but- ‘Wait, you said our pack?’

Zayne pauses in gathering his coat from the chair. ‘Do you not feel as though you have a pack?’

And the thing is, you do. You feel pack and home and family when you watch Xavier pick out all the meat from a stir fry for his bowl, and when Rafayel used your back to rest his sketchbook on, and that evening where it was just the four of you choosing where to hang Rafayel’s paintings. But you cannot think about that evening without thinking about that night and-

‘I hadn’t really thought about it,’ you lie.

‘Perhaps we should discuss it later,’ Zayne says calmly. ‘Xavier’s lease on his flat is up at the end of this month, and it would be a convenient time for him to file a new pack status with the Association.’

‘This month?’ You repeat dumbly. Then, ‘Right. Later.’

Zayne holds the door for you and you thank him automatically, mind too busy working around the information Zayne so casually dropped. Of the three men who have been in and out of the house, you suppose Xavier would be the least egregious housemate. The other alpha has never been anything but courteous, sometimes almost painfully so.

You are not numb exactly, so much as absent. Off-kilter. You find a dry cleaners a couple of streets away for Rafayel’s blazer. You’re not familiar with the brand, but the sudden shock on the young woman’s face as you unfolded it to show her the stain made you think you probably should have looked it up. You pay and leave with a promise to collect it on Tuesday.

But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, there is Xavier, wearing a pale variation of the standard Hunter’s uniform and apparently examining the menu outside a hot pot restaurant.

‘Xavier!’ You call out as much out of surprise as anything else, but the little smile that spreads over his face when he sees you is as soft and genuine as sunlight.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I just got off work. Are you hungry?’

You shrug. It’s only a couple of hours since you had breakfast, but then- ‘You just got off work?’

He nods, a silvery tuft of hair falling into his eyes. ‘Hmm,’ he says. ‘This looks good, but all their broths are vegetable.’

You glance at the menu. ‘It’s vegan hot pot.’

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Is that why everything is in quotes? I did wonder.’

You glance up at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he is making fun of you, but his expression is entirely serene. ‘There’s a really good restaurant nearby,’ you offer. ‘Set menu.’

He looks back as if you have offered him the world. ‘Sounds good,’ he says. ‘Lead the way.’

*

You connect to the open wifi as soon as Xavier starts asking the waitress for an extra portion, sending Zayne a message to let him know that you have found Xavier and saved him from vegan hot pot. There is no response, but you weren’t expecting one, and you tuck your phone back into your bag.

‘What are you reading?’ Xavier asks suddenly. You look up and his eyes are zeroed in on your bag where, you realise belatedly, that a corner of your current paperback is currently sticking out. You remove the book and hand it over, watching as he turns it over in his long hands.

‘I think it might be yours,’ you admit. ‘I picked it up from one of the rooms downstairs- yours is the one with the books, right?’

He nods absently, flicking through a couple of pages. ‘I wondered where it had gone,’ he says. ‘I thought I must have left it in the park.’

You do not cringe, but it is a near thing. ‘Sorry. I should have asked.’

‘Hm?’ He looks up and his eyes are as wide as the moon. ‘Why are you sorry?’

‘Because I stole your book?’

‘Stealing implies malicious intent,’ he tilts his head, unblinking. ‘I do not necessarily think wanting to read about pirates counts as such.’ He pauses. ‘Unless you were looking for instructions?’

You shake your head and he hands the book back, apparently satisfied.

The food when it arrives, is good, though you do end up mutely sliding most of yours across the table towards the unfathomable black hole that is Xavier’s appetite. He asks once if you are sure and then accepts the offering for what it is. You ask the standardly polite questions about work, and try not to look too intense about listening to the answers. Every now and again his watch beeps – standard Hunter gear, you find yourself pointedly not staring, monitors fluctuations in metaflux. Nothing to see here – and he glances at it only to swipe across the screen with apparent disinterest. You know that Hunters are always supposed to be armed, but Xavier’s concealed carry seems to be very concealed. Even sitting you cannot spot the pull beneath the fabric of a holster anywhere on his torso. Not that you are looking. Only curious.

‘Is Hunter training particularly intense?’ You ask, mostly baffled as you watch him ask very softly and very politely for another portion of the beef.

He seems to consider this. ‘I suppose,’ he says slowly. ‘That would probably depend on what you would consider to be intense.’

You acknowledge this and hand over the rest of your portion. Xavier pauses, chopsticks poised over the bowl, and his expression sharpens so suddenly it is if someone somewhere has flicked a switch.

‘Wanderers,’ he says under his breath, so soft that you almost miss it.

Then- ‘What?’

‘Get under the table,’ he says. His voice is still soft but there is an unfamiliar steel beneath the feathers. ‘Don’t move until I tell you it is safe.’

‘But-’

His eyes catch yours and they are blazing, the blue of a sun gone supernova. ‘Now,’ he says, and when he stands there is a blade shimmering between his hands, sparks of white light like ripples around his fingers. Other customers are starting to look over, curious. ‘Please remain calm,’ he says loudly as if he is not standing there holding a sword.

It is only then that the distant sound of crashing reaches you, a faint roar that could almost be mistaken for a misfiring engine if you didn’t know better. Xavier takes off. You react more on instinct then anything else, scrambling out of the booth to follow him. You’re not thinking. Xavier is fast, but you keep pace and- there, less than a hundred paces from the restaurant, the flickering of a protofield and the shard-like tusks of a thunderoar. The people around are only just starting to react, screaming even as Xavier closes the distance.

He is as graceful as a dancer, pivoting on the ball of one foot to avoid the sweep of the wanderer’s tusks, his sword moving almost too fast to follow. You don’t know what you’re thinking. You’re unarmed. Except that you’re not thinking, only reacting as you scoop up a shard of rubble, hurling it at the thunderoar, hoping to distract it long enough for Xavier to take care of the rest.

That massive head pivots, mouth opening in a shriek. And then Xavier is there, blade singing thought the air toward the centre of it’s chest where the protocore is buried. The wanderer dissolves into fragments, light-like dust that fades around where Xavier is standing. He is barely even breathing hard, his expression one of steely resolve. But the protofield is still flickering, the edges bleeding into the world.

‘I told you to stay,’ he says. You’re not sure how you hear him, with the distance and the way that your blood is thundering in your ears, but it is as clear as if he is speaking to you across the breakfast bar.

‘I couldn’t,’ you say. The sentence hangs between you as if unfinished, but you do not know what else you could say.

He says, ‘The protofield is still active. The association will have received an alert by now. Stay here, I’m going to-’

You are already crossing the street. Every muscle in your body is tight with terror and adrenaline, and you can smell the bitter ozone of reality tearing at the seams, and Xavier beside you like a hero from the stories you used to tell. A prince searching for his beloved, a knight before a throne, a king in a field of flowers. You hold out your hand and he looks at it, eyes widening in confusion, and then he takes it.

You push your evol to the surface. It has been so long, but it is as familiar to you as breathing and it is hardly a second before you can feel Xavier there, a light sparking between your joined palms as you feel your heart stutter and slow to match his own.

‘You’re Anhausen class,’ Xavier says, his eyes on your hands.

‘Resonance,’ you confirm. You can feel the edges of his power clearly now, the brightness of it, and the way it strains against something invisible. ‘You have the light evol?’

‘There are two more wanderers inside the protofield,’ Xavier says. ‘Their protocores are what is currently stabilising it. Do you have a weapon?’ You shake your head and Xavier’s brow creases fractionally before he nods. ‘Access my evol,’ he says decisively. ‘And stay close.’

You don’t know how many times you have done this in your head. When you would still play games with Caleb and pretend you were characters in Deepspace Hunters IX, or when you would daydream in class about becoming a Hunter and being strong enough to fight back the monsters that lurked in the fringes of your nightmares. But stepping into a protofield is nothing. It is everything. It is static and your vestibular system suddenly deciding to clock out for the day, and feeling everything you just had for lunch at the back of your throat again. Reality ends and begins again and there is no break or sign that there was ever anything except for the new room around you where two wanderers are crawling out of the floor.

Xavier seems entirely unaffected by the protofield, the sword in his hand shimmering as he angles it back and starts running. Perhaps the protofield is affecting you more than you thought, but it is as if for a moment he simply- blinks- and he is across the room, swinging low and using the momentum to evade a swipe from the second thunderoar, the cat-like wanderer tensing as if ready to pounce.

You are reaching for Xavier’s evol before you can think, still feeling the hum of it like a second skin, and it is instinct that has you pushing it out in a blinding flash, distracting the wanderer as Xavier’s sword clinks off it’s armour. You try not to lose track of the third, stalking the perimeter of the domelike room as if sizing you both up for weakness. You direct the next flash of light towards it, hoping to put it off. There must be a way to use the light as a weapon rather than a distraction. Lumiere could sharpen light into a razors edge or throw it as a burning lance. You pull at Xavier’s evol again and this time try to sense it; the weft and weave of threads, the way that the photons come together. You could spend hours studying this. The infinite possibilities. But you do not have hours. Xavier uses light to play off his sword, to dazzle and deflect even as the thunderoar snarls and lunges at him again, teeth first.

Heat is a by-product of movement, of interaction and reactions, even down to a molecular level. To create heat, surely all you need to do is encourage the photons of Xavier’s evol to move. You try to imagine it like shaking a wasp in a jar, but light cannot be trapped by a jar, so what-

You send another frustrated pulse of light toward the third thunderoar who stalks closer, hunting with all the lazy self-assuredness of a large cat before it strikes. There is a smaller pulse of light from Xavier before he jumps, sword swinging out and cutting down, crippling the thunderoar he is fighting and you see him pull back to strike at the protocore-

You are distracted, and out of the corner of your eye all you see is a rush of movement, the crackling energy of the wanderer and the distinctive yellow-black tusks. You roll, hitting the ground with more force than intended and scrambling back up wishing you had a gun or even a sword- anything so that you didn’t feel so weak. The thunderoar swipes at you and you react between heartbeats, thinking redirect, your hands coming up to protect your face, Xavier’s evol pooling in the space between, resonating with yours, amplifying, and deflecting the swipe that would have torn your guts out, light shimmering like a shield before you. Your next lucid thought is, holy shit, and then Xavier is there, like a knight from a fairytale, sword singing through the air, slashing and twisting with his whole body as he forces the wanderer back a couple of paces with the intensity of his attack.

You cannot do much, but you hold that shield with everything you have, pushing more of your own evol into Xavier’s, flinging it out when you see the thunderoar throw it’s head forward to use that massive tusk, forcing it back. Deflect, you think. Redirect. It screams, teeth bared, the sound utterly unlike anything. It is the roar of a big cat and it is a violin staccato, and it is thunder and it is the eardrum-bursting pressure of the Deepspace tunnel. You hear those screams as echoes during storms, and you hear them in your memories when it was dragons roaring as the sky was torn apart. Deflect, you think, and pull the shield back to protect Xavier’s side as he lunges down to slash at the wanderer’s legs. You can feel the energy it takes, and you cannot get over how strong Xavier’s evol is, how easy it is to resonate with, your own slipping into the same frequency as though it has always been there.

You redirect the attacks you can using your makeshift shield, but there is barely any time at all and then Xavier is driving the point of his sword through the thunderoars side, and you are not in a cavernous room, but on a street in Linkon.

You lose your grip on your evol and the light shimmers out before you can even process the loss of it. You are shaking, you notice. Adrenaline. Fear. Xavier is looking down at you, and his eyes are a summer sky. ‘You handled the protofield well,’ he says. ‘I think I threw up the first time, but I can’t remember.’

‘You can’t remember?’ You ask, your voice shakier than you would like.

‘It was a while ago,’ he says as if he does not look barely twelve from some angles. ‘Are you hurt?’

You shake your head. Xavier bends down and picks up a shard of what could be glass and examines it. ‘The protocores broke,’ he says, blinking down at it, then tossing it to one side as if he is not holding one of the most valuable materials on the planet. He looks up. ‘Did you pay for lunch already?’

Baby's first taglist: @girl-math-aint-mathing @rockin20rosie @m00njinnie @belles-reads

[loveanddp]

< chapter four chapter five

CW: this is an Omegaverse AU for Love and Deepspace. This includes content not suitable for minors. Triggers for this chapter for descriptions of disassociation and implications of trauma, as well as implications of in-universe sexual assault. Second person used throughout, however the 'reader' here is fem-presenting afab. No descriptions of skin colour, weight, or appearance.

AN: this is a shorter chapter, more info and moving the story along than anything else, but the next one will be a little bigger and jucier! As always, thank you so much to everyone who engages in any way. You have my heart (and quicker updates.)

Rafayel insists on taking you to a seafood restaurant down the road. You’re not sure that his definition of ‘down the road’ and yours are the same, as the walk takes almost half an hour. Zayne walks with you both, seeming at once aloof and amusedly indulgent. He doesn’t rise to Rafayel’s teasing, and the way that he seems to manage the artist makes you wonder how long they have known each other.

‘A few years,’ Zayne replies. His palm flattens against the small of your back as a cyclist hurtles past. ‘A mutual friend introduced us.’

Rafayel snorts under his breath and looks very much as though he wants to say more, but instead he twists his fingers between your own and tugs you down a side street. ‘It’s a shame the weather today is so awful,’ he declares. ‘When it’s clear you can see all the way to Saltstone Park from here.’

The weather is fine, though the clouds are low and full over the indigo waters of the harbour.

‘You’ll have to get Mr Snowman to bring you to the beach,’ Rafayel is saying. ‘The gallery is fine, but my studio gets better light.’

‘Doctor Snowman,’ Zayne corrects mildly.

‘Actually, don’t bring him, cutie,’ Rafayel says. ‘We’ll have much more fun on our own.’ His fingers are still laced through yours and the awareness of it makes you feel clumsy and slow. You cannot imagine Zayne hasn’t noticed.

‘Where’s your studio?’ You ask. You shouldn’t have asked, you realise as you say it.

‘You’ll love it,’ Rafayel says confidently. ‘The seagulls can be a real menace, but there are dolphins who come to visit in autumn, and I promise the crabs will be on their best behaviour if you want to go swimming.’

‘It’s in Whitesand Bay,’ Zayne replies.

‘Don’t say it like that. It’s only the best part of Whitesand,’ Rafayel protests. ‘And my door is always open. I can take you this afternoon, if you like. You can see all the sketches I had to make- and there are still so many flowers everywhere. I had to order them in, but the first wisteria was all wrong. I’ve been looking for a new home for it, but nowhere seems right, you know.’

Zayne holds the door open for the restaurant and Rafayel tugs you inside, not letting go of your hand even as he draws you into a booth by the window and unfolds the menu with his other hand. Zayne slides in across from you both, and offers you a faint smile.

‘I’m afraid we have plans for the afternoon,’ he says smoothly. ‘And Thomas mentioned that you would need time to work on a commission.’

Rafayel makes a faint clicking noise, expression haughty. ‘That,’ he says as though it is costing him great effort not to roll his eyes. Then he rolls his eyes. ‘They already said they don’t care what I send- I told Thomas just to package up something from the gallery already.’

‘What’s the commission?’ You ask quietly. ‘Is it just-’

‘Oh they just want something to show off at parties,’ Rafayel says, dismissive. ‘It’s entirely for the benefit of saying that they get to commission Rafayel. It’s not like it means anything.’

‘But then why do it?’

‘For the art,’ Rafayel says, scandalised, at the same time as Zayne says, ‘Money.’

Rafayel scoffs. ‘Puh-lease. I have more money than I could burn.’

‘I’ll have the linguini then,’ Zayne replies. ‘It’s good of you to treat us to lunch.’

Rafayel narrows his eyes. A flicker of annoyance that is gone as quickly as it arrived. ‘You should try the spider crab,’ he tells you. ‘And the shrimp are good here. Hey, can we get an order of the crab cakes? Two of the chefs specials. Oh, and the mussels. No wine, but a jug of sparkling water. With ice.’

‘I’ll have the linguini. Thank you,’ Zayne hands his menu back as Rafayel slides yours out from beneath your hand to give back to a confused-looking waitress.

Rafayel uses the opportunity to take your other hand, turning both of your palms up so that he can apparently examine your fingers. Even this close, you still cannot scent him. Beneath his cologne, there is something that could almost be a scent, but there is no underlying omegan sweetness or alpha musk, or even the neutral sweat-dust smell of a beta. It is familiar and not. Strange and not. Like ash. Like smoke and salt. You remove one of your hands to rub at your nose and wonder if you are coming down with a cold. Omega, you decide. He must be. There is no way that Zayne would tolerate another alpha getting handsy, and Rafayel has all but rubbed up against you for how touchy he is.

As if reading your mind, Rafayel presses a thumb between your eyebrows, smoothing out the small line that had been forming.

‘You think so loud,’ he says again. You swat at his hand automatically, and this seems to delight him as he catches your hand again in order to guide it back to the table. ‘You should come over this afternoon. You can even help me with my commission. I could use a fresh pair of eyes.’

‘I’m terrible at drawing.’

‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘I’ll teach you. I’m sure you’re a good student.’

‘We were going shopping this afternoon,’ Zayne interrupts.

Rafayel’s mouth drops open in a parody of horror. ‘Without me?’

‘Yes,’ Zayne says. ‘We need to look for some lighter-weight blankets to make nesting more comfortable.’

Rafayel sniffs. Loudly. It is so crude that you almost jerk back in horror. ‘You’ve got a couple of months,’ he says, and your cheeks burn.

You open your mouth to say something- anything. You’re not sure what. But Zayne gets there first. ‘Omegas nest for a variety of reasons,’ he says. His tone is ice. Brittle and cold. ‘It is primarily about seeking and providing comfort, and can be an effective method of stress relief.’

Rafayel’s fingers are still where they are touching yours, still enough that you can feel the faint tremble of his pulse. For a moment there is only this stillness, the tension that isn’t hostile but isn’t friendly. Then Rafayel says, ‘Sure. I guess. Looking for some more throw cushions then?’

Zayne’s gaze cuts to you, and you realise that he is waiting for you. For you to accept Rafayel’s not-apology. For you to reply. Letting you lead. Gratitude swells in your chest like a tide eddying around your heart.

‘I don’t know,’ you say. You look back at where Rafayel’s hands are laid out over yours. Still motionless. His fingers are long and elegant-looking, the knuckles rounded as pearls, the veins beneath the skin are the colour of the sea outside. ‘Am I allowed to put throw cushions on the couch?’

‘If you would like,’ Zayne says. ‘I have no objections.’

‘That depends on what colour you’re thinking,’ Rafayel says. ‘Not a lot goes with grey. I think that’s our food. Finally. Any longer and I might have had to resort to cannibalism.’

You look up in time to see the waitress returning with a wildly oversized tray loaded with plates, and you pull your hands back so that she has space to put them down. The bowl in front of you is some kind of creamy mixed seafood stew, and without a word Rafayel takes a plate of mussels and scoops a more than generous portion into your broth.

‘Try it,’ he says. ‘This restaurant buys directly from the fishermen who go out first thing, so you can practically still taste the salt.’ He puts a crab cake on your plate and nudges your spoon with the back of his hand pointedly.

You break the crab cake in half with your chopsticks before trying, chewing slowly and letting the flesh dissolve on your tongue. It is butter-soft, and the breadcrumbs have flakes of seaweed running through them. It’s so delicious that you could eat the entire serving and happily ask for seconds.

‘Good right?’ Rafayel says. He hasn’t even looked at his own plate, seemingly fixated on watching you chew. It’s uncomfortable and you find yourself just staring at the pale broth just waiting for the feeling of being watched to stop burning into your skin. ‘Try the bisque,’ he says.

‘Let her eat,’ Zayne says, winding pasta around his fork.

‘It’s okay,’ you say.

‘You skipped dinner last night,’ he replies.

‘I was tired,’ you shouldn’t be arguing. You don’t know why you are arguing. You take a spoonful of the broth. It’s so rich the taste seems to coat the inside of your mouth. You take another mouthful as Rafayel adds some of the mussels to his own dish, seemingly content now that he has seen you try it. You put the spoon down and eat the rest of the crab cake instead.

To your surprise, after a moment Zayne says, ‘I am sorry I wasn’t there.’

‘It’s okay,’ you say again.

‘Are you going to look for a dress for the gala?’ Rafayel asks as the plates are being cleared.

‘If we have time,’ Zayne says.

Rafayel is playing with your hair again, the side of his hand resting against your shoulder as he tugs gently at the strand. He hums thoughtfully. ‘You should get a new suit. I’m sure Sylus would love to introduce you to his tailor.’

You hope that the way your attention sharpens suddenly isn’t too obvious. Zayne glances at you, and you do your best to look innocent. ‘Sylus?’

Zayne says, ‘A friend,’ as Rafayel’s mouth splits into a wicked grin. His canines are sharply pointed.

‘You haven’t met Sylus?’ He coos. ‘Where has Zayne been hiding you, Miss Omega?’

‘I haven’t been hiding her,’ Zayne says. You don’t know if you’re imagining the annoyance in his tone, which is as measured as you have ever heard it.

‘He’ll be so upset you didn’t invite him shopping,’ Rafayel continues. ‘You know how much he loves pretty things.’

‘I am sure he will have many opportunities in the future to indulge.’

‘You really haven’t met Sylus, cutie?’ Rafayel tugs a little harder on your hair, encouraging you to look at him. ‘Mister Doctor didn’t introduce you to his own head alpha?’

‘That’s enough,’ Zayne says. You look back and forth between the two men. Zayne is upset. Angry. The cortisol burns at your nose, makes every instinct in you want to roll over and show your throat. There is something ugly in Rafayel’s expression as he looks at Zayne. Contemptuous.

‘I feel sick,’ you announce. Too loud. You pull away from Rafayel. ‘Zayne?’

He is already out of his seat, putting a hand to your cheek. You think you see the glitter of something like gratitude in his eyes, the bitter cortisol scent fading. ‘The bisque might have been a bit rich. Some fresh air should help.’ He offers you a hand and you take it, let him pull you to your feet. ‘It was lovely to see you, Rafayel,’ he says even as he is steering you away. ‘Thank you again for lunch.’

Outside you take deep lungfuls of air. Seagulls squabble and take flight from a roof, and you can still taste the cream from the bisque at the back of your mouth.

‘I hope that was only an excuse to leave and you don’t actually feel nauseous,’ Zayne says from beside you. You might laugh. You might go back inside and shake Rafayel until he explains himself.

‘I’m fine,’ you say.

‘You said that earlier, and then you started crying,’ Zayne says reasonably.

‘I’m not going to be sick,’ you say. You fiddle with the cuffs on your cardigan. Several threads have pulled loose from the knit, and you try to tuck them back.

Zayne doesn’t look convinced. He walks beside you, and it takes a moment for you to realise that he is just doing that. Not trying to steer you back toward the car, or lead you. Just walking with you. After a while he says, ‘I am sorry you had to see that. Usually Rafayel is-’ he pauses. ‘Less argumentative. It’s been a difficult year for him.’

There are a lot of things you could say to that. There are a lot of questions you could ask. But when you look at Zayne all you see is the faint crease under his eyes, the slow way he blinks out at the water, the scar on the side of his hand. ‘Can we get cheesecake?’ You ask instead. ‘You said the baked cheesecake in that bakery was your favourite. I’d like to try it.’

*

The cheesecake is every bit as delicious as he said.

After, he drives to a department store. One of those places where your Grandma sometimes likes to go just to wander around and exclaim over how nice things are before getting a cup of coffee in the cafe and leaving without buying anything. You watch him examine the labels on different weight blankets and mattress toppers.

‘I don’t really nest,’ you say again when he asks whether you use your comforter or if you will want additional cushions to create structure.

‘It’s a normal omegan response to heightened levels of stress in the environment, not just during-’

‘I know,’ you say quickly. You absolutely under no circumstances want to discuss your heat cycle with Doctor Zayne Li while two beta shop assistants are pretending not to be listening in while arranging towels. ‘I’ve just never done it.’

‘It may still be wise to be prepared,’ he says. ‘Suppressants can-’

‘I like this colour,’ you say, and all but hurl a cushion at him as a distraction. It does not work, and he apparently understands this as you having a preference for cushions over blankets, and starts examining the variety available while providing commentary on the benefits of natural fibres over artificial.

You wonder briefly if he studied. If he went into acquiring an omega with the same attitude as you might sit for an exam. If you had opened drawers in his study, you wonder if you would have come across textbooks.

A group of teenagers are giggling at a display of moisture-resistant mattress protectors. The poster above has a waifish looking male omega stretched out across a bed with a tagline about keeping the whole pack warm and dry. Which is deeply ironic, you think, considering how cold he looks.

‘What do you think?’ Zayne asks.

You look back and he is frowning faintly at the packaging for a pillow. ‘I trust you,’ you say, because you missed the question.

‘We’ll get these ones then,’ he decides. ‘If they aren’t suitable we can always come back. I can drop them at the car if you’d like to go and look at gowns. I can meet you there-’

‘If it’s okay,’ you say. ‘I’d like to go- home,’ you try not to stumble over the word. ‘I’m tired.’

He looks at you over the plastic packaging of the pillows you don’t especially want or need, and there is a moment where you wonder if this is when he will remember that he is an alpha and you are an omega, and that what you want does not matter here. But then he nods, and there is the faintest pink at the tops of his cheeks.

‘I apologise,’ he says. ‘You tried to tell me earlier that you were uncomfortable.’

You start to shake your head, and then stop yourself. You let him pay for the pillows and follow him back to the car, where he checks his phone and sighs.

‘I will need to reply to some messages when we get home,’ he says. ‘You are welcome to watch a movie, or-’

‘I should work on my essay,’ you say. ‘It’s due next week.’ You can’t read his expression in the shadowy interior of the car. ‘The courses are free,’ you explain quickly. ‘And not too much work. Not really.’

‘The cost is not what concerns me,’ Zayne says. ‘You mentioned your courses earlier. Did your head never give you the option to pursue higher education?’

You shake your head. You could explain. That it was too expensive. That Caleb was already at the DAA, and that his scholarship covered his fees, but not his meals, or his accommodation, or his textbooks- that even your Grandma had admitted that there wasn’t much point in you going. And besides, you’d only have to leave once the kits came, the memory of her says, even as you stare down at the Hunters Academy brochure you’d picked up at the school careers fair. You had highlighted the section on omegan applicants that said they were committed to promoting equality and that all applications would be considered under their own merit. You could explain, but you don’t. On paper now, Zayne is your alpha. But you know that if Rafayel was honest, and that Zayne is not the head of the pack he says he does not have-

It is too complicated, and you exit the train of thought before it can leave the station. Zayne is kind. Of this you feel confident. But there is a tension like the strands of a spiders web, and you know that plucking at the wrong thread would only be inviting the spider to dinner.

‘I am happy to cosign your applications,’ Zayne says suddenly. ‘If you need permission. I can talk to the bank. Get an account set aside for your fees. I have been meaning to sign out a card for you-’

He is staring straight ahead at the road while he talks. He changes lane, and slows as he indicates and waits to turn right. There is no scent of any lie, no change in his scent at all. He says it as if it is the simplest thing in the world. As if it would change nothing. As if it wouldn’t change everything.

He says, ‘I know this isn’t the best place to have this conversation, but it matters to me that you know that you have those choices.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. Your voice is much softer than normal, your throat feeling dry. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘I know that you were not given a choice about any of this,’ Zayne says. He is still not looking at you. ‘I tried to do things differently. I wanted-’ he exhales sharply, and is silent for so long that you think he will not finish. ‘I know that you did not choose me,’ he says eventually. ‘Not then. And not now. But I would like to be your friend again. If we can.’

You are stuck on one word. ‘Again?’

Zayne looks away from the road. A darting glance, a barely perceptible twitch down at the corner of his mouth. He says, ‘You don’t remember.’

It’s not a question, but you shake your head. He is quiet again as he turns onto the road where you live, and he is quiet even as he parks in front of the garage and unbuckles his seatbelt.

‘Zayne,’ you say quietly. He watches you, those forest eyes wary and still. ‘I would like to be your friend,’ you say. You reach for his hand where it still rests on the gear stick. It feels as though you are reaching across a chasm. It feels like no space at all. The skin on the back of his hand is soft and cool, the old scar stretched and fading at the edges. You twist your hand just enough that you can take his and hold it with your own and he lets you. He lets you.

Taglist: @girl-math-aint-mathing

[loveanddp]

Noun

cy·no·sure ˈsī-nə-ˌshu̇r

1. capitalized : the northern constellation Ursa Minor

also : north star

2. one that serves to direct or guide

3. a center of attraction or attention

4. an ongoing fanfiction set in an original 'omegaverse' by Tumblr user loveanddp using characters and events from the popular mobile game Love and Deepspace.

also: strong adult content and themes throughout.

Chapter One - a meeting

Chapter Two - an exam

Chapter Three - bond

Chapter Four - flowers

Chapter Five - a friend

Chapter Six - freedom

Chapter Seven - a stranger

Chapter Eight - heat

Chapter Nine - Caleb

Chapter Ten -

[tofu-doobidoo]

Nestbound Chapter 11: Iron Will

◄[Previous]-❀-[] ►───── [Masterlist]

Pairings: Reader x Alpha! Zayne x Alpha! Caleb x Beta! Xavier x Beta! Rafayel x Alpha! Sylus . yes you taking them all ;)

Setting: A/B/O AU It started with you going in heat, then having orgy lmao. (started off as a zayne only fic) It spiraled from there.

Warnings: omegaverse, smut, knotting p in v, dumbification??, biting, OOC, poly, reverse harem, angst, guilt, your still dying of horniness, cringy angst stuff, pipsqueak and cutie usage, med stuff bc i'm in nursing school.

Note: Sometimes, you gotta torture hot fictional men with a good time. Some more Xavier and Rafayel content bc I don't want these bbs to be left out. And zayne bc I love him. God, I'm not even halfway done with editing my drafts. But it's for the girlies 🫡 <3

Join the taglist here! -❀- or search #nestboundlads

Sylus clenches his jaw, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he makes a silent vow. He will bear this burden for all of them, shield you from as much pain as he can, and ensure that the mark’s promise—of connection, of safety—will one day outweigh the agony of this moment. His large hands settle on his knees, fingers tightening as he braces himself for the next step—ready to do whatever it takes to save you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs hoarsely. “We all do. Just hold on.”

Then it hits

He’s the first to pull away, but all three alphas are visibly overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the moment. Their chests rise and fall rapidly as waves of endorphins—powerful, intoxicating neurochemicals—flood their systems.

Bond Surge.

The surge hits like lightning.

The pleasure is almost violent in its intensity, dragging their bodies to the edge of euphoric surrender.

Sylus’ broad, muscular frame shudders involuntarily, a deep shiver coursing from his spine to his fingertips. His breath catches, head tipping back as his eyes flutter shut, body trembling under the exquisite overload. His jaw locks tight, muscles taut with restraint, even as primal pleasure pulses through every fiber of his being.

A low, guttural sound escapes him—half groan, half growl. “Shit…”

Zayne isn’t far behind. His pupils blow wide, black eclipsing color, and his head falls back with a moan that slips out unbidden, soft but fractured.

“Fuck—” he pants, voice raw with disbelief. “That hit like a freight train. A late one.”

His fingers curl into tight fists, body drawn taut as every nerve sparks in ecstasy. His tongue flicks out over his lips, catching the ghost of your scent in the air, and he huffs a shaky breath as his voice drops to a rough, instinctual growl.

“She’s in my blood,” he mutters. “I can feel her. Every damn heartbeat.”

Caleb hunches forward, one hand braced on his knee, the other gripping his thigh like an anchor. His breath comes in ragged bursts, sharp and shallow.

A guttural moan rips from his throat, his voice roughened by the onslaught. “Fuck me… I can’t— I wasn’t ready for that.”

His head drops, shoulders trembling as he clenches his jaw, trying—failing—to stay steady. “She didn’t even get to feel this,” he chokes. “And we do. It’s not fair.”

Zayne’s voice cuts in, tight and laced with guilt. “She doesn’t need fair. She needs us.”

Their skin glistens with sweat, hearts thundering like war drums. They ride the storm together, bodies alight with a chemical high they didn’t ask for—didn’t want—not like this.

Not at the cost of your pain.

The biochemical flood is both a blessing and a curse, a double-edged sword. Euphoria laces every breath, but their hearts ache under the weight of what just happened.

They’re caught in the fragile space between overwhelming pleasure and the heavy responsibility, worry, they bear.

As the intensity ebbs, a warm glow settles in its place. The alphas exhale—slow, measured. Sylus drags a hand through his damp hair, grounding himself, the rise and fall of his chest finally starting to even out. [might mention ebb day later >:3]

“She’s still breathing,” he says aloud, more to himself than anyone. “She’s still here.”

Caleb wipes his brow, then leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I swear, if she ever has to go through this again—”

“She won’t,” Zayne interrupts, voice steel beneath the strain. “We’ll figure it out.”

He straightens, the storm in his gaze clearing slowly. His breath comes more evenly now, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease.

Meanwhile, Rafayel and Xavier work quietly and efficiently, moving in as the alpha heat recedes. Rafayel’s hands are gentle as he cleans the scrapes along your ribs, soft cloths soaked in antiseptic.

His brows draw together in a worried furrow, but his touch never falters.

“Easy, dove,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”

Xavier kneels beside you, voice low and soothing as he checks your pulse. “Heartbeat’s stabilizing. Still shallow, but steady.”

“She needs fluids soon,” he adds, glancing up. “And rest. Deep rest.”

The two betas move in sync, grounding the moment with calm, practiced care. Their presence is the counterweight to the alpha chaos—a soft tether to reality.

The room falls into a hush, heavy with lingering tension. Every breath is measured, every movement tender. The pack holds steady in this moment of fragile hope—united in a ring of devotion around you.

Then it happens again.

A low, keening whimper slips from your throat.

Your fingers twitch.

Five heads snap toward you in unison.

“She’s waking,” Rafayel says quietly.

Sylus is already moving back toward you, voice rough but steady. “Easy, little one… we’re here.”

Zayne leans closer, his hand hovering near your cheek. “Can you hear us, sweetheart?”

Caleb shifts forward, a tremble in his voice. “Say something. Anything.”

Your body is still burning, still trembling—but you’re here. You’re coming back.

And they’re right there, waiting.

Then it happened again.

The moment their breathing began to slow, a second, far stronger wave of endorphins crashed over the alphas like a tidal force—more brutal, more merciless than the first.

It seized their bodies with an unbearable, exquisite intensity that left no room for control or restraint.

Muscles tensed and twitched involuntarily, hips thrusting upward in helpless, instinctive ruts as primal urges pulsed hot through their veins.

--

Caleb was the first to be utterly consumed. His body folded forward, overwhelmed beyond measure, until his forehead pressed hard against the mattress beneath the nest. His fingers clawed at the bedding, muscles locked tight.

His entire form shook with tremors, small shivers running through him like electric currents.

His eyes rolled back helplessly, pupils dilated wide as the pleasure took over completely, blanketing his mind.

Low, desperate sounds rumbled from his throat—growls, pants, and breathless moans that betrayed the internal storm.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the tension barely held in check as he gave himself up to the unbearable ecstasy coursing through him.

“Ah—shit, shit—” he groaned, voice muffled. “She’s... she’s pulling me under—”

Low, guttural moans broke free from him, laced with raw whimpers he couldn’t contain. His hips twitched in erratic thrusts, knot swelling thick and hard as the instinct to rut tore away every rational thought left in his mind.

--

He leaned back heavily on his forearms, arms shaking with the strain, trying to hold himself steady even as the pleasure consumed him whole.

"Fuck—" he gasped, voice rough and strangled. “Can’t—can’t stop—”

Sylus’ broad frame trembled violently, a guttural growl clawing up his throat as his jaw clenched tight, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming surge.

His breath hitched again and again, every exhale a battle.

But it was futile, chest rising sharply with ragged gasps, as if struggling to keep himself tethered to reality.

Sylus' jaw clenched tight, muscles taut, but his body trembled uncontrollably, utterly surrendered to the exquisite torment.

His usually fierce, commanding presence faded into a man overwhelmed, vulnerable beneath the crushing pleasure that consumed him entirely.

--

Zayne’s usual composure shattered completely. The quiet, controlled alpha vanished beneath the flood of sensation, his face flushed and eyes dazed.

He collapsed back into the nest, sinking into the soft fabric as if pulled under by the force of the sensation. His limbs went slack, surrendering to the flood that washed away all control.

Lips parted in breathless groans, soft and broken, filling the nest with sound as his body collapsed backward into the soft bedding.

"God, it’s too much," he panted, hips jerking reflexively. “She’s in everything—every breath, every nerve.”

The tremors locked him to the fabric of the nest, instinct refusing to release him. His eyes fluttered half-closed, his head tipping back in silent surrender, mouth still open in a helpless, shuddering moan.

For all his usual quiet restraint, he became the loudest—letting loose guttural, breathy groans that echoed with desperate need and raw release.

His head tilted back, eyes glazed and unfocused, mouth parting as soft moans slipped out uncontrollably.

It was an ironic sight—Zayne, the stoic, utterly undone and laid bare by the merciless pleasure flooding through him.

--

All three alphas were utterly lost—drowned in the merciless waves of biochemical pleasure that dominated every nerve, every cell. Their breathing came in ragged gasps, sweat slicking their skin as they jerked and rutted mindlessly into the nest.

Hands gripped the bedding with white-knuckled desperation, seeking anything solid to hold onto as the flood dragged them deeper.

Sylus let out a hoarse growl, head rising sharply. “She’s still burning— I can feel it—she needs more, she needs—”

“No,” Zayne rasped, fighting to ground himself, “she needs time. She’s not ready, we can’t—fuck—”

Yet still, their bodies betrayed them—hips bucking, chests heaving, the bond demanding closeness, claiming you with a feverish urgency.

Somewhere beneath the haze, they each clung to one truth: this wasn’t about release. It was about survival.

For you.

And even in the throes of unbearable need, they held back from the edge—hovering at the precipice, desperately trying not to fall.

Because your pain mattered more.

Even if their instincts screamed otherwise.

You curl in tighter, your body trembling under the weight of everything.

The heat.

The bond.

The pain.

It all blurs together until you're not sure where one ends and the next begins. Soft whimpers escape you—quiet, strained sounds that barely rise above the hum of labored breathing around the room.

Rafayel is by your side in an instant, his hand brushing gently through your hair, whispering soft encouragements under his breath. “You’re okay, dove. You’re doing so well.”

Xavier sits on your other side, wiping a cool cloth across your forehead. “We’re right here. Just breathe with me.”

Their voices help. They don’t push. Don’t demand. Just stay with you, quiet and steady, while the world spins a little too fast.

Then the third wave hits, and even the betas tense.

The two betas exchanged anxious glances, their hands never leaving your trembling form.

You can hear it—feel it—in the sharp gasps from the nest behind you. The room shifts again, tension mounting in the air like static.

Rafayel glances toward the alphas, worry flickering across his features. “This... this isn’t normal, is it?”

Xavier frowns slightly, eyes narrowing. “I don't think it's supposed to last this long. "

"Or that intense,” the artist chimes, "look at them, they can't even move."

“They can’t seal the marks like this,” Rafayel mutters, watching your body tense again with another small, involuntary twitch. “They're too out of it. Too raw. Including her.”

Your breathing is shallow, and it takes everything not to slip under again.

The waves start to slow—barely. Just enough to catch a longer breath. You hear Zayne suck in air like he’s been underwater. Then another sound—familiar. Stubborn. Determined.

“I can do it,” he says, voice hoarse but steady. “The marks… if we don’t finish them soon, they’ll fade.”

There’s a short pause. Then the rustle of movement.

Zayne pushes himself upright, limbs shaky, sweat clinging to his skin. He moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s pacing himself. Sylus isn’t far behind, sitting up with a tight grunt, his hand dragging down his face. Caleb stays low, breathing hard, but one arm braces against the mattress like he’s trying to push up.

Rafayel leaned closer to Xavier, whispering with a mix of awe and disbelief, “He’s definitely living up to his nickname.”

Xavier’s reply was quieter still, a nervous chuckle threading through his words. “I’m surprised, but not surprised... impressed…maybe a little terrified”

Zayne’s hand finds the water bottle. He douses face and neck with cold water, without a word, the sharp chill dragging him back into focus.

“Ten minutes,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Then again, louder, steadier: “We’ve got ten minutes.”

Rafayel whispers, voice low. “He’s pushing too hard.”

Xavier watches Zayne for a moment, then exhales slowly. “Yeah. But I think he’s the only one who can.”

Zayne makes it back to the nest, his knees hitting the floor beside you. You stir faintly, sensing him before you see him. His scent washes over you, warm and grounding.

“Hey,” he whispers, brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I’m right here. Look at me.”

You do—barely. Just enough for your lashes to lift and your gaze to meet his.

Relief flickers across his face. He leans in closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good. I’m gonna take care of it, okay? Just hang on a little longer.”

And you do.

You nod—small, shaky—but it’s enough. Enough to give him permission.

Zayne squares his shoulders and draws in a slow breath as the next wave starts to build again, doubling down once again. Muttering under his breath, “Nine minutes,” his voice thick with pain but unyielding.

One by one, the others begin to rise, muscles tense but ready.

Sylus follows closely behind Zayne, his movements deliberate, shoulders taut with effort. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes say everything—focused, determined, steady.

Caleb trails behind, a few steps slower, his chest still heaving as he forces himself upright. He rubs a hand over his face, jaw clenched.

You can see the flicker of resolve burning behind the haze in his eyes. None of them say it aloud, but you feel it in the air: it’s not over yet.

Zayne moves first.

He rises slowly, body trembling with the aftermath of the waves still echoing through him. You can see the strain in the tightness of his jaw, in the slight wobble of his legs. Still, he leans down to you, his scent softer now—soothing. His forehead presses gently against yours, grounding, steady.

His eyes meet yours, and though he’s exhausted, there’s nothing but care in his expression.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice thick and husky. “Still with me?”

You blink up at him, weak, fevered, but your eyes find his. You chirp—a small, quiet sound—but it’s enough. His brow furrows with emotion, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“May I?” he asks quietly, his voice barely audible. “I won’t—unless you want this. Unless you want me.”

Your lips part, and though the words don’t quite form, your body speaks for you—your thighs shift, parting slightly, trembling beneath the weight of heat and need. You nod, just once.

He kisses you first. A feather-light touch, nothing greedy or demanding. Just enough to remind you he’s here. His hand cradles your waist, steadying you, thumb brushing the fevered skin at your side. You gasp softly as his cock presses against your slick, sensitive folds.

He doesn’t rush.

Inch by inch, he pushes into you, your tight walls stretching to accommodate the thick, slow slide. You feel every bit of it—every inch sinking deeper, your body aching and burning as he fills you completely.

A soft whimper escapes you, and Zayne shushes you gently, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he whispers.

His hips begin to move, slow and deep. You feel him press against the softest, most tender part of you with each thrust—your cervix kissed by the thick head of his cock in a rhythm that makes your breath catch. His hands stay firm on your waist, grounding you as your body trembles beneath him.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging.

You feel the heat building again, a feverish ache curling in your belly as your cunt tightens around him, drawing him in deeper.

Zayne’s breath hitches, and he groans low in your ear. “You feel...so good like this,” he pants, voice full of restrained need. “You’re doing so well for me.”

His lips move down your neck, brushing over the bond mark. He licks it softly, then presses kisses to it again, groaning as his hips start to roll harder, faster.

The sound of wet heat and slick skin fills the air between you. Your legs lock around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, deeper, tighter.

“Almost there,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just a little more... Stay with me.”

The tension coils in your stomach, sharp and unrelenting. You feel yourself close to the edge, body tightening, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

With a low, strained moan, Zayne drives himself deep, his knot swelling rapidly until it locks you together.

You cry out softly as he grinds against you, the pressure inside you finally breaking into a white-hot burst of release.

You convulse around him, your cunt milking him as he spills deep inside, flooding your core with warmth. Zayne shudders above you, groaning your name like a prayer, as his knot locks fully in place.

He stays still for a moment, just holding you, panting into your neck as you both come down. He presses kisses to your jaw, your collarbone, your mark. Gentle and reverent.

From nearby, you hear Rafayel’s soft voice, his fingers stroking gently through your hair. “You did so good, sweetheart. Just breathe. You’re safe now.”

Xavier’s voice follows, low and steady. “That’s it, 'mega. Let it pass.”

Zayne nuzzles your cheek with his nose, still locked deep inside you. “It’s over,” he murmurs. “We’re okay.”

He gives your forehead a soft kiss, then shifts carefully to your side, guiding you with him so you remain curled safely in his arms. His knot is still firm, holding you connected, but his body starts to relax at last.

The weight of everything—the exhaustion, the tension, the heat—hits him all at once. You feel it as his breathing slows, as his arms grow heavier around you. He fights it at first, trying to stay awake, but it’s too much. He slips into sleep, his hold on you never loosening, even as the last faint waves ripple through the den.

And for the first time since it started, you finally let yourself rest too.

◄[Previous]-❀-[] ►───── [Masterlist]

[notmedicli]

⋆˙⟡ CREEPIN’! ♡ ࿐

about ♱ the back alley is quiet when your late night shift ends. your boyfriend is supposed to pick you up, but he’s nowhere to be see and your phone blinks its last light before its untimely death. you have no way of reaching him, or anyone for that matter. you’re stranded, all alone—until a stranger finds you … and you might be fucked. literally.

pairing ♱ sylus x fem!reader

word count ♱ 3.4k

content warning ♱ dark content, cnc (consensual noncon), roleplay, predator/prey, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, exhibitionism, dumbification, piv, unprotected sex, degradation (use of slut x2), praise, pet names [sweetheart, baby, pretty girl], creampie — MINORS DNI 18+ (if this makes you uncomfortable, please dni)

kit says ♱ HAPPY HALLOWEEN! since i couldn’t do kinktober, i wanted to do something to commemorate the season and what better way than sylus and some cnc? i do apologize as this is a bit rushed and not proofread. LIKELY a bit repetitive. but if you see a typo, no you didn’t. ANYWAY! feedback + comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated ⭑.ᐟ

“shit, shit, shit,” you whisper under your breath, thumb pressing hard on the power button—only for the dead battery symbol to blink back at you, mocking in its silence.

of course this happens to you. how unlucky that you’re in some back alley behind the cafe you work at with your now-dead phone and no way to call your boyfriend to pick you up. “fucking shit.” 

you look around and notice how dark it is at the moment. the only light source comes from the lamppost. dim, yet warm—

though the warmth of the light does nothing to ease your nerves. if anything, the eerie calmness of it all makes you fidgety. apprehensive. 

your boyfriend should know to come get you soon. it is closing time, after all, and you typically finish around the same time every night… so you do what you do best and wait. you linger through the alleyway, kicking pebbles with your feet to pass the time, the quiet clatter echoing softly as the minutes drag on. 

a deep, raspy voice from behind startles you though, cutting through the quiet, “hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not safe to be out here alone?” the voice is low and edged—unfamiliar. “especially at this hour.”

you let out a sharp gasp, spinning around to find the source just to be met with a tall, broad shouldered man. his hair shimmers silver beneath the streetlight and his eyes… as striking as they are, glow red—unnatural and cold. intimidation rolls off him in waves, making your stomach twist into uneasy knots. you take a step back, then another, until your spine brushes against the rough brick wall of the cafe behind you, but this doesn’t stop him… he keeps moving.

“i-i’m just waiting for someone…” you stutter, hands grabbing at the ends of your skirt. you grip and tug at the fabric roughly, presenting your anxious tick to the stranger before you. 

he subtly inches towards you but you notice, stilling in panic. your body is completely flush against the cool brick. there’s nowhere else to go. “who are you waiting for, sweetheart?”

your throat runs dry at the pet name. you can’t say you hate the way it slips his mouth because your panties gluing to your core would prove that it’s a lie. 

“i’m waiting for… for my boyfriend.” you reply, breath hitching as he gets even closer. close enough to smell the expensive cologne he sports. “he’ll be here soon.”

he hums, now just inches away. “of course a pretty thing like you would have a boyfriend… i can’t believe he has you waiting out in the dark like this… he must know it’s dangerous.” you can see in the muted light that his eyes drink you up, trailing up and down your body. “especially when you're dressed like this.”

he must be referring to the skirt that meets your mid-thigh and the top that accentuates your chest a little more than it should. again, how unlucky for you to be dressed like this on today of all days. 

you look down at your outfit and judge yourself, but he stops you with his words, “don’t worry, pretty girl, i didn’t say you looked bad. quite the contrary, actually.” 

“o-oh.” you say, cheeks flaring up in flattery and embarrassment and, again, in pure fear. 

he steps closer, just by a few millimeters, cupping your cheek. you gasp at the contact, mind yelling for you to run, hide, do anything to put at least 3 miles between you and this stranger, but you're frozen in your spot. caged in. trapped. you’re not going anywhere. he’s making sure of that.

“your boyfriend ever tell you how pretty you are?” he asks, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your burning cheek. “if i were him, i wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you… let alone let you out of my sight.”

you shudder, knees going weak and pussy gushing over the stranger and his smooth words. “wh-who are you… w-what do you want from me?” you whisper, unable to trust your likely wavered voice. 

the sound of his rich chuckle fills your ears and you cower, “so many questions…” his eyes study yours and you want to look away, but you just… can’t.

“are you going to hurt me?” 

he coos, free hand finding your waist, “oh, pretty girl… is that what you want? you want me to hurt you?” he squeezes your flesh, rough enough to elicit a tiny whimper from you. “you like that?”

you hesitantly shake your head, but the pleading look on your face says the opposite. “n-no, i don’t…”

“no?” he asks, a lilt to his voice that tells you ‘i don’t believe you.’

you shake your head again, but the man just laughs. he takes his hand off your cheek and slowly trails down, fingers ghosting down your skin. 

your heart hammers wildly against your ribs, each beat loud enough to drown out thought. fear, panic, hysteria—all of it coils tight in your chest, tangling with something you don’t understand. your breath comes uneven, trembling, as arousal pools in your stomach despite the panic clawing its way through you.

but when his hand wraps around your throat and forces you to look up at him, you swear the moan that comes out of your mouth is completely unintentional. your mouth parts and eyes widen in shock, terror and a bit of embarrassment over the fact. 

and the corner of his mouth tugs up and a smug smirk appears. he knows he has you right where he wants you. he leans in, hot breath fanning against your even-hotter face, whispering, “you must be needy if you’re willing to let a stranger hear all these pretty noises in public.” and when you let out another choked moan, he chuckles again. deep and low. “bet you’re a mess for me, hmm? am i right, baby?”

you gulp, brows drawn in but you’re not sure if it’s because you feel good or because you want him to stop. you gasp, when his grip tightens and you remember his question. “n-no… i’m not.”

“you sure? i think you’re lying to me, pretty girl… should i check just to be sure?” he squeezes your throat a bit tighter and you squirm under him, the brick uncomfortably scraping your back. 

you wheeze, attempting to shake your head, but his hand prohibits the act. “d-d-don’t…”

he sends you a faux pout, “why? if you’re not wet, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” he says. “how about this… if you’re not, then i’ll let you go, yeah?”

the thing is, you’re soaked—practically sitting in a pool of your arousal. soaked all the way through your panties that your thighs now grossly stick together as your pussy continues to gush and gush. you know he won’t let you go if he finds out. 

and how unlucky that he doesn’t wait for your permission. that the hand on your waist is now under your skirt, fingers grazing over the rather large wet spot on your panties. how unlucky you must be to be in this situation.

and how sick you must be to enjoy it.

you whine, body jolting at the touch. “pl-please! stop– i-i—” you stumble over words trying to find an excuse. “i have a boyfriend!”

the calloused pads of his fingers find your clit anyway, rubbing into the clothed bud with flair. “i don’t see him around here, baby. all i see is a pretty little toy at my disposal.” he coos again, watching the way your back arches off the wall and feeling you try to subtly grind against his fingers. 

“and look at that! you’re so easy, sweetheart.” he chuckles, lips ghosting over your jaw. “getting this wet over nothing… telling me no while you get yourself off on my fingers… letting a stranger put their hands on you like this.” 

“i-i’m not–” you're cut off by your own sharp inhale when his fingers pull your panties to the side, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air. you frantically look around to see if anyone is near, but the stranger dragging his lengthy digits through your slit brings your attention back to him. 

“you're not what?” he asks, bringing his drenched fingers back up and away from your needy pussy. when you notice the way they glisten under the dim light, you know you need to retract your statement, but the man is insistent on getting you to finish your sentence. “you’re not what, baby?”

you don’t reply and it makes the man shake his head. “see this?” he asks, referring to his hand. “see how fucking wet you are for me? now say ahhh.” 

he presses his two wet fingers against your mouth and you reluctantly open up, allowing him to slip them inside. you’re thrown off by the taste of yourself, but ultimately wrap your lips around the digits and suck them clean while he praises you. 

“that’s a good girl,” he murmurs, pulling them out, seeing how your face contorts with need. “wish you could see how slutty you look with my fingers in your pretty little mouth and around your throat.” he says, voice low while dominance oozes out of him. “so fucking gorgeous.” 

you know you’re helpless, there’s no getting out of this now no matter how much you want to. he has you trapped between him and a brick wall with his long fingers smearing saliva across your pouty, swollen lips, choking you with the large expansive of his hand. you wish there wasn’t a part of you that wanted this. a part that wants to submit to the handsome stranger, that wants him to grip you tighter. you’re disgusted with the way your body betrays you, but your self-loathing doesn’t stop the way you arch your back for more praise.

his fingers trail back to your cunt, this time slipping underneath the waistband of your panties, immediately finding your clit. 

a choked pant escapes you as you moan out, “w-wait–”

his fingers don’t stop, rubbing sensual circles into the swollen, overly needy bud. “hmm? what is it, baby?” his voice takes on a patronizing tone and your body tremors with desire at the sound. 

“y-you can’t– fu-fuck,” you don’t anticipate the speed at which he rubs your cunt to increase, so it catches you off guard when he does. whatever protest dies on your tongue in favor of letting out clipped moans and choppy gasps.

“don’t fight it.” he whispers. “just take it, sweet girl. i can feel how needy you are for me. boyfriend doesn’t take care of you the way you need and that’s why you’re out here grinding all over a stranger's fingers, right?”

you didn’t even realize you started grinding again, but you don’t feel the shame and embarrassment this time. maybe he’s right? maybe… just maybe… you need this. you love your boyfriend. adore him, but… this feels so fucking good.

you’re barely audible when you beg, “please…”

and the man chuckles darkly, “what was that?”

your labored breathing and desperate whines makes his cock twitch under his pants. “oh, god… fuck, please—” you sob. 

he’s not accepting it. you can cry all you want, no one’s coming out to this alley this late and he’s not giving you anything until you ask for it. the stranger was a patient man, that much you can tell, so you have no choice but to submit. 

his mouth is right over yours, lips mere millimeters apart as his words ghost over you. his words are barely there, but you hear them. you feel them. “say it. tell me what you want, baby.” 

“more…” you whisper. 

“again. louder.” 

your words are choked out of you when he grips your throat tighter. “more, please… please!”

and before you can process it, his mouth is molding against yours and two fingers slide to your drooling hole and slip right in without a bit of resistance. he works you open, coaxes every noise out of you, like he knows the map of your body. 

the pads of his fingers hook inside of you and rub against the spongy spot where your g-sport resides. he swallows every moan, every cry, every little plea that falls from your kiss-swollen lips. 

the hand around your throat squeezes you tight enough to where you can breathe, but you can’t think straight. to where your eyes are rolling back and any rhyme or reason slips from your mind. 

when he pulls away, you’re chasing his mouth, gasping for air watching him smirk through your bleary vision. 

“silly girl,” he mutters, fucking you with his fingers with haste, like his life depends on it. “tell me, who’s got your pussy all wet, huh?”

“ugh, shit—you!” you cry, hearing the echo of your moans and the wet squelching of your cunt. 

he nods, “that’s right, good girl,” his praise lightens you up and you wonder how you let yourself get here, but you don’t have the opportunity to dwell before you find yourself close. you feel the orgasm building quickly, feeling it in every nerve ending in your body. “gonna cum on my fingers, hmm? getting finger fucked in public by a stranger must feel sooo good, huh?”

you can’t even respond with the sob that comes out of your mouth as you gush all over his fingers. the man can’t help but laugh, part in shock and part because it’s ironic. it’s so funny that this may be the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had and you didn’t want it to begin with. 

he releases the grip he has on your throat and pulls his fingers out of your sopping heat and allows you to collapse in his arms, laughing louder when you clutch onto his muscular arms. 

“uh-uh, no tapping out, i’m not done with you,” he tsks, fixing your posture and gently resting your limp body against the hard wall. he unzips his pants and you watch with unfocused eyes as he pulls his length out, eyes widening as you take in his size. 

you shake your head, voice half gone when you say, “n-no— won’t fit. can’t,” your sentence is broken, mouth salivating thinking about how good this man’s cock would stretch you. 

he pushes your skirt up more and pulls your panties down, letting them pool helplessly at your feet on the ground. you put your hands on his chest in attempts to push him away, but you don’t put even an ounce of effort into your shove.

“your mouth says one thing, but your body says the opposite.” he says, lifting one of your legs and pinning your knee to your chest. “you're dripping for me, pretty girl.”

you gasp as the bulbous tip of his cock pushes into you, stretching you till you’re trapping him tight in your heat. he groans, the sound shooting heat straight to your core and it has your cunt choking around him like it’s never been touched. 

“shit, sweetheart,” he grunts, forcing every inch of himself into you. “so damn tight, let me in, yeah? just be a good girl ‘n open up for me.”

and your body betrays you once more, submitting to him immediately. you know you shouldn’t, but your pussy lets him in like that’s exactly where his cock belongs.

maybe it is. 

when his fat tip bumps your cervix, you let out a pained cry, arching your back off the brick wall. you wrap your arms around his neck, inhaling the mixed scent of sweat and cologne that belongs to him and it makes your head spin. 

“no,” you moan into his skin. “i-i have a boyfriend.” 

he offers another rich laugh, one that reverberates through his body. “sweetheart, you’re a bad actor, y’know?” he says and you hear the cocky smile on his lips. “you keep acting like you don’t want this, but you feel that?” his fist presses against your belly, pushing down on his cock. when you moan and tighten around him, he hums, “yeah, exactly. what would your boyfriend do if he saw you squirting all over my fingers earlier? or if he saw this pretty little cunt swallowing my cock, huh?”

you throw your head back, breath labored as your eyes cross. you should be disgusted with yourself. letting this man—this stranger—take you like this in public? while you’re in a relationship? it’s wrong. he’s wrong. you’re so wrong. 

but you’re not sure you care. you don’t know if it’s the dopamine release from your previous orgasm or if it’s because you’re going dumb on his dick, but you couldn’t care less. you want him, you fucking want him. and you need him to make you cum.

“oh, god,” you sob through the ache— you’re sore, your entire body hurts from the way his cock pounds you in the uncomfortable standing position. “fuck, fuck, fuck,”

“there you go, be as loud as you want. no one will find us here.” he says seductively like he’s luring a mouse into a trap. “you like getting fucked like a slut by a stranger?”

and you’re so far gone, you find yourself nodding dumbly, “yes! love it,” you agree, slack jawed. when he hits that soft spot in you repeatedly with his brutal thrusts, you gasp, “o-oh! there, don’t stop, sy—hah, please don’t stop!”

he growls at the slip, hips stuttering. “pussy’s going to kill me,” he mutters before fucking into you with the vigor of someone whose life depends on it. 

that knot in your stomach returns—faster, tighter, burning hotter than before. it coils deep inside you, pulling every muscle taut until your whole body feels strung like a wire.

“‘m gonna… fuck, ‘m cumming,” you mewl, hands twisting and tugging at his shirt. 

“cum for me, baby.” he grunts. 

and you do—it’s explosive, you’re gushing again, spraying a mix of arousal and release all over him. your body goes limp again, but he protects you from hitting the wall, securing an arm around your waist while his other has your leg draped over it. 

“gonna fill you up,” he whispers, unable to trust his own voice. “gonna pump this pussy full of my cum, bet you’d like that, hm?”

he doesn’t really know why he bothers asking, he knows there’s nothing swimming around in your pretty head. when your whine comes out, so pretty and broken, he takes that as his answer, pushing all the way into you, stilling and spurting out ribbons of cum with a noise that’s between a grunt and a loud groan. 

when the high fades, something shifts in him. the sharp, commanding edge he wore just moments ago melts away, replaced by a tenderness that almost feels out of place for where you are. his hands roam your skin, searching for any sign of hurt—scratches, bruises, anything.

when his worried eyes finally meet your half-lidded ones, the tension drains from his face. a lazy, crooked smile tugs at your lips as you whisper his name, “sylus.”

he exhales, a shaky sound of relief. “baby… are you okay? i didn’t hurt you, did i?”

you shake your head slowly, voice soft and hazy. “no… it was perfect. you were perfect.”

he lets your leg go from his arm and slips out of you and you immediately feel his warm release slide down your trembling thighs. you let out a breathless giggle, the sound melting into a sigh of contentment. he runs a gentle hand over your hair, smoothing stray strands back into place before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “you did so good,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“mmmh,” you hum, looking at him through your heavy, lidded eyes. “wasn’t this a great idea?”

he laughs, softly. “a crazy, risky idea? sure.” 

“so we can do it again, right?” you ask hopefully, knowing full and well that the odds of sylus agreeing to this for a second time were slim. 

“let’s go home and we can talk after a bath, okay?”

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2025. do not copy or repost.

[medicli]

𐔌 . ˚ ALWAYS, FOREVER ┆LOVE & DEEPSPACE ֹ ₊ ꒱

obsessive, possessive & violent—they love you. they’d do anything for you. everything they do is for you because you’re all they need. you can’t leave them, you’re meant to be together always & forever. — wc. 5.8k

STARRING ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb

WARNINGS ♱ HEAVY YANDERE THEMES, DARK CONTENT, possessiveness, obsession, manipulation — (zayne) bsf!zayne, dacryphilia, love bombing, extreme jealousy, mentions of m*rder, cervix fking, rough!zayne — (sylus) needy, pssy drunk!sylus, lots of m*rder lol, cervix fking — (rafayel) STALKER!RAF, mean dom!raf, allusions to unaliving reader’s dates, overstimulation, fear play/kink, creamp¡e — (caleb) lovesick!caleb, established relationship, mentions of caleb unaliving people, secret cameras, MANIPULATIVE!CALEB, isolation, fear kink, use of good girl — (xavier) clingy!xavier, hoovering, established (enmeshed) relationship, baby trapping, false security, backshots — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

KIT’S NOTE ♱ HAPPY VALENTINES DAY MY BEAUTIFUL LOVES. i hope u all enjoy my first attempt at writing yandere themes (i know some of it isn’t very yandere but whatever). PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONSUMING. if you see something that isn’t in the warnings and should be, please let me know :,). also special shoutout to @xinghuisknight for reading xavie’s part and making me continue writing this hc. i love u n happy birthday ior <3 — COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE SOOO APPRECIATED!!

#ZAYNE — MEANT TO BE YOURS

you love your best friend. he’s there for you through thick and thin, steady and unwavering—yet you’re completely oblivious. zayne has loved you for years, ever since the moment he met you. he was never meant to be just your best friend—no, he was meant to be yours. and you were always supposed to be his.

it took everything in him not to break when you got your first boyfriend. he’d fall asleep thinking of you being touched by another man and then he’d dream of all the ways he’d murder him with his bare hands. it drove him mad to share you with someone else, but he wouldn’t lose you. he could never lose you without completely losing himself. 

but then you break up.

you show up at his place with swollen, red lips and tear tracks dried into your skin, eyes dull in a way that makes his chest cave in. he takes one look at you and understands everything without a word.

you don’t have to say a damn thing because he knows you and your boyfriend have been having issues lately—all his fault, of course—so he sets his jaw and lets you in and you tell him everything. you tell him all the mean things he called you, how he hated that you were friends with zayne, how he accused you of cheating.

and zayne’s never killed before, never even seriously imagined it beyond his dreams—but right now, it feels inevitable. that son of a bitch thought he could call you names? accuse you, the sweetest girl to walk the earth, of something so nasty, so despicable… the man that made his pretty girl look like this… he’s already sealed his fate. he’ll be dealt with, but for now… now he has to take care of you.

you’re weeping into his chest, hiccuping while he rubs your back. your broken sobs pull at his heart strings, “h-he said i-i was awful—that–ugh, that he deserved s-someone better.” your hands fist at his shirt in anger and hurt and confusion. “he-he told me to pick b-between you ‘n him.”

zayne freezes, throat running dry. he’d been quiet this whole time, letting you cry it out while he thinks of all the ways he could kill the man, but now, he can’t bite his tongue. “and what did you say?” his heart runs wild as he impatiently waits for the words to slip out of your meek little mouth. 

you look up at him, staring into his jade eyes, noting the way his pupils nearly swallow the pretty color whole. unbeknownst to you, it’s the look of love. pure, unadulterated love. 

“i-i chose you.”

his heart bursts, and he knows it’s wrong—knows he shouldn’t—but he can’t ignore it. years and years of yearning, of aching for even the smallest piece of your love, have made him greedy. he leans in, presses his lips to yours. you tense in shock at first, but he’s so gentle, so careful, that you almost immediately melt into him.

and the longer your lips linger against his, the needier zayne becomes. your mouth parts in a soft gasp, and he takes it as his chance, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

it’s so wrong to take advantage of you like this—that thought rattles endlessly in his mind. but then he hears your moan. then he feels the way you melt against him, comfortable, familiar, almost as if you’ve been imagining this moment for just as long as he has. and after that, he can’t bring himself to stop.

he can’t stop the way he flips you on to your back, or the way he hungrily devours your mouth or the sharp exhales through his nose as he tries to catch his breath without pulling off of you. he needs you. he’s needed you for years.

and now… now he finally has you, and he plans on making you his forever. 

your clothes are off, tears still slipping out of your eyes as your heart aches for him. not your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—but for zayne. for the friend that’s always been so close, yet so out of reach. 

he’s lining his thick, hard cock to your dripping entrance before he stops and looks at you. “i-is this okay?” he asks, voice gruff and heavy. his dark eyes burn into your bloodshot ones and they soften—just the slightest bit. “i know you’re sad, but i-i can make it better. i can fix it. i can make you feel better than he ever has, but you need to tell me it’s okay, sweetheart… please.”

he’s not sure if the beg is for you to say yes, or if it’s a plea for him to finally be let in. maybe it’s both. regardless, when you nod and whisper, “yes, please. make it better, zaynie. please,” everything flies out the window.

all his inhibitions. all the restraint. all the times he bit his tongue and swallowed his wants—gone. along with his ability to be as gentle as you deserve.

“you’re mine.” he pants, cock thrusting into you with vigor. “you’ve always fucking been m-mine.” his hands push at the back of your thighs, pushing them back till your knees knock against your chest. “i’ve loved you—all these years, i’ve loved you.”

your arms wrap around his neck and you sob for a completely different reason now. because you feel so good—he’s so deep and he’s hitting every spot the way it was meant to be hit and he’s saying all these things you’ve wanted to hear for as long as you’ve known him. 

“z-zayne—” you start but it’s cut off by a sharp cry when his cock rams against your cervix. “oh my god!”

“i don’t want to hear you say anything until i’m done—let me finish.” he warns, voice dripping with a newfound resentment. “you were always supposed to be mine, sweet girl. and that… that pathetic excuse of a man took you from me.” he rambles, pounding harder and harder. 

“i took care of you… i-i—fuck, sweetheart, i just love you. i love you, i love you, i love you.”

and you can’t help yourself. his words make your stomach toss and turn and on his last syllable, you just break. like a dam that’s been filled to the brim, you fall apart right then and there, creaming his cock. 

he groans and it only excites him further. he fucks you through your orgasm, repeatedly hitting the sensitive spongey part with his tip as he leans in close and murmurs. “you were meant for me… made for me.” he says. 

“you were made to be mine.”

#SYLUS — IN MY ROOM

there’s no love purer than sylus’s. he’s said it before—multiple times at that. you were endeared by it. sylus’s gentle touches and soft words despite his frigid exterior. 

but sylus isn’t always gentle touches and soft words. he can be mean, rough… nasty. especially when he finds someone to be a threat. you don’t see it, but he seethes when another person touches you. his heart aches when you’re away. his brain is infested with the thought of you. 

mephisto is so special to him. yes, he loves the mechanical bird, but he loves you more. he’d die without the crow because without him, he can’t keep tabs on you and without his bird’s eyes on you, he spirals out of control. 

your missions are especially hard for sylus. he always makes mephisto go with you because at least then he can tend to business in the n-109 zone while concurrently keeping an eye on you, but this time you refused. words along the lines of “i’ll be back soon–a week max. mephie doesn’t need to come with me.”

and sylus prides himself in being a man that gives his partner the autonomy of choice. he’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to—but he wishes he could. he wishes he could keep you at the base within arms reach. he wishes he could make you leave the association and move out of your tiny, shitty apartment so that you gave him all your attention. he wishes to never be apart from you. 

he never says these things, though. he never wants to be too much—too suffocating, too overbearing. but moments like this make him unravel. when you’re away on missions in distant regions, not answering his calls or texts, and mephisto isn’t there to keep an eye on you, something in him snaps just a little. and sylus gets… a bit unhinged.

or maybe very unhinged. 

sylus is level headed in every sense until it comes to you. he’s even tempered until you’ve gone two weeks without contact. then things get messy. 

every one of his “business” meetings over the two weeks you’re gone ends in bloodshed. sylus kills everyone who looks at him wrong. everyone that tries to lowball him. everyone in his fucking way. 

he’s disheveled when you arrive back at the base. you’re not much better—stress and fatigue etched into your features. you trudge inside, dropping your bags by the door, and when you blink, sylus is suddenly right in front of you.

and you see it. the fear in his eyes.

everything he refuses to say is written there—in his gaze, in the tension of his body, in the way his breaths come uneven, almost staggering, like he’s been holding himself together by sheer will alone.

“where were you, sweetheart?” he whispers, hands cradling your face as he tilts it up to meet his gaze. “when you said a few days, i didn’t think you meant sixteen.” it’s meant to be a joke—but it doesn’t sound like one. not even close.

“the mission ran longer than we anticipated, and there was no cell signal, so i couldn’t get back to you. but i’m okay…” you smile, teasing despite the way the usual light in your eyes has dulled just a bit. “don’t tell me you were worried about me. did the big, bad leader of onychinus really not have anything to keep him busy while i was gone?”

you probably shouldn’t have poked fun. not when he’s this raw. not when he was worried half to death, haunted by the thought that he might never see you again.

it’s exactly how you end up folded in half, knees touching your ears while he fucks into you. it’s not too fast, not too slow, but it’s at the perfect speed. his fat cock fills you to the brim and stuffs your hallowed out stomach. you’ve missed this stretch, this undeniable full feeling and he’s certainly missed you. you can tell in his expression… his words. 

sylus is finally being honest. 

“you can’t just leave me like that, sweetie,” he pants, hands on both sides of your head. “you don’t even know what i’ve been through these past two weeks.”

you feel every ridge of his cock, every inch of him and it drives you up a wall. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. 

“i can’t be good without you… i won’t feel whole without you,” his breathy whispers fan across your face as his red eyes bore into yours. his right eye burns brighter than the darkened left, and you can’t help but stare. “i am nothing without you, my love.”

you inhale sharply—partly from the way his thrusts grow deeper, rougher, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. and partly from his words. from the rawness of them. the desperation. you’ve never heard anything like it before—never from him.

“sylus…” you whimper. 

“i need you.” he says, repeating it like a mantra. he needs you to understand it. “i need you… i need you. if i could keep you in this bed forever, i would. i never want you to leave again.”

that’s when he loses it. the pace of his thrusts pick up and he’s ramming against your cervix, eliciting a sharp sob of pained pleasure from you. he’s completely out of his mind, fucking you sensless like you’re some type of rag doll. 

“you’re not allowed to do that anymore.” he grunts, eyes struggling to stay open as they keep rolling back in the delicious pleasure. he could just fucking die in this pussy and he’d be so content. as long as he’s with you, he doesn’t care what happens. “you can’t leave, i won’t allow it.”

your garbled words lace in your words, “i won’t—i-i, i won’t leave—fuh, fuck, sylus—” you promise, your nails digging into his back, leaving red crescents in their wake. “please, s-slow down.”

“shhh, baby, you can take it—you take it every time. so pretty and perfect, all for me.” he presses his forehead against yours and stares at your screwed shut eyes. “my perfect girl.”

you tighten around him, and the sound that tears from both of you is raw and guttural. it’s almost too much—so intense and so good— you can’t help but melt beneath him as your orgasm crashes over you, powerful enough to leave you shaking. sylus keeps whispering about how much he needs you, voice breaking in your ear while you convulse and whimper under him.

he presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as your legs wrap tight around his slender waist. he comes deep inside you with broken groans of “i love you” against your mouth, hips stuttering as ribbon after ribbon spills into you.

afterward, he collapses on top of you, cock still hard, but exhaustion has claimed you both. so you just lie there—bodies pressed together, breath slowly evening out, your mixed cum leaking from between your thighs as the moment settles around you.

“i’ll never let you out of my sight again.”

#RAFAYEL — SHE

you’re not usually like this on first dates. you don’t let them take you back to their place and eat you out till you’re in tears. you don’t usually let them fuck you till you pass out. you prefer to take things slow, steady. really get to know someone inside and out before you even let them kiss you. you’re the opposite of easy—you’re hard to get, practically unattainable, but tonight is different.

you’re first date with rafayel makes you feel away you’ve never felt before. it’s like he’s known you for years. he’s already aware of all your ticks, your mannerisms and the things that piss other men off? he welcomes them. he calls it cute. he finishes your sentences like he’s reading your mind. he guesses what your order is at the restaurant you brought him to—your favorite ever—and he guesses correctly. you call it a coincidence, saying he’s perceptive. observant. he’s just into you.

if you were a little less oblivious, you’d know it’s more than a coincidence. you’d know that rafayel has been watching you since long before you met on the stupid dating app. the first time you met wasn’t on bumble. no, you met a year prior—well, he met you.

you’d spilled your coffee outside a cafe next to the art gallery that housed his paintings. you were beautiful. more than that—you were perfect. the way you cursed under your breath. the way you apologized to the asshole who bumped into you in the first place. he was captivated. it was almost like he’d known you in another life.

that’s what had him following you. it was innocent at first—just watching you from afar. you happened to be a regular at the cafe and he took note of that. he’d watch you for hours type away at your laptop, drank in the way you’d gnaw at your lip and the pinch of your eyebrows every time you got frustrated, or every time your lips would twitch when you would find something amusing. 

innocent. 

then it turned to something more than that. rafayel found himself following you home. watching you change in your window, blinds wide open like you want someone to catch you. 

and then he got addicted to it—watching you. following you. memorizing your schedule and routine. it made him hard to watch you. to think about what you smell like… what you taste like… how pretty you’d look crying on his dick. every night he’d go home to his place, wrap a hand around his leaky, aching cock and stroke himself to the mental image of you he’s burned into his brain. 

he barely slept. he’d stay up late into the night and paint you. he’s memorized you. every curve. every strand of hair on your head. every feature—they’re all filed away in his brain. 

his last straw comes when he watches you go on date after date, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. thanks to him, you’ve never gone on more than one date with the same man. they’re nobodies. wastes of space. he’s looked into every single one of them, and not one is worthy of you—so they don’t deserve a place in your life.

he knows you’re meant to be with him. he’s always known. and that’s when he finally takes matters into his own hands and downloads the dating app.

that’s essentially how you end up in your current position, throat hoarse from all your screams of pleasure. you’re overstimulated, pussy sore, but he keeps going. fucking you into oblivion. after all, he’s waited for this for a whole year.

your ankles rest on his shoulders while your hands cover your sweaty, heated face, his cock fucking you fast and deep the same way it has been for the past hour and a half. 

“raf—hgnh, rafayel! p-please, oh my god,” you cry, your voice breaking as you beg for mercy. “i can’t take it—please, please.”

he groans, length twitching inside of your sensitive pussy at the sound of your pleads. “but you feel so good, cutie,” he responds breathlessly, a teasing lilt in his voice before it drops—lower, darker. “do you know how long i’ve waited for this?”

you whimper, panting out a confused, “wh-what? you waited all night for this?”

he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. it sounds strained. almost pained. he shakes his head and leans in to whisper, “no, silly girl. i’ve waited months for this.”

your eyes shoot open and you look into his. the twinkle that was there when he’d introduced himself to you earlier this evening is replaced with thunderstorms. newfound darkness. it makes your body lock up in fear, pussy tightening around him. this brings a wicked smile to his face. 

“don’t be scared, pretty. i’ll take good care of you.” he swears, wrapping his hands around your ankles, fingers so gentle on your skin. “i’m the only one who can take care of you… the only one who deserves you.”

you’re not sure why your fight or flight never kicks in. it should—everything about this is fucked beyond belief. your date—the one you’ve only just met—knows you. has known you for months. maybe longer.

but your stomach still flutters. maybe you like it. like whatever… this is. maybe you’re drunk on the feeling, but his words only sink deeper, winding tight and turning you on even more. your back arches, a sharp, helpless moan tearing from your throat, loud enough to mix with the wet sounds of his hips snapping against yours.

“you like that, huh?” he taunts. “‘m gonna make you fall for me. take such good care of you that you’ll never be able to think of anyone but me ever again.”

“oh, fuck,” you sob. “oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. raf, fuck!”

“yeah, go ahead and cream my cock again, princess. it’s yours. i’m yours.” the pace of his thrusts quickens, each snap more frantic than the last, and his words hitch on a breathy whimper—an unmistakable sign that he’s close too. “i’m all yours—and you’re mine now. i-i won’t let you get away that easy.”

the knot in your stomach snaps, exploding all at once as you drench his cock in syrupy arousal. your body jerks uncontrollably for the nth time, thrashing beneath him, and he’s the only thing keeping you steady—anchoring you as it rips through you.

“i’m gonna cum inside—i’m gonna fill this pretty pussy up with my cum and make you mine,” he doesn’t ask—it’s a statement. he’s just telling you, and you don’t protest. not even a little.

you take it. you let him fill you all the way up, feel his cock throb and twitch wildly and take every drop of cum, giving it a home in your cunt. he groans so prettily and you whimper at the warmth blooming inside of you. 

“you’ve always been my girl and now i have proof.”

#CALEB — STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

caleb is sick. so lovesick it’s twisted him into someone almost unrecognizable. he’s no longer the sweet boy from your childhood—no. now that caleb is yours and you are caleb’s, you’ve seen what lives beneath the cracks in his carefully kept exterior. he hides cameras in your apartment. he tracks you constantly. he’s planted a fear so deep in you that if you’re ever caught with someone else—friend or not—while ignoring his texts or calls, something very bad will happen.

in short, caleb would kill for you. you’re pretty sure he already has.

you love him—you love your caleb more than anything. he’s your sun. he treats you like a princess. he makes you feel whole. and yet, his actions terrify you. you can’t leave him, even though you know, deep down, you probably should. you should run. people have told you to run. simone, especially. but leaving would break both of you.

you make it a rule not to talk about caleb in your home when friends are over, because you know he’s listening. but when simone comes by, she can’t help herself.

“you need to leave him,” she says out of the blue and your blood goes cold. “[name], he’s basically holding you hostage—you only ever talk to caleb, i haven’t seen you outside of the association in weeks.”

“he’s not holding me hostage, simone,” you sigh, praying she drops it. you know she wants the best for you, but you don’t want to have this conversation right now. “can we not talk about him?”

“i’m just saying, [name], he’s sick. i think there’s something wrong with him and i just want you to be careful.” she says before grabbing her bag to leave. 

—

caleb’s eyes are red when you see him at your doorstep two hours later. you pull him in and you know what’s wrong… you know he heard your chat with simone. you know he’s in his head, spiraling out of control. 

“baby,” you murmur, pulling him by the wrist inside your place. “come on, come inside.”

he doesn’t even let you explain—the second he’s inside and the door is shut, he’s on you. his big, strong arms hoop around your body and pull you against him. your inhaling his natural musk and he’s buried in the crook of your neck apologizing profusely. 

“i’m sorry i can’t be what you need,” he says, shakily. the words breaking your heart as you run a soothing hand up and down his broad back. “i don’t deserve you, pips, but please… please don’t leave me. i need you.”

you embrace him tightly, “oh caleb,” your sad voice just barely above a whisper. “caleb, ‘m not—i won’t leave you.”

he pulls away from your neck, violet eyes turned dark purple when you see them for the second time. “promise?”

you nod wearily, but still, with no hesitation, reply with, “promise.”

and then he’s kissing you. soft at first, then it’s rough. so rough that it almost gives you whiplash. he’s kissing you, tongue roaming your mouth while he guides you to your bedroom, whimpering into your mouth. 

you’re thrown off when he gently shoves you against the bed. you stumble with a gasp and take in the shift in his demeanor. caleb looks mean. the boyfriend that was crying into your neck, begging you not to leave him looks nothing like the man that towers over you. 

he’s slow when he unbuttons his pants and when he pulls off his shirt. he stares at you, clocking every movement of your body— the increasing rate of which your chest rises and falls, the way there’s a sense of fear paired with excitement swimming in your pretty eyes—his eyes never leave yours.. 

“you understand that you can’t leave me, right?” he says, voice low. “that you can never leave me?” he says, stalking towards you slowly.

you nod and he shakes his head. “say it.” his sweet voice drips with dominance. “fucking tell me you understand.”

your breath hitches as his hands begin to strip your clothes off. “i-i understand. i won’t leave you.” 

“good girl,” he murmurs, continuing to work your clothes off till you’re in nothing but cotton panties. “you wanna know why you can’t leave?” he joins you on the bed, spreading your legs open and occupying the space between them.

you nod and he simply slips your panties to the side, gathers your arousal on the tip of his cock—effectively leaving you breathless in anticipation—before he presses into you, the fat tip of his length stretching you open. 

“because you need me.” he grunts, shoving himself inside of you and watching you crumble so pathetically. “your heart needs me, your body needs me… and this pretty pussy, baby? yeahhh, she needs me the most.” 

“caleb!” you gasp, feeling his cock deep in your stomach. “oh, fuck, caleb, w-wait— ‘s too deep.”

“it isn’t,” he growls, thumb catching your swollen clit. “nah, just fuckin’ take it, pretty girl. take this dick ‘n tell me you need it.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let out a guttural moan. his cock pulls all the way out till his tip is the only inch that peeks inside your tight cunt, before he slams back into you, getting you addicted to him all over again. 

“oh my god, please!” you beg when he does it again and again at a monotonous pace. “please, please, caleb, i need it—i need, hah! i need it—need you, caleb.”

the sound that erupts in his chest is practically animalistic. his hand wraps loosely around your throat before his lips press against yours again. is sloppy, uncoordinated—a string of spit connects your lips when he pulls a few centimeters away. 

caleb leans in close, his voice dropping to a whisper as he moves against you, each word timed with a rough, unrelenting thrust. “you. need. me.” his grip around your throat tightens, certainty ringing through him as he repeats it like a promise—or maybe… maybe it’s a warning. “you need me. you’ll always need me, no one else.”

tears prick in your eyes at the pained pleasure shooting through your body. he squeezes your throat tighter, watching your eyes roll in ecstasy. so pretty and so fucked out and so his. you’re perfect. he can never let you go. he won’t. 

how could he when you were meant to be together forever?

#XAVIER — ALWAYS BE MY BABY

you knew xavier was a little… toxic, to put it lightly, when you agreed to be his girlfriend. you knew he was possessive by nature—clingy, territorial, cruel to every man who so much as looked at you for a second too long. and you told yourself you were okay with it. you thought you were okay with it.

but lately, it’s gotten worse. suffocating. you feel like you’re shrinking inside your own life, like there’s no space left that belongs solely to you. every choice, every breath, every step forward is taken with xavier beside you—and it’s too much. it’s all too much.

so when you finally sigh, the words slipping out before you can stop them—“we need to take a break”—he cocks his head, confused.

it’s like a predator’s curiosity.

because… what does that mean? a break from what, exactly? from work? from the hunter’s association?

“what do you mean?” he asks, all wide-eyed and innocent—and that’s what upsets you the most about xavier. he doesn’t realize there’s something wrong with him. he can’t see that the way he feels about you, the way he claims you, has long since crossed the line from devotion into something deeply almost frighteningly abnormal.

you let out a shaky exhale and avert your eyes, sight landing on your feet. “i mean… i think i need to take a break from… you. and you need a break from me…” when you look up, his confused face is gone, replaced with a hardened glare. “we just need space to be our own—“

“no,” he cuts you off, voice nearly robotic when he responds. “no, i don’t need space—i need you. i don’t need a break… i just want to be with you.”

you knew this was coming. you knew he’d try to convince you that you were inevitable—meant and written into each other’s bones. so you sigh and choose honesty, even though it hurts him.

“i love you, xavie. i do. i want to be with you, but…” your voice wavers despite yourself. “…you’re scaring me.”

and something in his eyes goes dark. the familiar starlight you’re used to seeing there fades, thinning until it’s almost gone. “i…” he swallows, disbelief softening his voice in a way that unsettles you. “i scare you?”

“w-well, no—you don’t scare me, scare me,” you rush out, already trying to soften the blow. “you just… you worry me. i’m scared you’re too dependent on me. you chase off every man that looks my way, you’re everywhere i am—” your breath stutters. “it’s just too much for me.”

he stalks towards you and every step he takes forward, you take one back till your back hits his kitchen island. you gasp as he cages you in, arms on both sides of your body. he leans in, cobalt blue eyes swallowed by his dilated, black pupils. 

you try to hold your breath, but it’s useless—your senses are flooded with him. he’s all you can see, all you can smell. his scent rattles your brain in a way nothing else ever has, too much of it sinking into you like a drug. and no matter how hard you try to keep your thoughts clear, your resolve unravels when you feel arousal pool low in your belly, heat blooming as it glues your panties to your core.

“you’re all i need… and i should be all you need,” he says, voice dark as it drops octaves lower than its usual range. his eyes bore into yours, lips tugging up ever so slightly. “don’t be scared, angel. you know i’d never hurt you, right? you know all i want is to love you. i’d do anything to keep you all to myself.” 

it feels like he’s putting you under some kind of spell. you dig your heels in mentally, forcing yourself to remember why you came here—to stand your ground, to leave, to not fold.

you try to break eye contact, but he won’t let you. his fingers close around your chin, firm and unyielding, pulling your attention right back where he wants it. “no, look at me, honey.” he says, voice low. “answer me: you know i’d never hurt you, right?”

he makes you nod with the grip on your chin. “i-i know.” you reply, voice cracking and stomach jostling. 

“you’re safe with me. you’ll always be safe with me.” he says, a smile touching his lips. he leans it, nose brushing against yours as he says, “we’re going to be together forever and ever. i’ll show you.”

—

xavier wastes no time flipping you over and bending you over the island, your face smooshed against the cool marble. your leggings are pulled down and his cock is inside you, exploring every single inch of your cunt with no barrier. you can’t find it in you to protest for him to wear a condom when you feel fuller… when he somehow feels even bigger. 

drool seeps from your lips, pooling on the smooth surface as he fucks you senseless almost as if he has something to prove in his thrusts. 

he pushes deep into you, grinding his tip against your sweetest spot. “you feel me, honey? feel how i’m fucking you raw?” he grunts the words out, one hand on your waist as the other splays between your shoulder blades. “this is how we’re gonna do it from now on, got it?”

your eyes roll, pussy clamping tight around him. the veins of his cock brand themselves into your walls. he’s ruining you for everyone else. marking his territory. 

you can’t even respond—the only noises that can be pulled from you are garbled moans of his name and choked sobs. you’re a complete and utter mess, reduced to nothing but tears, drool and arousal. 

he resumes his thrusts, pulling out and ramming back into you. “fuck you raw, fill you with my cum and get you pregnant.” he whispers and it has your eyes shooting open, your stomach hallowing out and your cunt gripping him like never before.

“w-what?” your broken voice rings in his ears and it elicits a little moan from him. his cock twitches wildly inside of you, balls drawing up by the lilt of panic in your voice. “wait—wait, xavie, ‘m, hah! shit, ‘m not on the pill. y-you can’t cum i-inside!”

he lets out a soft, breathy chuckle. “don’t worry, honey,” he says, voice steady. “i’ll take care of you—of us. you just take it. be good and take it because it’s what you’re made for.”

and you do. you give in just like he tells you to, fingers digging into the edge of the countertop as your body betrays you. each movement pulls a sharp, helpless sound from your throat, clipped moans spilling out of you as easily as the warmth gathering between your thighs.

“i promise, this–this… will make us closer,” he pants, thrusts getting quicker as he gets closer and closer to letting go. he’s on the precipice of an orgasm, length throbbing, tummy knotting up. “just hold still.”

then you feel the sudden warmth flooding your pussy. he’s shooting into you, ribbon after ribbon of warm cum while he groans prettily in your ear. it triggers your orgasm, your body convulses as your walls spasm and drench his cock in your slick. 

“now we’ll be together forever.” 

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2026. do not copy or repost.

[sulcldoll]

Gossiping with Zayne

It was a lazy Sunday in which your days off had finally aligned. Zayne wasn’t going to be called in and Jenna had practically begged you to take a break for your own health, so now you had the day all to yourselves. You stayed curled into zaynes side on the couch as you caught up about the little things you had experienced over the past few weeks. While you would text about it and talk a little at home, it was a bit hard with how busy you both were.

Somehow the conversation shifted to TMI things you knew about your coworkers bedroom lives. Things you had heard eavesdropping, or from Tara, who was even more of a gossip than you. Zayne would tsk and tell you it’s not any of your business and to respect their privacy. Despite this, he was still intently listening and asking about details. You knew deep down, he’s just as nosy as you are.

“Fucking 3 strangers in one night is actually crazy though, don’t you think? I mean, more power to him I guess, but that’s so much sweat and…fluids of people you barely know. I couldn’t understand, honestly.”

Zayne let out a quiet huff. “I wish the general populous were more worried about getting tests done before they engage in any sort of intimacy. It’s troubling that STD’s aren’t more of a concern.” You chuckled a little before speaking, “If I remember correctly, you didn’t have me take any sort of tests before the first time we made love…” You bit your lip, nudging him teasingly.

Zayne was unfazed. “I was willing to catch whatever disease you had.”

You gawked at him. “Zayne Li, that’s terrible!”

A small smirk then graced his lips. “I also have access to your medical records and would often request the labs to test you for a multitude of things, just to ensure you were healthy.” You blinked at him. “…is that…ethical?” Zayne only shrugged. “I don’t particularly care what’s ethical when it comes to your health.”

“…”

You only let out an amused hm before continuing your chat.

[boatgrave-deactivated20250901]

[mysteryteacup]

*Scrolls past*

*reluctant sigh*

*scrolls back up*

*rebogs*

[artsyririblobbu]

i thought this was a good idea somehow

[academic-vampire]

𝔞 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔢𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔰

[iraot]

Warnings: M/M intimacy, tooth rotting fluff?, rough sex, knotting, abo dynamics, p in v sex, p in a sex, oral sex, throuple, power dynamics?, play, hair mentioned i think, Pairing: Alpha Zayne x Omega F!reader x Alpha Caleb A/N: this is the last OFFICIAL part of my ABO series, at least until the sixth LI comes out. I am taking drabble requests for any of the relationships so feel free to shoot me a DM and I'll get to it as soon as I can! :3 If you also just wanna yap hit me up too! I'm a chronic yapper. A03

𝟙𝟝 𝕐𝔼𝔸ℝ𝕊 𝔸𝔾𝕆 The summer sun was beginning its lazy descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet as the three of them raced through the field behind Linkon University’s faculty housing, where their families worked. The rampantly growing wildflowers swayed in the evening breeze, the scent of earth and grass filling the air as laughter rang out between them.

Caleb was the fastest, always the first to dart ahead, feet barely touching the ground as he bolted through the field. His dark brown hair was a wild mess, violet eyes bright with excitement as he whooped and called over his shoulder, “Come on, slowpokes! Last one to the tree has to carry the backpacks home!”

She groaned dramatically but pushed forward, her legs burning as she tried to keep up. She wasn’t as wild as Caleb, but she had her own brand of playful competitiveness. “Not fair! You took off before we even started counting!”

Zayne, as always, was more calculated in his approach. He didn’t immediately rush in after Caleb but instead gauged the distance, the lay of the ground, the way his two best friends moved. With a quiet, knowing smirk, he adjusted his pace, waiting for the right moment to surge ahead. “You should know by now that Caleb doesn’t play fair,” he murmured as he passed her, his black hair catching the last of the sunlight.

She huffed, trying not to grin. “And you’re still letting him get away with it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Just as Caleb was about to reach the massive oak tree that marked their usual finish line, Zayne suddenly veered to the right, cutting through the tall grass. Caleb was too caught up in his own momentum to notice until the last second—when Zayne stretched out a hand and tagged the tree first.

“What—? You cheated!” Caleb gaped, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

Zayne simply leaned against the bark, arms crossed, utterly unbothered. “I played smart.”

She reached the tree a few seconds later, panting but laughing. “Guess that means Caleb’s carrying the backpacks.”

Caleb groaned, falling onto his back with an exaggerated sigh. “You two always gang up on me.”

“We wouldn’t have to if you weren’t always running off,” Zayne pointed out, nudging him with his foot.

She plopped down beside Caleb, staring up at the sky with a contented sigh. “One day, we’ll probably have to start acting our age. Be all proper and responsible.”

Caleb turned his head to look at her, grinning. “Not happening. I’ll make sure of it.”

Zayne shook his head, but there was fondness in his gaze as he sat beside them. “At the very least, I’ll make sure neither of you get into too much trouble.”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “So, what’s the verdict? Backpacks?”

Caleb groaned again but grabbed one of the bags with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. But only because I’m gracious in defeat.”

She and Zayne exchanged an amused glance before gathering the rest of their things, the three of them falling into an easy rhythm as they made their way home. Even then, before their designations, before their world became infinitely more complicated, they had been something unshakable—three parts of a whole, bound together in a way none of them could fully put into words.

Not yet, anyway.

PRESENT The change in the air was subtle at first—just a shift, something quiet, creeping beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break. But then it thickened, coiled, twisted into something heavy and undeniable, something that seeped into the walls, the sheets, their skin. It was a slow, smoldering burn, creeping into their bones, filling every breath with something sharp, something deep.

Zayne felt it like a pulse beneath his skin, a slow ache spreading through his veins, settling low in his gut, curling tight around the heavy weight of his cock where it lay against his thigh. He exhaled through his nose, trying to stay steady, but even that was a fucking struggle. His body was already turning against him, heat building behind his eyes, muscles going taut, coiling in anticipation. He wasn’t in rut yet, not fully, but it was coming. He could feel it.

Caleb was worse off.

The other Alpha was already shifting where he sat, restless, his hands twitching before curling into fists against the edge of the mattress like he was trying to tether himself. But restraint wasn’t in Caleb’s nature. Never had been. His body knew what it wanted, and it wanted now. It was evident in the way he pressed up against Zayne, broad chest to chest, his scent thick with rut, flooding the space around them. His lips curled, sharp, wicked, as he rolled his hips down in a slow, deliberate grind, dragging against Zayne’s cock just to watch the way his throat bobbed with the effort of restraint.

“Fuck, you’re already holding back?” Caleb murmured, voice rough, teasing, layered with heat that he wasn’t even pretending to hide. His breath ghosted against Zayne’s jaw, lips so fucking close but not touching, not yet, just enough to make it worse.

Zayne let out a low, guttural sound, more growl than breath, his hand snapping up to grip the back of Caleb’s neck, fingers flexing against sweat-damp skin. “We don’t need to do this,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

Caleb huffed out a sharp breath, biting down on his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth before releasing it with a quiet, breathy laugh. He rocked his hips again, grinding down, the friction sending a sharp, burning heat through both of them. “That’s cute,” he rasped. “Like you’re not already fucking soaked in scent.”

Zayne clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched at the words, the way his body ached for more, craved it, demanded it. Caleb was right—he fucking reeked of rut, the deep, dark spice of it thick in the air, mixing with Caleb’s scent in a way that was fucking dizzying, overwhelming. It curled around them both, binding them together in the worst best way.

Caleb didn’t wait for an answer. He surged forward, closing the space between them, capturing Zayne’s mouth in a kiss that was all heat and teeth, hungry, restless. Zayne let him, let Caleb take, let him press him down against the mattress, let his hands slide down his back, gripping muscle, feeling the way Caleb trembled under his fingers.

The rut hadn’t hit full force yet, but fuck, it was close.

And this—this wasn’t going to be enough.

Zayne barely remembered how they got here, barely remembered shoving off their clothes, the frantic, desperate way their hands tore at fabric, the way Caleb’s nails dug into his shoulders, dragging down his back, leaving angry, red streaks in their wake. But now, Caleb was beneath him, panting, gasping, his face buried in the sheets as Zayne pressed into him, his cock stretching Caleb open, filling him, dragging against the tight, slick heat of him inch by inch.

Caleb shuddered beneath him, his breath catching on a moan, his hands fisting the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white. “Fuck,” he gasped, voice wrecked, body burning, back arching as he tried to push back, to take more, to take all of it.

Zayne gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the sharp curve of Caleb’s hips, holding him still as he sank deeper, forcing himself to go slow, to drag it out. He wanted to wreck him, to pound him into the mattress until neither of them could fucking breathe, but he knew Caleb—knew the way he liked it, knew the way his body craved the stretch, the ache, the feeling of being taken apart, piece by fucking piece.

The sounds Caleb made—broken, breathless little noises, gasps and moans and desperate little whimpers—sent heat ripping through Zayne’s spine, curling low in his gut, tightening around his cock like a vice. “Fuck,” Zayne grunted, forehead dropping to the sweat-slick expanse of Caleb’s back, his breath coming in ragged, heavy pulls. “You’re—fucking squeezing me.”

Caleb let out a rough, choking sound, body trembling, shuddering around him. “Maybe—” he sucked in a sharp breath, shivering as Zayne pulled back, dragging his cock against the slick, swollen clutch of his body before pressing back in, slow, deep, almost mean. “Maybe I don’t—wanna let you go.”

Zayne groaned, his hips snapping forward, his restraint fraying, shattering. His thrusts picked up, deeper, harder, grinding into him, dragging him closer and closer to the edge. Caleb sobbed out a sound, arching, his hands clawing at the sheets, his body tightening, locking down around him.

It was too much.

Zayne growled, deep and primal, his knot swelling, locking them together, forcing him deep, keeping him buried inside. Caleb gasped, his whole body jerking, tensing, his muscles twitching under Zayne’s hands, his breath coming in sharp, uneven little moans.

Zayne let out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead to the back of Caleb’s neck, his lips dragging along sweat-damp skin. His hands smoothed down Caleb’s sides, feeling every tremor, every little aftershock still working through him. The scent of rut was still thick in the air, suffocating, clinging to the sheets, to their skin.

They stayed like that for a while, panting, twitching through the last tremors of it, their bodies spent, their muscles locked, shaking.

Zayne’s head snapped up.

The apartment wasn’t silent.

A noise.

Faint.

Something breathy. Unsteady.

Caleb stirred beneath him. “You hear that?”

Zayne’s gut twisted, instincts locking onto something new, something dangerous. His world had been narrowed to Caleb for hours, but now—now that the haze was ebbing, another scent was creeping in, something sweet, thick, suffocating.

Omega. Not just any Omega. Her.

Zayne was moving before he had even fully untied from Caleb, instincts screaming, body demanding action. Caleb cursed behind him, barely managing to catch himself as Zayne pulled free, the knot finally giving way. He groaned, rolling onto his back, but his expression shifted the second he inhaled deep.

“Shit,” Caleb muttered, already moving. “That’s—”

Neither of them wasted time. A quick rinse, scrubbing the worst of their rut from their skin, before shoving on loose clothes, still radiating Alpha heat as they stalked into the hallway.

The scent hit them full-force in the living room.

She was there, curled on the floor, trembling, fingers twitching against the oversized fabric of her hoodie. Her scent was thick, pouring off her in waves, her heat pressing against every inch of the apartment like a fucking siren’s call.

Fuck.

She wasn’t supposed to go into heat for another few weeks.

Caleb exhaled sharply, glancing at Zayne, his violet eyes still dark with leftover rut. “Well,” he muttered, voice tight. “That’s a fucking problem.”

She whimpered when Zayne lifted her, fingers clutching weakly at his hoodie, her heat scent clinging to his skin like a plea. Zayne clenched his jaw. Caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line.

The scent was overwhelming now, worse than before–worse now that she was in their arms–the slick-sweet haze of her heat wrapping around them, sinking into their lungs. She had just been in heat last month. There shouldn’t have been a reason for her to go into heat for several months, but with two Alphas coming into rut at the same time; well, the odds weren’t in her favor.

Zayne exhaled slowly through his nose, tightening his grip around her as he stepped into her room. The space was warm, the air thick with her scent, but what caught his attention was the bed—the carefully arranged pile of blankets, pillows, soft things she'd unconsciously gathered over the past few days. 

A nest. 

Her nest.

He hadn’t noticed. Neither of them had.

“Fuck,” Caleb muttered under his breath.

Zayne carefully knelt, setting her down at the center of the nest. She let out a breathy sound, rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric, her body instinctively curling into the space she had made for herself. But when he tried to pull back, her hand shot out, clumsy and shaking, grabbing at his wrist.

Her eyes cracked open—barely focused, pupils blown wide. “Don’t—” her voice was small, raw, “don’t leave.”

Zayne swallowed hard.

Caleb ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. “Shit.” He dropped to his knees beside the nest, watching as she tried to reach for them again, her body moving on instinct, seeking their warmth, their scent.

Because they did this.

She whined again, softer this time, her fingers flexing weakly as they curled into Zayne’s hoodie. Her scent pulsed in the air—sweet, thick, drowning them in it. It was impossible to ignore, seeping into their skin, into their bones.

Zayne forced himself to breathe slowly, carefully, even as every part of him wanted to sink into her scent, press closer, give her whatever she was begging for.

She didn’t understand what she was asking. Not yet.

Caleb let out a sharp breath beside him, rubbing the back of his neck like it might help clear his head. It wouldn’t. Not with her lying there, heat-flushed and trembling, pupils blown wide as she looked at them.

“Fuck,” Caleb muttered under his breath. He was staring at her like she was the only thing in the world. Then he dragged a hand down his face and sat back on his heels, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We—shit, we did this to her.”

Zayne swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He knew. The second he smelled her, he knew. Their ruts had thrown her cycle off-balance, pulled her into heat too soon. Her body reacted to them.

Her heat was because of them.

Zayne’s jaw ticked as he reached down, smoothing his palm over the sweat-damp skin of her arm. “We didn’t mean to,” he said, voice low, rough. It felt like a weak excuse.

Caleb huffed out a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t change shit, does it?”

She whimpered softly, shifting in the nest, her thighs rubbing together, seeking friction that wouldn’t satisfy her. The motion sent another wave of scent through the air, and Zayne felt his stomach clench.

Fuck.

Caleb’s whole body went tense beside him. He dragged in a shaky breath, then shoved himself away, back hitting the wall. He tilted his head up, staring at the ceiling like that would help anything.

“This is bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Really, really fucking bad.”

She whimpered again, eyes fluttering open, hazy and unfocused. “Please,” she breathed, fingers twitching toward them.

The sound of her voice sent something deep and primal rolling through Zayne’s chest. His Omega. The thought shouldn’t be there, but it was. Her heat was crying for them, her instincts pulling her toward them. She wanted—needed—

Zayne gritted his teeth. No. She didn’t need them like that. Not when she was like this.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and controlled. Focus.

She shifted again, her body aching for warmth, for touch. “Too hot,” she mumbled, voice thin. She tugged weakly at her hoodie, but her fingers were uncoordinated, trembling. Her heat was draining her strength fast. Too fast.

Zayne moved before thinking, reaching out to help. But the second his fingers brushed the fabric, she made a sound. A breathy, helpless little whimper.

His vision went red for half a second.

Caleb swore.

“Zayne,” he warned.

Zayne’s breathing was too slow, too careful. His muscles coiled under his skin, his entire body wired tight with restraint. He could feel her heat in his palm, radiating through the hoodie, sinking into him. So soft. So warm. So—

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.

Caleb exhaled hard. He was watching, eyes dark, knowing. “That close?” he murmured.

Zayne clenched his jaw. “Shut the fuck up.”

Caleb didn’t push, which meant he wasn’t any better.

The room was silent except for her soft, needy breaths. Zayne could feel the way she was still reaching for them, the way her body was practically singing for them to come closer. His instincts screamed at him to do exactly that.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done—not touching her.

Caleb let his head drop back against the wall again, breathing in slow, measured drags. “We can’t leave her alone like this.”

Zayne exhaled sharply. “I know.”

“She’s not gonna last long like this, man.” Caleb’s voice was quieter now, but just as strained. “She’s already burning up.”

Zayne looked at her. Her skin was flushed, her lips slightly parted as she panted through the heat pulsing through her body. She needed them. But not like this.

Not like this.

His stomach twisted.

Caleb ran a hand down his face. “I hate this.”

Zayne did too. Every instinct in him wanted to take care of her, to fix this, but fixing it meant crossing a line neither of them were willing to cross.

Instead, he reached for the blankets in her nest, pulling them up around her, tucking them in close, careful not to let his fingers brush her skin again.

She sighed at the warmth, curling deeper into the soft fabric, murmuring something under her breath that neither of them could make out.

Caleb let out a slow breath. “So, what the fuck do we do?”

Zayne stared down at her for a long moment, watching the way her fingers curled weakly around the edge of the blanket, the way her lashes fluttered as she fought against the haze.

“Stay,” he said simply.

Caleb’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Because as wrong as this situation was, leaving her like this would be worse.

So they stayed.

They stayed.

Time crawled.

Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours.

They stayed.

At first, they’d kept their distance—one on either side of her nest, unmoving, watching her carefully, speaking only when necessary. They kept their hands to themselves. They kept their instincts leashed.

It wasn’t enough.

She was getting worse.

Her breaths were coming too fast now, shallow and desperate. Sweat slicked her skin, dampened her clothes, leaving her overheated, burning alive. She twisted restlessly in her nest, whimpering in pain more than need now. Her body was fighting itself, spiraling deeper into heat at a rate neither of them had ever seen before.

Zayne felt his stomach clench.

“Fuck,” Caleb whispered hoarsely, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This—this isn’t normal, man.”

Zayne’s jaw ticked. “I know.”

They both knew.

This wasn’t like last time. Last time, she’d had a warning. Time to prepare, to take suppressants if she wanted, to lock herself away and ride it out at her pace. This? This was something else.

Her body hadn’t been ready for heat. It had been thrown into it, dragged under like a drowning animal, and it was killing her.

She let out a weak whimper, barely able to move now. Her eyes cracked open—dazed, unfocused.

She didn’t even recognize them anymore.

That was it. That was the line.

Zayne and Caleb locked eyes.

Neither of them spoke at first. They didn’t have to.

They both knew what the other was thinking.

Zayne swallowed, his throat dry. “She’s not gonna make it through this alone.”

Caleb’s face was tight, his whole body rigid. “I know.”

Another whimper from the nest—softer this time, weaker. Her fingers barely twitched where they were curled into the blanket, as if she were trying to reach for something she couldn’t even see anymore.

Zayne clenched his jaw.

Caleb exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for half a second before opening them again. “She’s gonna hate us for this.”

Zayne nodded, a sharp, decisive motion. “Probably.”

Caleb swallowed, his throat working. He hesitated, then exhaled. “I’d rather have her alive and pissed at me than—” His voice caught. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Zayne inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the thick, sweetened haze of her heat. His instincts roared, ready, waiting. But his mind was still steady, still clear.

“We do this right,” he said roughly. “Slow. Careful. No claiming.”

Caleb’s nostrils flared, but he nodded.

There was no more debate after that.

The first thing they did was slow her down.

She was panting now, her body trembling violently in her nest, her skin slick with sweat. The fever was burning through her too fast, too hard. She needed more than just their touch—she needed care.

Caleb was already moving, his fingers deft as he reached for the water bottle on her bedside table. He cracked the cap open, shifting closer to where she lay tangled in blankets, barely lucid.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough but softer now. He reached for her, cupping the back of her head gently, lifting her just enough to press the bottle to her lips. “Drink for me, yeah?”

She whimpered at the contact, her hands weakly grasping at the front of his shirt. She tried to press herself into him, into his heat, his scent, but he held her steady.

“Not yet,” Caleb murmured, his voice soothing. “C’mon, baby, need you to drink first.”

Her lips parted obediently when he tilted the bottle, and she took slow uneven sips, swallowing between shallow breaths.

Zayne watched, his body tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. He could smell her exhaustion, her frustration. She was running on nothing but need now, instincts taking over, seeking, reaching—pleading.

His gut twisted. She shouldn’t have to beg.

The second Caleb pulled the bottle away, her hands were moving again, small and clumsy, reaching out, seeking them.

Zayne exhaled slowly, leaning down, his palm finally finding the curve of her thigh. She shivered under his touch, a choked sound leaving her lips.

“Easy,” he murmured, fingers stroking slow, measured paths up the length of her thigh, easing her open. “We’ve got you.”

Her breath hitched.

Zayne’s palm dragged higher, so slow, so careful, skimming over damp heated skin. His fingers spread, grazing, teasing, preparing.

Her whole body reacted.

Caleb chuckled, rough and breathless. “That’s what you wanted, huh, sweetheart?”

She whimpered.

Zayne’s gaze flicked up, meeting Caleb’s over the curve of her body. They had her. She was theirs.

Caleb exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before shifting back down to her. He ran his knuckles along her flushed cheek, his mouth quirking into something almost fond.

“She’s desperate for it,” Caleb murmured.

Zayne hummed. “She’s gonna get it.”

And then he kissed her.

Soft. Slow. Lazy.

Not rushed, not greedy, not taking. Just giving.

Her whimper turned into a shuddering moan against his lips, her body arching into him, for him, melting beneath his hands as he prepared her, opening her up.

Caleb pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “We’ve got you, baby. We’ve got you.”

Zayne settled between her thighs, a wall of heat and muscle, pressing her down into the soft tangled mess of blankets beneath them. His body was solid, heavy, unyielding, the sheer size of him a reminder that she was completely at his mercy. She was so small beneath him, so soft, so pliant—her body trembling with exhaustion but still moving, still seeking, still aching for more. The fevered flush of her skin burned against his, sweat-slicked and desperate, her scent thick enough to drown him, coating his tongue, clinging to his lungs. It made his head swim, made his muscles coil tight with the effort of restraint, made his cock throb where it lay heavy between them.

Even now, wrecked and ruined, she was still trying to move, her hips rolling weakly, a slow, pitiful grind against the underside of his length. She was struggling, her body too far gone to manage anything more than pleading little movements, rubbing against him, seeking relief, lost to the hunger of her own heat. She didn’t have to fight for it. She didn’t have to beg.

Zayne had her.

His hands traced over her body, slow, steady, dragging heat in their wake as they mapped over every inch of flushed, fevered skin. He spread her open with easy, effortless strength, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. His thumbs pressed into the soft dip of her hips, his fingers gripping the curve of her thighs, steadying her. She was so wet—pulsing, dripping, her slick coating his fingers, her body already preparing itself for him.

For him.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through his ribs, sinking deep into the space between them.

She whimpered at the sound, an immediate, instinctive reaction, her body going tense before shuddering apart again, thighs twitching like she wanted to wrap them around his waist, to pull him closer, to lock him in. She was burning up, feverish, overwhelmed, but she still wanted to. Still needed.

Zayne exhaled sharply, dragging his cock through her soaked folds, coating himself in the mess of her slick, feeling the way her body quivered at the contact. The heat of her, the sheer wetness, the way she clenched around nothing—it nearly undid him. His muscles went rigid, his fingers flexing against her skin, restraint hanging by a thread, fraying with every shuddered breath.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, hoarse with the weight of his need. He let the tip of his cock nudge at her entrance, push, press, tease—just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her squirm—but not enough to give her what she needed. Not yet.

“This what you needed?”

She made a choked, needy sound, her fingers twitching against his biceps, nails barely scratching at his skin, useless and weak but still trying.

Zayne chuckled, low and lazy, but there was something dark beneath it, something possessive, something just a little cruel.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmured, soothing, promising. “Gonna give you exactly what you need.”

And then he pushed in.

Her gasp broke into a moan, her back arching, her body tightening around him, sucking him in, taking him.

Zayne’s jaw clenched, a growl catching in his throat as he forced himself to go slow, to keep himself steady. She was so fucking wet, her body made to take him, welcoming him, milking him—but she was tight, too tight, scorching around him, squeezing down like she wanted to keep him there forever. His fingers dug into the softness of her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her open, watching the way her face twisted, overwhelmed, undone, lost in the feeling of him.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice rough, gravel-thick. “Takin’ me so well, baby. Fuck.”

She whined, a high, broken sound, her legs finally locking around his waist, ankles hooking behind him, desperate to keep him close, to keep him inside.

As if he was ever going to leave.

Zayne exhaled harshly, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing her in, drowning in her scent. His hips rolled, deep, slow, dragging the full length of him inside her inch by inch, stretching her open, filling her until there was nowhere left to go, until he was buried to the hilt, locked in place by the clutch of her body.

She pulsed around him, clenching, gripping, desperate.

He groaned, his hands dragging up her waist, feeling the way she trembled beneath him, barely able to hold herself together.

“You needed this bad, huh?” he murmured against her ear, his lips brushing her overheated skin, his voice dripping with amusement, with affection.

She whimpered, nodding weakly, helpless.

Zayne’s lips curled.

He pulled back, the thick drag of his cock against her swollen walls making her gasp, before thrusting back in—slow, deep, perfect.

Her whole body shuddered.

From his place at the edge of the nest, Caleb let out a sharp breath, barely more than a muttered, “Shit.”

Zayne ignored him. His focus was on her. Only her.

His rhythm was unhurried, deliberate, every thrust measured, controlled, every roll of his hips drawing a fresh gasp from her throat, a fresh clench of her body around him. Her fingers clung to his back, weak and trembling, like she was afraid he’d pull away, like she was afraid she’d wake up and find herself alone, still aching, still empty.

“That’s it,” Zayne murmured, voice rough, full of praise. His hand slid up, cupping her jaw, tilting her face up, forcing her dazed, heat-fogged eyes to meet his. “Feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

She moaned, nodding, lips parting like she wanted to answer, but only breathless sounds escaped.

He shushed her, thumb dragging slow over her cheek. “I know, baby. I know.”

His thrusts picked up, deeper, stronger, pushing her higher, pulling her apart.

Her body reacted instantly, her back bowing, her legs squeezing tighter, her cries turning sharper, higher, desperate.

Zayne gritted his teeth, feeling the way she clenched around him, taking him, milking him, her body pulling him in, demanding more. His knot was swelling, stretching, locking him in, binding them together.

She sobbed out a sound, her body tensing, shaking apart beneath him.

Zayne groaned, his lips finding her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Almost there, baby,” he murmured against her skin. “Gonna lock you down, keep you so full—”

She cried out, breaking.

Zayne felt it—the way she clenched, trembled, shattered around him, her body spasming with pleasure, dragging him down with her.

It tipped him over the edge, his knot swelling fully, locking them together, forcing him deeper.

He growled, deep and satisfied, pressing her down, keeping her still as he spilled inside her, filling her, marking her in the way her body demanded.

His forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged.

She whimpered, soft, spent, perfect.

Zayne stroked her cheek, his fingers slow, soothing, grounding. “That’s my girl,” he murmured.

Caleb let out a rough exhale. “She’s still got hours left, man.”

Zayne lifted his head, meeting Caleb’s gaze over her trembling form.

His lips curled.

“Then we’d better take our time.”

The heat was still there, a slow, smoldering burn licking at the edges of her senses, no longer all-consuming but still refusing to fade completely. It coiled deep inside her belly, an ember rather than an inferno, waiting to be stoked back into flames with just the right touch. Her breath came in soft, uneven gasps, her body trembling with the aftershocks, the last echoes of pleasure still ghosting through her nerves. Everything felt raw, sensitive, too much and not enough all at once.

Zayne was still locked inside her, the thick swell of his knot keeping them bound together, his body a solid immovable weight pinning her to the nest. He was heavy in the best way, grounding her, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressing against hers, steady, strong. His warmth seeped into her skin, a contrast to the fever still simmering in her veins. His lips brushed lazily over her temple, the softest of touches, unhurried and absentminded, like he had all the time in the world.

And then there was Caleb.

He sat at the edge of the nest, legs crossed, forearms resting on his knees, one hand running through the mess of his dark hair, fingers gripping like he was trying to steady himself. His sharp violet eyes stayed locked on her, the intensity of his stare sending a different kind of shiver down her spine. He looked wrecked—tense, drawn too tight, like the last few hours had taken a toll on him as well. She didn’t doubt it.

“Hey,” Caleb murmured, voice low and rough, tinged with something unreadable. “You with us, sweetheart?”

She blinked, slow and dazed, the weight of their gazes anchoring her back into herself. She wasn’t floating anymore. She was here, present, body aching but mind clear enough now to think. She shifted slightly, testing, but the moment she tried to move, Zayne’s grip tightened on her waist, holding her still.

“Easy,” he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion, but there was something firm beneath it, something protective.

Her throat felt raw, dry, words catching before she could form them properly. She swallowed, tried again, her voice coming out hoarse and raspy, the edges frayed. “Did you two seriously wait until I was half-dead to do something?”

Caleb exhaled sharply, a sound between a groan and a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Zayne huffed a quiet breath against her skin, his chest shaking slightly with a low chuckle. “Yeah, she’s back.”

She tried to glare at them, but it was useless. She was still too wrung out, every muscle in her body slack and boneless, wrecked beyond measure. Instead, she just huffed out a breath and shifted again, deliberately, grinding herself against the thick stretch of Zayne’s knot, feeling the deep residual throb still pulsing inside her.

Zayne grunted, fingers digging into her hip, his breath going sharp against her temple. “You keep moving like that, sweetheart, and we’re gonna have a real problem.”

A slow smirk curled across her lips, lazy and teasing. “Maybe I like causing problems.”

Caleb let out a strangled noise, something that sounded dangerously close to actual pain. “Can we not do this right now? Jesus.”

She turned her head slightly, blinking up at him, feigning innocence. “What, jealous?”

Caleb’s jaw clenched, his violet eyes flashing dark with something sharp, something hot. He rolled his eyes, but it was too late—she’d already seen it, already caught the way his fingers twitched where they rested against his knee, like he was fighting the instinct to reach for her.

Zayne chuckled, voice low and rough, full of amusement. “She’s still a menace. Good to know heat doesn’t change that.”

She huffed, shifting again just to test, just to push, just to see how far she could take it. The answering growl that rumbled through Zayne’s chest sent a shiver through her spine.

“You guys gonna help me or what?” she muttered, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Caleb inhaled sharply through his nose, visibly reining himself in before shaking his head. “Not until you drink more water and eat something.”

She groaned, loud and dramatic, throwing her head back against the pillows. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb muttered, already reaching for the bottle of water nearby. “You’re not dripping slick out of thin air, princess. You’re gonna dehydrate if we don’t take care of you.”

Zayne’s breath was warm against her ear, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “See? Bossy little shit.”

Caleb made an annoyed sound before promptly throwing a vitamin packet at Zayne’s head.

Zayne caught it effortlessly with one hand, not even bothering to lift his head.

“Fuck both of you,” Caleb muttered under his breath before tearing open a protein bar, breaking off a piece, and holding it out toward her. “Eat, now.”

She groaned again but took the food, chewing slowly. The burn in her veins hadn’t faded, hadn’t cooled, but the food helped ground her, settled something deep in her gut, something instinctual.

Caleb watched her carefully, eyes tracking her every movement, every little twitch of exhaustion, his expression unreadable. He was always like that, always noticing everything, always seeing too much.

“You scared the shit out of us,” he muttered, quieter now.

Her chewing slowed.

Zayne’s fingers traced slow, absent patterns over her hip, soothing, steady. “Your body wasn’t ready for this heat,” he murmured. “We knew it wasn’t normal, but we didn’t know how bad it was gonna get.”

She swallowed, finally looking at them—really looking.

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze darting away for the first time. “We weren’t gonna do anything, you know.” His voice was rough, strained. “Not without you actually saying you wanted it.”

Zayne hummed against her skin, the sound low, full of unspoken agreement. “But when you stopped recognizing us…” His grip on her hip tightened, just slightly, just enough for her to feel the way his fingers trembled. “We weren’t gonna let you suffer, sweetheart. We weren’t gonna let you—”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

She knew.

Her chest tightened, something hot and aching blooming behind her ribs, pressing up into her throat.

“You guys are so fucking stupid,” she muttered, her voice quieter now, lacking its usual bite.

Caleb arched a brow, lips pressing into a flat line. “Excuse me?”

She exhaled slowly, shifting just enough to bury her face into the curve of Zayne’s neck, breathing him in. His scent was warm and familiar, something deep in her body recognizing it, settling into it, soothed by it. “Of course I wanted you to help.”

Zayne went still.

Caleb blinked, his entire body tensing.

She sighed, nuzzling closer, her voice muffled against Zayne’s skin. “Like I wouldn’t have picked you two anyway.”

The silence stretched, thick, weighted, something unspoken settling between them.

Then Caleb let out a sharp, exhausted breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Zayne huffed a low laugh, his grip on her easing, shifting, turning into something warmer, something softer. “Should’ve said something sooner, sweetheart.”

She scoffed, lips brushing against the side of his throat. “Maybe I wanted to make you work for it.”

Caleb groaned, head tipping back. “You’re literally killing me.”

She grinned. “Not yet.”

Zayne let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, his lips ghosting over her ear. “Then let’s fix that.”

The nest was still thick with the scent of heat and rut, the air charged with something heavy, almost tangible. It clung to them, settled deep in their bones, in their lungs, in the spaces between their bodies. She could feel it, the way it wrapped around her like a second skin, the way it refused to fade even as the worst of the frenzy passed.

Zayne was still inside her, still thick and locked, his cock pulsing faintly with the aftershocks of his release. Every now and then, a slow, lazy throb worked through him, making her whimper softly, body tightening instinctively in response. He smirked against her hair, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to her temple.

“Still sensitive, sweetheart?” His voice was a low murmur, thick with satisfaction, with something else—something deeper.

She wanted to snap at him, to roll her eyes, but the truth was that she was still trembling, her body wrung out but still burning, still hungry, still aching. The heat wasn’t gone. The worst of the desperation had dulled, but her body still thrummed with need, still whispered more, more, more in the back of her mind.

Caleb watched them from where he sat at the edge of the nest, jaw tight, fingers flexing where they rested on his knee. His violet eyes were darker than usual, almost black in the dim light, and she could feel the weight of his stare, could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, sharp and obvious. There was a reason Alpha’s didn’t typically share burning ire for one another usually did it but she had a feeling that the relationship between them wasn’t typical.

It never had been.

She let her gaze drift over him, slow, assessing, deliberate. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. The way he was breathing a little too fast. The way his thighs tensed subtly, like he was holding himself back. The way his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her but wouldn’t let himself.

Her lips curled slightly, lazy and knowing.

“Caleb.” Her voice was hoarse, rough from all the moaning, the gasping, the crying out, but she still managed to make it sound teasing, sweet.

His jaw tightened. “What?”

She shifted against Zayne, feeling the stretch of his knot, the way it locked her open, kept her full. She sighed, rolling her hips just slightly, just enough to feel that dull, aching throb of overstimulation, the wet, slick mess between her thighs.

Caleb’s nostrils flared.

She licked her lips, slow. “Are you just gonna sit there and watch all night?”

Zayne made a low noise in his throat, amusement curling at the edges of it. “You’re such a menace.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, looking up at Caleb from beneath her lashes. “What’s wrong? Don’t want me anymore?”

His expression darkened, something sharp flashing across his face. “You know that’s not it.”

She did. She could see it. Could smell it, the way his rut was still simmering beneath the surface, the way his restraint was fraying, threadbare and weak.

Zayne chuckled against her skin, his fingers dragging over her waist, possessive, lazy. “You’re really trying to break him, huh?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

Caleb exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his shoulders rising and falling with something unsteady, barely contained. “Fuck.” His voice was rough, wrecked. He was losing.

Good.

She held out a hand, palm up, inviting. “Come here, Caleb.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles going white. He was still hesitating, still fighting against whatever last shred of self-control he had left.

Zayne huffed, amusement thick in his voice. “If you don’t take her up on that, man, I will.”

His breathing was ragged, uneven, his muscles tensed like he was still holding himself back, still fighting not to crush her under the weight of his need.His pupils were blown, his gaze hungry, his body trembling with restraint. 

“You sure?” His voice was a growl, low and dangerous.

Her breath hitched, her pulse jumping. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Something in him changed completely as his mouth crashed against hers, rough, claiming, all teeth and heat and hunger. With his hand cradling her jaw he pulled her closer and sighed into her mouth as she moaned into it, arching, pressing up against him, feeling the hard, unrelenting lines of his body, the way he fit against her like he was always meant to be there.

Zayne let out a deep, satisfied hum against the side of her neck, still lazily grinding his hips against her, still half-hard despite already being locked inside her. “About fucking time,” he muttered.

Caleb ignored him, his grip tightening on her waist, his body pressing against her side and holding her as close as he could. His rut was catching up to him fast, hitting him hard, sending a violent tremor through his muscles. His scent spiked, thick and sharp, making her head swim, making her mouth water.

She could feel him, the hard line of his cock pressing against her outer thigh, heavy and burning hot, so close to where she needed him but not close enough.

She whined softly, shifting, pressing up against him. “Caleb.”

He growled, low and guttural, his hands dragging down her arms, over her ribs, down to her waist, gripping, kneading, feeling. His fingers dug in, possessive, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her, the way she felt under his hands.

Zayne chuckled lazily against her neck, his own hips still shifting in slow, teasing movements, his knot keeping him locked inside her, keeping her stuffed full. "Losing your mind already, huh?" His voice was thick with amusement, with satisfaction.

Caleb growled, low and warning, but it only made Zayne laugh. Tired of waiting to have to pop his knot, but also tired of not having her in his arms. 

"Relax," Zayne murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "She can take it. Can't you, sweetheart?" His fingers ghosted over her stomach, slow and teasing, as if to emphasize how absolutely ruined she already was, how full she was stretched between them.

Zayne shifted against her first, the motion sending a dull, aching throb through her body as his knot pulsed inside her, still keeping her stretched around him, still locked in place. He exhaled a low, pleased sound against her neck, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of her waist, possessive and indulgent.

"Fucking perfect," he murmured, lips brushing over her sweat-dampened skin. "Completely wrecked between us, huh?"

She barely managed a sound in response, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, her body still trembling in the aftermath. Caleb was slumped over her on the other side, his breath coming in slow, and uneven pants, his face buried against the crook of her neck. His hands were still gripping her thighs, still digging into her skin like he wasn’t ready to let go, like the last of his rut was still clinging to him, refusing to let him pull away.

She was utterly trapped between them, pinned by the weight of their bodies, by the thick unyielding knot still keeping her locked, still filling her past the point of sanity.

And god, she loved it.

Zayne chuckled, the sound low and smug as he shifted again, pressing even closer, rubbing his nose along the curve of her jaw. “Still burning up, sweetheart?”

She exhaled shakily, her fingers twitching where they rested against his chest. “It’s not gone yet,” she admitted, her voice raw from moaning, from gasping, from crying out their names until her throat ached.

Caleb groaned against her skin, his hands tightening on her thighs, his breath shuddering. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Of course it’s not.”

Zayne only hummed in amusement, his hand slipping lower, dragging slow, teasing circles over the curve of her belly. “Well,” he mused, his tone deceptively thoughtful. “I suppose that means we’re not done, are we?”

Her breath caught, something molten twisting low in her belly, a new wave of heat licking at her nerves, sparking her body back to life. The thought of more—the thought of being taken again, of being used until there wasn’t a single ounce of heat left in her—made her thighs clench instinctively, made a quiet, needy whimper slip from her throat before she could stop it.

Caleb groaned again, his entire body going tense, the sharp flare of his scent spiking around them like a warning. “You can’t just—fuck, Zayne, don’t start that shit—”

Zayne only laughed, smug as ever, his fingers dipping lower, skating teasingly close to the mess between her thighs, to the place where he was still locked inside her, still keeping her stretched and full.

"Why not?" he murmured, his voice dark and knowing. "She wants it."

Caleb let out a low, warning growl, but he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop the way his fingers flexed on her thighs, like he was already losing the battle with himself.

Zayne smirked, dragging his teeth over the shell of her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Tell him, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Tell him how much you want it. How much you need it.”

She shivered, her body already betraying her, already responding to his words, to the promise laced in his voice.

She swallowed, tilting her head just slightly, her lips barely brushing against Caleb’s ear as she whispered, breathless and sweet—

“Please.”

Zayne’s knot softened first, the pressure inside her easing just enough that she could feel the slow, messy slide of his cock as it withdrew, leaving her gaping, dripping, a wet, obscene heat clinging to every inch of her skin. The absence was unbearable, a sudden, aching emptiness that sent a shudder through her, her body clenching down instinctively, desperate to hold onto the fullness that was slipping away.

A needy whimper broke from her lips, unbidden, her thighs twitching, her breath catching on the loss.

Zayne groaned as he pulled back, his hands gripping her waist for a moment, steadying himself. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. “Look at you—still so fucking open for us.”

She couldn’t answer—could barely think—because even before she could process it, before she could do anything but tremble from the loss, Caleb was there. No hesitation. No restraint.

He shoved himself into the space Zayne left behind, filling her in the same instant she lost him, pushing his cock into her slick, and swollen heat with a force that made her cry out, her body arching, her fingers clawing at the sheets beneath her. His rut was still running hot, still burning through his veins, still demanding more, more, more—and he gave in to it completely, burying himself to the hilt, groaning low and wrecked at the feeling of her wrapped tight around him, soaking, stretched, trembling.

His hands gripped her hips hard, pulling her against him, dragging her body up to meet his brutal, claiming thrusts.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice ragged, his forehead pressing against her shoulder. “I can still feel him in you.”

She sobbed at the words, her entire body clenching around him, overstimulated, ruined, and yet—still aching for more. The heat hadn’t faded. It still whispered in the back of her mind, still begged for everything they had to give, still kept her body open, pliant, desperate.

Zayne chuckled somewhere beside her, his hands sliding over her stomach, possessive and slow. “That’s because she’s meant to be filled, Caleb.” His voice was dark, knowing, his fingers ghosting lower, dipping between her thighs where Caleb was already fucking into her, spreading her open all over again.

Caleb snarled, thrusting deeper, harder, chasing his own knot, his body tensing with the sheer force of his need. “I know,” he growled. “I know.”

Where Zayne was gentle and firm, Caleb was ruthless. His thrusts were deep, punishing, merciless. His grip on her hips was bruising, his fingers digging into sweat-slick flesh, holding her in place, making sure she didn’t slip away from him—not even an inch. Not that she could or that she wanted to.

She was wrecked between them, overstimulated, stretched raw, completely lost in the haze of her heat. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Her body clenched down on Caleb’s cock, demanding more, sobbing for more.

Caleb growled, the sound feral, half-crazed. “So fucking tight,” he bit out, his hips snapping against her, his cock dragging against every sensitive, swollen inch inside her. “Still so fucking wet.”

Zayne chuckled—low, dark, satisfied. He was still close, kneeling beside her, watching where Caleb slid in and out, filthy and slick. His fingers traced absent, possessive patterns over her stomach, teasing at the skin, pressing down just enough that she could feel every thick, throbbing inch of Caleb inside her.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” Zayne murmured against her ear, his voice all dark amusement, all wicked promise. “How deep he is? How perfect you take him?”

She whimpered, ruined, her nails digging into the sheets, her body trembling, helpless beneath them. Caleb’s breath hitched, his pace faltering for a second—just for a second—because he felt it too. Felt the way her body pulled him in, refused to let him go, milked him for every inch, every thrust.

He wasn’t going to last. Not with her like this. Not when she was soaked, stretched, dripping from both of them. His fingers slid down, gripping the backs of her thighs, spreading her wider. He pounded into her, relentless, deep, unyielding.

Zayne hummed, dragging his fingers down lower, brushing over where she and Caleb were joined, slick, messy, obscene. He groaned, shaking his head. “Fuck, Caleb—look at her. She’s taking you so well.”

Caleb swore, shaking, sweat dripping down his spine.

He was close. So fucking close.

His knot was swelling, throbbing, pulsing inside her.

Her broken moans, her slick heat, the way she gasped and whimpered and sobbed for it— it was pushing him over the edge, driving him insane, making it impossible to hold back.

Zayne’s voice was low, knowing. “She’s ready, Caleb.” His lips brushed over her temple, soothing, taunting, unshakable. “Go on. Knot her, I want to see it happen this time,” having been on the receiving end more than once. While it did feel good in its own way, he always wondered just how it looked. 

Caleb snapped, thrusts turned brutal, desperate, losing all rhythm. His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her wide, open, his. She sobbed his name, shaking, coming apart, her walls clenching, fluttering, sucking him in deeper, deeper, deeper and then his knot swelled completely, locking them together, sealing him inside her.

He roared, wrecked, trembling, spilling deep, filling her, marking her completely.

Zayne groaned beside them, his hands still dragging slow, teasing circles over her sweat-drenched skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, voice thick, rough with satisfaction. “That’s it. Take it.”

The room was quiet now, the only sound was the steady rhythm of her breathing, the occasional soft sigh as she shifted in her sleep, pressed between them, utterly relaxed. Caleb’s knot had softened, and after a long, slow, careful withdrawal, they’d cleaned her up as best they could. She’d barely stirred, only murmuring softly, nuzzling into Zayne’s chest as he tucked the blanket around her, fingers brushing absently over her spine.

They’d promised to make her shower later, but for now, she needed rest. Zayne leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his damp hair, exhaling slowly. His body was heavy, exhausted, but his mind was still racing.

Caleb was sitting at the edge of the bed, phone in one hand, ordering food while keeping one eye on her.

“She’s gonna be starving when she wakes up,” he muttered, swiping through the menu. “You know how she gets.”

Zayne huffed out a tired laugh. “Yeah. If she doesn’t eat exactly what she wants, she’s gonna be a menace.”

Caleb’s lips twitched. “So, extra dumplings.”

“Obviously.”

A few more taps, then Caleb put the phone down, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms behind his head. His body still thrummed with residual heat, but it had eased now, settled. For a while, neither of them spoke. Zayne let his eyes drift to her—curled up, completely wrecked, completely safe. Her scent was still thick, sweet, lingering in the air, mixing with theirs, claiming every inch of the bed.

Something in his chest tightened, Caleb must have noticed, because he exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair before finally saying, “So… what the fuck happens now?”

Zayne’s fingers stilled against the sheets. He knew this conversation was coming. Had been waiting for it.

Still, he kept his voice even. “With her?”

Caleb’s jaw tensed. He glanced at her, then at Zayne, then looked away. “With all of us.”

Zayne breathed in deep, then let it out slowly.

They’d been here before. Not exactly here, not tangled up in heat and sweat and exhaustion, but close enough. Close enough that the weight of it pressed against his ribs, something unspoken and old and complicated.

Alpha-on-alpha relationships weren’t easy. They were incredibly misunderstood, people assumed it was all about dominance, about fights and aggression, about who was stronger, who was more in control, that had never been what it was like with them.

Zayne shifted, leaning forward slightly, his forearm resting on his knee. He met Caleb’s gaze head-on. “You tell me,” he said, quiet but steady. “What do you want to happen?”

Caleb’s throat bobbed. He looked away for a second, then back at Zayne, something raw and uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

“I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t fucking know, man. I just—”

His hand twitched at his side.

Zayne knew him too well to miss the tension in his shoulders, the hesitation that wasn’t really hesitation at all.

Zayne’s voice softened. “Yeah, you do.”

Caleb let out a frustrated sound, raking a hand through his already-ruined hair. “Fuck. Fine. Yeah, I do.” He exhaled, pressing his palms together, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking to her again before settling on Zayne. “I want—” He exhaled sharply. “This. I want this.”

Zayne watched him carefully.

Caleb’s throat worked as he swallowed, his jaw tight, tense, conflicted. “I want her,” he admitted, voice low but unwavering. “And I want you, and it's the only thing I’ve ever wanted for as long as I can remember.”

Something hot and sharp flashed through Zayne’s chest. He should have expected it. Had expected it. But hearing it—hearing it out loud—was different. It shouldn’t have been but it was.

Caleb scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know it’s not fucking normal,” he muttered. “People don’t get it. They don’t get us. They think we’re supposed to—what? Fight it out? Figure out who the ‘real Alpha’ is? Fuck that.”

Zayne’s lips quirked. “We both know you’d lose.”

Caleb let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck you.”

Zayne huffed a laugh, but it faded quickly because beneath all the teasing, the truth still sat there, heavy between them. This wasn’t a new conversation but it was the first time they’d had it like this. Seriously. 

Caleb’s voice dropped, quieter now. More serious. “I don’t want to choose.”

Zayne exhaled slowly.

Caleb shook his head. “I won’t choose.”

Zayne’s chest ached. He understood that. He understood it so fucking well.

And fuck, maybe it was selfish, “I don’t want to, either,” Zayne admitted, the words barely above a murmur. Caleb’s shoulders sagged slightly, something like relief and exhaustion hitting at the same time.

Zayne glanced down at her again—the third piece of this equation, the one who changed everything. He let his fingers brush over her bare shoulder, a silent touch, grounding.

Caleb watched, then reached out, too. His fingers tangled with Zayne’s over her skin. A beat. A breath. A decision made in silence.

Caleb swallowed, his voice quieter now. Surer. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Zayne nodded. “Yeah.”

No matter how hard it had been or how hard it was going to be or what people would think of them or how Alpha’s were supposed to act. He didn’t care, and neither did Zayne. Because when it came down to facts, they had always been stronger together.

The nest still smelled like her.

Sweet and slick, heat-heavy, soaking into the blankets, into their skin, their bones. But her scent had started to fade just enough that Zayne was aware of something else—something that had been there all along, lurking beneath the haze of instinct and need.

Caleb.

His scent was thicker now, sharper. Not as raw as before, but still simmering, still coiled tight in his muscles, in his breath.

Zayne could feel it.

Could feel him.

The weight of Caleb’s gaze, the restless way he shifted beside him, fingers flexing against the sheets.

They were both still wired, still burning under their skin.

And she was still asleep between them, her soft breaths even, her body completely spent.

Zayne exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to settle the static under his skin.

Caleb moved before he could react.

A sharp press of lips, firm hands shoving him back.

Zayne barely had a chance to let out a low grunt before his back hit the blankets, Caleb’s body following, pinning, claiming.

Zayne’s lips parted—surprised, breathless, already sinking into it.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

Not really.

Caleb’s mouth was hot, relentless, bruising, his hands already finding Zayne’s wrists, pinning them above his head, holding him still.

Zayne growled against his lips, pushing up, testing, challenging. Caleb just chuckled darkly, biting at his bottom lip.

“You’re still wound up,” he murmured, breathless, lips dragging along Zayne’s jaw.

Zayne exhaled sharply, fighting the instinct to roll them over, take control. “So are you.”

Caleb smirked against his throat. “Yeah. But I’m the one on top.”

And then he pushed down, grinding their bodies together, their cocks already hard, aching, slick with leftover heat.

Zayne let out a sharp breath through his nose, eyes dark, and hazy. Caleb’s weight was solid, grounding and overwhelming.

Zayne knew how this worked.

Knew that when Caleb wanted to take, he took.

And fuck, maybe Zayne wanted to be taken.

Caleb must have felt his body go still beneath him, because his smirk widened. “Yeah,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along Zayne’s throat, teeth grazing. “You’re gonna let me have you, aren’t you?”

Zayne exhaled, tilting his head back, baring his throat just enough to tell Caleb exactly what he already knew.

“Do it,” Zayne rasped.

Caleb didn’t hesitate.

He shoved Zayne’s legs apart, settling between them, spreading him wide. His grip was tight, unrelenting, keeping Zayne exactly where he wanted him.

And then he pushed inside.

A low, wrecked groan tore from Zayne’s throat, his head falling back against the blankets. Caleb was thick, heavy, deep, stretching him open.

Zayne’s fingers curled into fists, his body tense, taut, barely holding on.

Caleb laughed softly, rough with strain. “So fucking tight,” he muttered, voice thick with heat. “Still trying to fight it, huh?”

Zayne growled, his hips bucking up, trying to take more, trying to challenge.

Caleb let out a sharp, delighted breath—then grabbed Zayne’s wrists again, pinning them hard against the mattress.

“Oh, no,” Caleb murmured, his voice like gravel, smug and knowing. “You’re gonna take it, Zayne,”  then he fucked into him, deep, hard, brutal. Zayne gritted his teeth, his whole body jerking with the force of it.

He’d forgotten what it was like—how Caleb took, how he claimed, how he pressed Zayne into the mattress and didn’t let up. Zayne was burning, overwhelmed, gasping through clenched teeth.

Caleb just kept pounding into him, rolling his hips with sharp, perfect precision, one hand still locking Zayne’s wrists down while the other wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with every thrust.

Zayne’s breath stuttered. His hips bucked helplessly into Caleb’s grip, caught between the push and pull of pleasure, nowhere to go, completely trapped.

Caleb’s forehead pressed against his, breath uneven, voice nothing but gravel.

“Come on, baby,” Caleb muttered, filthy, rough. “Come with me.”

Zayne let out a low, broken sound, his body tightening, coiling, trembling. Caleb’s knot swelled, locking them together, keeping him deep. Zayne snarled, body jerking, pleasure ripping through him like a live wire, blinding, unbearable. Caleb groaned against his mouth, spilling deep, marking him completely. Zayne’s head fell back, gasping, spent, owned.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. A small shift. A rustling sound. Zayne’s head snapped to the side. She was awake. Propped up on one elbow, watching them, eyes dark, lips curled into something lazy and knowing. Zayne went still.

Caleb, panting against his throat, still knotted inside him, let out a slow, rough chuckle.

“Well,” Caleb muttered, voice wrecked. “Good morning, sweetheart.” She didn’t look away.

Zayne could feel her gaze on him—dark, knowing, heavy with something he couldn’t name. His lungs still heaved, his body still trembled, still pinned beneath Caleb’s weight, still locked around his knot, still marked, still claimed.

And she had seen all of it.

Heat crawled up his spine, not embarrassment, not quite, but something else—something raw, something vulnerable, something that felt too big to fit in his chest.

Caleb, the bastard, only let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered against Zayne’s throat, voice still wrecked, thick with the last remnants of rut. “Didn’t think we’d have an audience.”

His breath was hot, teasing, his hands still pressing Zayne into the nest, his fingers still firm, still grounding. Zayne clenched his jaw. He felt vulnerable like this, opened up by Caleb’s cock and tied to him being bred in the only way he could be. She was still watching. Zayne turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze fully for the first time since realizing she was awake.

She wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t mocking. Her expression was lazy, slow, something unreadable sitting behind her half-lidded gaze. Her lips were curled just slightly, just enough, but it wasn’t amusement. She looked—comfortable.

Like this was natural. Like watching them was something she was allowed to do. Zayne swallowed, his throat dry, tight. His voice came out lower than intended, rough with something unsteady. “How long?”

She huffed a small breath, amused. “Long enough.” Zayne’s stomach twisted with something uncomfortable, he recognized it as fear though he was certain that Caleb felt the same way. For so long this had been real only for them. He hadn’t had to share this side of himself or Caleb with anyone.

Caleb’s fingers flexed against his wrists, and Zayne flicked his gaze back toward him, only to find those sharp violet eyes watching him closely. Caleb’s lips quirked. Something slow, something knowing. “You look like you just realized something important.”

Zayne exhaled sharply through his nose. Fucker.

Because yeah. He had. There was no fear in her gaze. No hesitation. No confusion. She knew exactly what she was looking at, what they were to each other, what they could be. She’d watched Caleb take him apart. Hadn’t looked away, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t run. And now she was here, still curled in their nest, still tangled up in their scents, still theirs.

Zayne swallowed hard. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, Caleb smirked.

She stretched slightly, slow, languid, satisfied then crawled towards them wanting to be closer to the heat of the nest which was undoubtedly these two. Then she tilted her head at him, something curious, teasing, just a little wicked.

“So,” she murmured, her voice still sleep-rough, still low, still drenched in heat and something thicker. “You gonna kiss me too, or what?”

Zayne forgot how to breathe as Caleb laughed. Low. Rough. Delighted.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Caleb murmured, still knotted deep inside Zayne, grinning like the devil himself. “You have no idea what you just started.”

Three days later, the apartment felt different.

The thick, suffocating weight of heat and rut was gone, finally lifted. The air no longer reeked of desperation, of raw need, of pheromones clinging to every surface. The sheets had been washed, the windows cracked open for fresh air, and for the first time in days, the three of them weren’t tangled together in a nest of blankets and sweat-slick bodies.

But something lingered.

Something heavier.

She sat at the kitchen table, fingers curled around a mug of tea, her posture loose but tense at the same time. She was wearing a hoodie—one of Zayne’s, if the scent was anything to go by—but her bare legs were draped over Caleb’s lap, her body angled toward him instinctively.

Zayne stood at the counter, silent, watching.

Caleb was the one to break it.

“So,” he said, fingers tapping against her thigh, slow, absent, thoughtful. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

She exhaled softly, rolling her mug between her palms. “Yeah,” she murmured. “We should.”

Zayne finally moved, stepping forward, leaning against the table, arms crossed. “Alright,” he said, voice even. “Let’s talk.”

A beat of silence.

Then Caleb huffed out a slow breath. “Look. We all know this isn’t… standard.”

She arched a brow at him. “No shit.”

Caleb’s lips twitched, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes.

“We’re Alphas,” he continued. “And you’re an Omega. That alone is rare enough these days. But two Alphas bonding an Omega?” He shook his head slightly. “It’s not unheard of, but it’s not exactly easy, either.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “Because Alphas aren’t supposed to share.”

Caleb made a displeased sound. “Yeah, well. That’s bullshit.”

She finally looked up, her eyes steady, sharp. “Do you think we can?”

Caleb turned to her, tilting his head slightly. “What?”

“Share,” she said simply.

Zayne’s stomach tightened.

She wasn’t asking in a teasing way, or a playful way. She was looking at them both, expression serious, assessing, waiting.

Because this wasn’t just about them wanting her.

This was about them choosing her. Choosing each other.

Caleb exhaled, rubbing his thumb along the curve of her knee. “Yeah,” he said, quiet but firm. “I think we can.”

Zayne didn’t hesitate. “I know we can.”

She searched their faces for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. Zayne could see it in the way her shoulders relaxed, the way the tension in her spine eased. Not because the conversation was over. But because it was starting.

She shifted slightly, turning more fully toward them. “If we do this,” she said carefully, “it means all three of us. Not just me and one of you. Not just when it’s convenient.”

Caleb nodded. “Of course.”

She met Zayne’s gaze. “And you?”

Zayne held her stare, steady, unwavering. “You’re mine,” he said simply. “But Caleb is, too.”

Caleb blinked, his jaw tightening slightly.

Zayne didn’t back down. “I’m not gonna pretend we’re like every other bond out there. We’re not. But that doesn’t mean we don’t work.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp. “Unless you want something different.”

Caleb scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Zayne smirked slightly.

Caleb sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, though. This isn’t gonna be normal.”

Her voice was softer now. “Do you care?”

Caleb huffed out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

Zayne glanced at her. “Do you?”

She stared down into her mug for a long moment.

Then she sighed. “I think…” She exhaled. “I think the world doesn’t like things it doesn’t understand.”

Zayne watched her carefully.

She looked up, gaze flicking between them. “But I don’t care about the world,” she murmured. “I care about you.”

Something in Zayne’s chest tightened, burned, settled.

Caleb hummed, pleased, satisfied. “Good answer, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, kicking his thigh lightly. “Shut up.”

Caleb chuckled, but then his expression shifted, turning serious again.

“Alright,” he said. “Then let’s talk logistics.”

Zayne lifted a brow. “Logistics?”

Caleb gestured vaguely. “Mating bonds. How we do it. When we do it. How we handle things after.”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean, ‘handle things after’?”

Caleb met her gaze evenly. “We’re gonna bond you,” he said simply. “Both of us. That’s permanent.”

She nodded. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Caleb’s voice was quiet. “Because it means no backing out. It means our instincts will be locked onto you forever. It means if you get hurt, if you get sick, if something happens—we feel that. It means we’re all tied together for the rest of our fucking lives.” Zayne’s jaw tightened. Not because he disagreed but because it was true. She was silent. Then, slowly, she reached forward, wrapping her fingers around Caleb’s wrist.

“I know,” she said softly.

Caleb stilled. Her grip was firm, steady.

“I wouldn’t be here,” she murmured, “if I didn’t know.”

Caleb exhaled. Then he nodded. Once. Firm. Decisive. Zayne watched them both.

Then, quietly, he murmured, “Then it’s settled.”

[byallmeans1]

[academic-vampire]

𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔴

[my-flying-sister]

I love rebloging. It’s the adult equivalent of showing everyone the cool rock I just found.

[the-dandy-liar]

[no-one-offical]

‎

[adhd-faith-interpreter]

Rocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocks

[wildfiregrimoire]

rocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocksrocks

[crimsonkween]

Yes, I love the angsty vibes and heartbreak coming with LI x MC x reader. But for once... let's make it fluffy. 💕

•

✨️ ☃️ 🎨 🏍 🍎

•

✨️ Xavier learns how to cook your favorite meal—without burning the kitchen down. Also, his new favorite napping spot is your lap.

The moment you realized things had changed? MC called him outside of working hours... and he didn't pick up. In fact, he turned his phone over, screen side down.

"It's the weekend. I'd rather spend all my free time with you."

•

☃️ Zayne had referred MC to another doctor. You never minded him being her physician, and he didn't ask your opinion on the matter. In fact, you only found out by chance.

"She had symptoms outside of my field of expertise."

Something that would have urged him to study all night a couple of years ago, now turned into his chance to get some distance between him and MC. Why?

"I spent more time with her than with you lately. This can hardly be appropriate."

•

🎨 Rafayel had cleared out the studio, several of his artworks went missing after his cleaning spree.

"To make space for new inspiration," he had said with his typical grin. "Creativitiy can't flow in cramped surroundings."

You found it strange since he always seemed terribly attached to these works.

"I was," he admitted, setting up a brand new canvas.

"But I'd rather be terribly attached to you."

•

🏍 Sylus was a man of action. He had made up his mind long before you caught on. You realized that one day when you explored the N109-Zone (against his advice) and people made space for you. The outsider.

"You have full access to the N109-Zone and Onychinus," he had told you later that night.

"You don't have to ask permission for anything. Just do as you wish, sweetie."

•

🍎 Caleb never said a word to you. He had talked to MC about his reasoning and she completely understood. She was happy for both him and you.

You didn't even notice at first. Only during a particularly heated makeout-session, when your fingers traced the lines of his neck, expecting to find a delicate chain there, only to touch... nothing.

"It's on my board now, above my desk. Next to her graduation picture."

He had taken off his dog tags, the ones he had been wearing every single day for over a decade. For you. So you wouldn't feel like a third wheel in your own relationship.

"There should be no doubt about who I love the most. Especially not in your heart and mind."

[gluttiny]

{Rice & Rabbits Ch.3}

Oni!Beelzebub X fem!Reader

Chapter III - "Liar's Rice" is up!

<<< Read it HERE! >>>

("wtf are you on about?" Chapter 1 here lol)