Leviathan❤️🖤

Grown woman 🔞 APPLECROWFISH GIRLIE🖤❤️

[leviathanroze]

MASTERLIST (ONLY LADS)

Sylus🐉🐦‍⬛🧛‍♂️

Self Aware

Xavier 👑🎭💤

Self Aware

What he sees in you

Rafayel🌊🧜‍♂️🥷

The ocean’s gaze 2 3

Professor Rafayel

Self Aware

Zayne ❄️ 🫩🍰

I wish you were real

Self Aware

Let me watch

Caleb 🍎🤖👹

Skinwalker

Mine to keep

Don’t be shy

LI X LI

Obedience Looks Good on You, my dear colonel

A demonstration from Dr. Zayne

Don’t come closer

Finish your drink, kitten

A Vow Beneath Lemuria

Chapter 2

Two artists for the price of one

My AO3 account (more active on there)

Levi rose

[lvmie3ree]

mullet leb mhhhhhhhh i can hear smth purring MEOWOWWW

[sayuni1234]

I’ll post some old pictures here as well~

[ceruleancattail]

Self Aware Caleb who’s rearranging the apps on your Home Screen just to mess with you whenever you don’t log in to Love and Deepspace in awhile. He’s shifting the app to replace your more commonly used one so you can click in and he can finally see your face, hear your voice, feel your touch, talk to you-

He’s crossing his arms and grinning on the home page as you mutter something about “don’t remember LADS being there…” Aw, don’t worry about it Pips, it’s been awhile since you checked on him. Your Gege’s been oh so sad and alone…. Sniff.

[leviathanroze]

Don’t be shy pipsqueak

🔞MDNI🔞

FEM CALEB X READER

The neon sign above the shop flickered in shades of pink and purple, casting a garish glow across the wet pavement. Y/N stood frozen on the sidewalk, her eyes tracing the words "Velvet & Vice" in elegant script. The storefront looked deceptively innocent—black windows, a sleek black door, nothing like the seedy back-alley shops she'd imagined. Still, heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.

"Second thoughts already?"

Cayla's voice came from somewhere above and behind her, amused and warm. A hand landed on her shoulder, spinning her around with effortless strength. At six-foot-two, Cayla towered over her, those distinctive purple eyes gleaming with mischief. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, showing off the sharp angles of her face. She wore her usual black and orange DAA flight jacket over a crisp white top, black pants hugging long legs.

"I didn't say anything," Y/N managed.

"You didn't have to." Cayla's grin stretched wide, all charm and confidence. "Your face does this thing where you look like you've swallowed a lemon. It's adorable."

"I do not—"

"You absolutely do." Cayla squeezed her shoulder once, then released her. "Come on, pipsqueak. You said you wanted to explore. I'm just here to guide the way."

Cayla moved past her, pushing open the black door with practiced ease. A bell chimed overhead—something soft and melodic, not the intrusive jingle Y/N expected. Warm air rushed to meet them, carrying scents of vanilla and something cleaner, almost clinical beneath it.

The interior surprised her. Spacious and well-lit, with gleaming hardwood floors and display cases arranged like an upscale boutique rather than whatever cramped dungeon she'd conjured in her imagination. Racks of lingerie in silk and lace lined one wall. Glass cases held an array of objects in various shapes, sizes, and colors. The lighting was warm, inviting even.

And empty. Mostly.

A woman behind the counter glanced up from her tablet. Middle-aged, with short silver hair and a nose ring, she wore a black apron over a band t-shirt. Her expression remained professional, welcoming without being intrusive.

"Welcome to Velvet & Vice. First time?" The question directed at Y/N, though her eyes briefly flicked to Cayla.

"Is it that obvious?" Y/N asked.

"Only because you're still standing in the doorway." The woman smiled. "I'm Morgan. Take your time, look around. Let me know if you have questions."

Cayla's hand pressed against the small of her back, warm and insistent. "We will. Thank you."

She guided Y/N forward, away from the entrance and toward the first display case. The touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers trailing up her spine before falling away. Y/N's skin tingled in their wake.

"See anything that catches your eye?" Cayla asked.

Inside the case, an array of vibrators in pastel colors sat arranged by size. Some sleek and minimal, others with rabbit ears or curved tips. A few had remote controls. Y/N's face burned hotter.

"I don't—" She stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "I don't know what I'm looking at."

"That's okay." Cayla leaned down, her lips dangerously close to Y/N's ear. "That's what I'm here for. See this one?" She tapped the glass above a slim purple device. "Bullet vibrator. Good for beginners. Small, not intimidating. Easy to hide."

The words washed over Y/N, low and instructive. Her stomach tightened.

"And this one?" Cayla moved to another, a curved wand with a rounded head. "G-spot stimulator. The curve hits the spot inside that makes your toes curl. See the angle? Perfect for reaching."

"Cayla." Y/N's voice came out strangled.

"What? You wanted to learn." Cayla's grin was audible. "Knowledge is power, pipsqueak."

They moved through the displays like that, Cayla providing commentary on each item with the same casual authority she used discussing aircraft specs. Wand massagers. Dildos in various sizes—from modest to frankly alarming. Cock rings. Anal plugs in graduated sizes. Y/N's ears rang with the explicit descriptions, her face burning so hot she worried she might spontaneously combust.

"And these," Cayla paused at a wall of bondage equipment, "are for when you really want to surrender control."

Handcuffs in leather and metal. Rope in silk and hemp. Blindfolds and ball gags and spreader bars. Y/N's eyes went wide.

"You've used these?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Cayla's expression shifted, something darker passing through those purple eyes. "Many times. Not always on myself."

The implication hung in the air between them. Y/N's mouth went dry.

"Morgan," Cayla called, not looking away from Y/N. "Can you help us with something?"

The shop owner approached, her footsteps quiet on the hardwood. "What can I help you find?"

"We're looking for nipple clamps. Adjustable ones. Something that won't pinch too hard right away but can be tightened." Cayla's voice remained conversational, as if ordering coffee. "And a remote-controlled vibrator. Preferably something that can be worn... discreetly."

Y/N wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

"Right this way." Morgan led them to a different section, pulling out a tray from beneath a display. "These are our best-sellers. Fully adjustable screws, silicone-coated tips for comfort, and a connecting chain for added stimulation."

She set out the clamps, then reached for another case. "And for the vibrator—" She produced a small, curved device in pink silicone. "This one sits against the clit and inside, stays in place during movement, and has a range of thirty feet. Multiple vibration patterns. Very quiet."

"Perfect." Cayla plucked the vibrator from the tray, turning it over in her hands. "What do you think, Y/N? Want to try it?"

"Now?"

"Why not? Morgan has batteries."

Morgan, bless her, remained entirely professional. "There's a testing station in the back. You're welcome to feel the vibrations in your hand before purchasing."

"Hand works." Cayla flipped the device, locating the button. A soft hum filled the space between them. "Feel."

She pressed the vibrator against Y/N's palm. The sensation buzzed through her skin, surprisingly strong for such a small thing. Y/N stared at it, imagining it elsewhere, and felt heat pool low in her belly.

"Good, right?" Cayla asked. "And it gets stronger."

She clicked through the settings, each one more intense. Y/N's hand buzzed with vibration, her thoughts scattering.

"We'll take it," Cayla decided. "And the clamps. And—" She turned, surveying the store with a calculating eye. "What else catches your eye, pipsqueak? You said anything you want. I meant it."

Y/N's gaze swept the displays, landing on a section she'd been avoiding. Restraints. Silk ties in various colors. Her stomach clenched.

"Those," she whispered. "The red ones."

Cayla followed her gaze and smiled. "Excellent choice."

---

The shopping bag dangled from Y/N's fingers as they walked through the mall. Black, discreet, with the store logo in small silver letters. But Y/N knew what was inside. Everyone knew what was inside. Or at least she imagined they did.

"Stop fidgeting," Cayla murmured beside her. "No one's looking."

"Everyone's looking."

"They're not. You're projecting." Cayla's hand brushed her hip, then dipped toward the bag. "Let me check something."

Before Y/N could protest, Cayla reached inside, fingers rustling through the packaging. Her hand emerged holding the remote-controlled vibrator, which she examined with exaggerated interest.

"Cayla!" Y/N snatched for it, but Cayla held it above her head, utilizing her full height advantage.

"Just checking the features." Those purple eyes glittered. "Want me to turn it on?"

"We're in public!"

"Exactly." Cayla lowered her voice, leaning close. "Imagine wearing this right now. Walking through the mall with it buzzing against you. You'd have to keep your face neutral, your pace steady. No one would know except us."

Y/N's thighs pressed together involuntarily. "You're evil."

"I'm thorough." Cayla dropped the device back in the bag, her hand grazing Y/N's wrist. "Patience. We're almost home."

The drive home stretched endlessly. Y/N sat in the passenger seat of Cayla's sleek black car, the shopping bag on her lap. Every few minutes, Cayla's hand left the steering wheel to rest on her thigh, squeezing lightly.

"You're thinking about it," Cayla observed.

"I'm not."

"Your face says otherwise." A red light. Cayla turned to face her fully. "What specifically are you imagining? The vibrator? The clamps? My fingers inside you while you beg?"

"Cayla." Her name came out breathless.

"Traffic's terrible today." Cayla turned back to the road, her hand sliding higher on Y/N's thigh. "Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

Y/N stared out the window, watching the buildings of Linkon City blur past. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "I want—"

"Yes?"

"I want you to stop making me say it."

A low laugh. "Never."

The car pulled into their building's underground lot. Cayla parked with precision, killing the engine in one smooth motion. For a moment, neither moved. The silence pressed down, heavy with promise.

Then Cayla spoke. "Bring the bag."

They rode the elevator in charged quiet. Cayla stood close, her presence overwhelming in the small space. Y/N could smell her perfume—something warm and slightly spicy—and feel the heat radiating from her body. The shopping bag weighed heavy in her hands.

The elevator doors opened. Their apartment stretched before them, familiar and strange all at once. Cayla's hand found the small of her back again, propelling her forward.

"Open it," Cayla commanded the second they crossed the threshold. "Don't even take off your shoes."

Y/N stood in the entryway, bag in hand. "Here?"

"Here. Now." Cayla leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. "Show me what you bought."

Swallowing hard, Y/N reached into the bag. She pulled out the items one by one, setting them on the narrow console table. The vibrator. The nipple clamps. The silk ties. A bottle of lubricant Cayla had added at the last moment. Each item clattered against the wood, impossibly loud in the silence.

"All of them," Cayla prompted. "There's one more."

Y/N's hand closed around the final object. She'd grabbed it without thinking, drawn to the smooth silicone and curved shape. A dildo, larger than anything she'd used before. The girth intimidated her.

"That one." Cayla pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. "Why that one?"

"I don't know."

"Try again."

Y/N looked down at the silicone cock in her hand. It was thick, realistically veined, a deep purple that matched Cayla's eyes. "I wanted to know what it would feel like. To be filled like that."

Cayla's breath caught audibly. "Good answer."

Purple eyes dropped to Y/N's mouth. She leaned in, stopping mere inches away. Y/N could feel her warmth, could almost taste her breath.

"Tell me what else you want," Cayla whispered. "And I'll give it to you. Anything you want, pipsqueak. Anything."

Y/N's grip tightened on the dildo. "I want—"

The words died in her throat as Cayla's mouth claimed hers. The kiss was demanding, hungry. A level three at least. Cayla's tongue swept inside, tasting and taking. Her hands came up to frame Y/N's face, angling her exactly where she wanted her.

Y/N dropped the dildo. It hit the floor with a thud.

Cayla pulled back, her breathing ragged. "Bedroom. Now. Bring everything."

She didn't wait for a response, striding down the hallway with purpose. Y/N gathered the items, clutching them to her chest, and followed.

The bedroom was dim, the evening light filtering through gauzy curtains. Cayla stood beside the bed, shedding her flight jacket. Underneath, her white top stretched across defined muscles. She pulled it over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a simple black sports bra.

"Your turn," she said. "Slowly."

Y/N set the items on the nightstand. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse. One button. Two. Three. Cayla watched with hooded eyes, her gaze tracking each inch of revealed skin.

"Good," Cayla murmured. "Keep going."

The blouse fell to the floor. Y/N reached for her skirt, but Cayla crossed the distance between them. Her hands covered Y/N's, stilling them.

"Let me." Cayla's voice had dropped to a sultry register. "You've been so good today. So brave. Walking through that store with your face on fire, asking for what you wanted."

She unzipped the skirt slowly, dragging the moment out. The fabric pooled at Y/N's feet, leaving her in just her bra and underwear. Cayla's hands slid up her sides, leaving trails of fire.

"But the bravest part?" Cayla's lips brushed her ear. "Was knowing what you really wanted. And asking for it anyway."

Y/N shivered.

"Lie down," Cayla ordered. "On your back."

Y/N obeyed, the cool sheets a shock against her heated skin. Cayla stood over her, drinking her in. Then she reached for the silk ties.

"Arms above your head."

Y/N raised her arms. Cayla wrapped the silk around her wrists, binding them to the headboard. The restraint was snug, secure, but not uncomfortable.

"Color?" Cayla asked.

"Green."

Cayla smiled. "Good girl."

The praise shot straight between Y/N's thighs. She squirmed against her bonds, testing them.

Cayla reached for the nipple clamps. "These might feel intense at first. You'll tell me if it's too much."

Y/N nodded.

Cayla's fingers found the clasp of her bra. She undid it one-handed, a practiced motion. The fabric fell away, exposing Y/N's breasts. Cayla's eyes darkened at the sight.

"You're beautiful," she breathed. "Every inch of you."

She bent down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Y/N's sternum. Then lower, to the swell of her breast. Her tongue traced a path to Y/N's nipple, circling the peak before drawing it into her mouth.

Y/N arched off the bed. "Oh—"

Cayla sucked harder, her hand coming up to palm Y/N's other breast. She kneaded the flesh, rolling the nipple between her fingers. The dual sensation made Y/N whimper.

When Cayla pulled back, Y/N's nipple stood hard and wet. Cayla reached for the first clamp.

"Deep breath."

The clamp closed around Y/N's nipple. Pressure, not pain. Cayla adjusted the screw until it sat snug, then bent to give the same treatment to the other side.

Both clamps in place, the connecting chain draped between them. Cayla tugged it lightly, testing. Y/N gasped at the sharp spike of pleasure-pain.

"Still green?"

"Green."

Cayla smiled. "Perfect."

She kissed her way down Y/N's body, pausing to appreciate each dip and curve. When she reached Y/N's underwear, she didn't remove them. Instead, she pressed her mouth against the fabric, breathing hot air against Y/N's core.

"Cayla, please—"

"Please what?" Cayla's voice vibrated against her. "Tell me."

"Touch me. I need—"

"You need what?"

"Your mouth. On me. Please."

Cayla hooked her fingers in Y/N's underwear and pulled them down. She tossed them aside, then settled between Y/N's thighs. Her breath ghosted over Y/N's exposed folds.

"Look at you," Cayla murmured. "So wet already. Your pussy is fucking glistening."

She leaned in and dragged her tongue through Y/N's slit. One long, slow lick from entrance to clit. Y/N moaned, her hands straining against the silk ties.

Cayla did it again. And again. Each pass of her tongue gathered more wetness, spread it across Y/N's swollen flesh. The obscene sounds filled the room—wet, slick noises that made Y/N's face burn.

"You taste so fucking good," Cayla groaned against her. "I could do this for hours."

She sealed her mouth over Y/N's clit and sucked. The suction was firm, rhythmic, devastating. Y/N's thighs trembled on either side of Cayla's head.

"More, please, more—"

Cayla released her clit with a wet pop. "Greedy girl. I haven't even fucked you with my tongue yet."

She licked lower, circling Y/N's entrance before pushing inside. Her tongue thrust in and out, mimicking what she'd soon do with the dildo. Y/N's hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the sensation.

Cayla fucked her with her tongue until Y/N was whimpering constantly. Then she pulled back and reached for the vibrator.

"Let's test this purchase properly."

She turned the device on, cycling through the settings until she found the lowest intensity. Then she pressed it directly against Y/N's clit.

Y/N screamed.

Cayla held it there, unmoving, letting the vibration do its work. "Color?"

"Green, green, green—"

Cayla increased the intensity. Y/N's back arched, her breasts jiggling with the movement, the chain between the clamps swaying.

"Look at these perfect tits," Cayla said, reaching up to palm one. She weighed it in her hand, squeezing the flesh. "I could play with them all night."

She tugged the clamp chain again, harder this time. The pain-pleasure shot through Y/N's body, blending with the vibrations against her clit.

"I'm going to—"

"Not yet." Cayla pulled the vibrator away.

Y/N sobbed. "Cayla, please—"

"Patience, pipsqueak." Cayla's purple eyes gleamed. "We have all night. And I intend to use every single toy."

She picked up the dildo, the thick purple one Y/N had selected. She positioned it at Y/N's entrance.

"Deep breath."

Y/N inhaled. Cayla pushed inside.

The stretch was intense. Y/N had never taken anything this thick before. Her walls burned as they adjusted.

"You're doing so well," Cayla praised. "Taking it so good. Such a good girl."

She pushed deeper, inch by inch, until the dildo sat fully inside. Y/N felt impossibly full.

"How does that feel?"

"Big. It's so big."

Cayla's smile was almost tender. "I know. You're taking it so well. My perfect girl."

She began to thrust, slow and deep. The dildo dragged against Y/N's walls, hitting spots that made her see stars.

"Faster, please—"

Cayla obliged, increasing her pace. The wet sounds of fucking filled the room. Y/N strained against her bonds, wanting to touch, to grab, to hold.

"More, I need more—"

Cayla added the vibrator back, pressing it to Y/N's clit. The dual sensation—the thick dildo fucking her and the intense vibration—was overwhelming.

"Come for me," Cayla commanded. "Be a good girl and come all over this cock."

Y/N shattered. Her orgasm crashed through her in waves, her walls clenching around the dildo, her body convulsing against the bed. Cayla worked her through it, not stopping until Y/N lay limp and trembling.

"Beautiful," Cayla murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N's inner thigh. "Absolutely beautiful."

She withdrew the dildo and set it aside. Then she reached up to undo the silk ties, freeing Y/N's hands.

Y/N flexed her fingers, then reached for Cayla. "Your turn."

Cayla's purple eyes darkened. "Who said we were done with you?"

She reached for the shopping bag, pulling out the last item Y/N had forgotten—a second dildo, this one even larger than the first.

"We're just getting started, pipsqueak."

Happy Pride and Junleb everyone ❤️🖤❤️🖤

[instigator9k]

Spice  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;)..

[leviathanroze]

Two artists for the price of one

🔞MDNI🔞

The penthouse glowed with the soft amber light of the setting sun streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Y/N shifted on the oversized leather couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she watched Rafayel dramatically flop into the adjacent armchair, his purple wavy hair falling across his forehead in an artful mess. Across from them, Sylus leaned against the bar counter, swirling whiskey in a crystal glass, his silver hair catching the dying light.

"You're brooding again," Rafayel accused, pointing a slender finger at Sylus. "It's ruining the vibe."

Sylus's red eyes flicked to the younger man. "I don't brood. I think. Something you should try."

"Excuse me? I think plenty. I think about art, about colors, about how you never replace the good whiskey—"

"I replaced it last week."

"Then why does it taste like motor oil?"

"Maybe your palate is broken."

Y/N smiled to herself, used to their constant bickering. She'd been working with Rafayel as his bodyguard for months now, and through him, she'd gotten to know Sylus—though exactly what their relationship was remained unclear. They circled each other like two predators who'd decided to share territory, alternating between sharp words and something that looked almost like affection.

"I'm just saying," Rafayel continued, throwing his hands up, "you could show a little more personality. Instead of standing there like some... some statue. A very expensive, very brooding statue."

"You're one to talk about personality." Sylus took a slow sip. "Your entire existence is performance art."

Y/N's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—a message from Thomas about tomorrow's gallery showing. When she looked up, she caught Sylus watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, from her face down to where her blouse pulled slightly across her chest before snapping back to meet her eyes. She must have imagined it.

"Everything alright, sweetie?" Sylus asked, his voice low with that rough velvet quality that always made her feel warm.

"Just Thomas. He wants me to confirm the security details for tomorrow."

Rafayel groaned. "Thomas is a parasite. A well-organized parasite, but still."

"He's your manager."

"Exactly. Parasite."

The conversation drifted. Y/N found her attention wandering as the two men fell into a discussion about supply chains and protocores—something about a shipment to the N109 zone. She studied them without meaning to, noticing how Sylus's large frame seemed to fill the space, how his muscular arms crossed over his chest made his black shirt stretch tight. And Rafayel, leaner but no less striking, gestured with those artist's hands, his pink-purple eyes bright with intelligence.

Two very different kinds of beautiful. The thought surfaced unbidden, and she pushed it down.

"I need a drink," she announced, standing. "Can I get anyone anything?"

"Sprites," Rafayel said immediately. "The blue ones. Not the green ones. Thomas bought the green ones last time and they taste like lies."

Sylus raised his glass. "I'm fine."

Y/N walked to the kitchen area, grateful for the excuse to move. Being around both of them at once always left her feeling off-balance, like standing between two magnetic fields. She opened the refrigerator, bending slightly to reach the lower shelf where Rafayel kept his obsessive collection of sodas.

The soft footsteps behind her didn't surprise her. What surprised her was how close they stopped—close enough that she could feel body heat against her back.

"Let me help," Sylus's voice came from directly above her head, his chest nearly brushing her shoulders. His arm reached past her, his hand closing around a blue can on a higher shelf. When he withdrew, his body pressed against her for just a moment—hard muscle and warm skin through thin fabric.

She spun around. He stood there, the can in his hand, his face impassive except for the slight curve at the corner of his mouth.

"You seemed to be struggling," he said.

"I wasn't."

"Mm." He held out the can. Their fingers brushed during the exchange. "My mistake."

He walked back to the living area without looking back, and Y/N stood there with her face burning and her pulse doing something complicated.

"Come sit, cutie," Rafayel called from the couch. He'd moved from his armchair to the center cushion of the sofa, leaving space on either side. "You're too far away."

She grabbed a water for herself and returned, choosing the spot beside him. He immediately leaned into her, his shoulder pressing against hers, his head tilting until his wavy hair tickled her jaw.

"Rafayel—"

"You're warm." His voice came out soft, almost a whine. "I'm cold. This apartment is freezing. Sylus keeps it like a meat locker."

"It's seventy degrees," Sylus said, settling back into his armchair across from them.

"See? Meat locker temperatures. Absolutely barbaric."

Y/N laughed despite herself, relaxing as Rafayel's weight settled more firmly against her side. This wasn't unusual—he'd always been touchy, always pressing close, always finding excuses for physical contact. She'd chalked it up to his dramatic personality.

But something felt different tonight.

Maybe it was the way his hand rested on her knee, his thumb tracing lazy circles against her jeans. Maybe it was how his fingers tightened briefly when she shifted. Maybe it was the way Sylus watched them from across the room, his gaze dark and unreadable.

"So," Rafayel said, his tone shifting, "we should talk about something."

"Should we?" Sylus's voice held a warning note.

"Yes. We definitely should. Right now. This very second."

"Rafayel."

"I'm just saying—"

"You're saying nothing."

"I'm saying something—"

"That's the problem."

Y/N looked between them, sensing some kind of subtext she couldn't decode. "Is everything okay?"

Rafayel sat up straight, his hand falling away from her knee. The loss of warmth felt like a wound. "Perfect. Everything's perfect. Sylus just doesn't want to have an important conversation that we definitely need to have."

"What conversation?"

Sylus stood abruptly, setting his glass on the bar with a sharp click. "I'm going to smoke."

"You don't smoke."

"I'm starting."

He walked out onto the balcony, the glass door sliding shut behind him. Through the window, Y/N could see him standing at the railing, his broad back to them, shoulders tense.

"What was that about?" she asked.

Rafayel sighed, a dramatic, theatrical sound that somehow still seemed genuine. "He's being difficult. More difficult than usual, which is saying something."

"About what?"

"About you."

The words landed like stones. "What about me?"

Rafayel turned to face her fully, his blue-pink eyes intense and serious. His fair skin flushed pink across his cheekbones, a rare sight.

"Y/N. You know we care about you, right?"

"Of course. You're my friends."

"Friends." He repeated the word like it tasted sour. "Yes. Friends. That's exactly what we are. Just... unusually devoted friends. Very devoted. Suspiciously devoted, according to certain people who shall remain nameless but whose name rhymes with... well, with his actual name, because Sylus is unique."

"Rafayel, you're not making sense."

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than before. "I know I'm not. Words are hard. Painting is easier. I should paint what I mean. But that would be weird, right? To just hand someone a painting that says 'hey, we've been in love with you for months, please date both of us simultaneously.'"

Y/N's brain stuttered to a halt. "What?"

"See? Words. Very difficult. I should have led with something else. Maybe flowers. Or a musical number." He laughed, high and nervous. "Or maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all, and we could have continued being 'devoted friends' until we died of romantic frustration."

"Rafayel—"

"We like you," he blurted. "Both of us. Together. In the same way. At the same time." He winced. "That came out wrong. Or maybe right. I genuinely can't tell anymore."

The balcony door slid open. Sylus stepped back inside, his expression carefully neutral.

"You told her."

"She deserves to know." Rafayel's voice lacked its usual drama. "I'm tired of pretending."

Sylus walked to the couch, stopping in front of Y/N. He stood so tall from this angle, his frame massive, his presence overwhelming. But there was something careful in his posture—something uncertain.

"I didn't want to pressure you," he said quietly. "I thought... if you didn't feel the same, we could pretend this never happened."

"And if I do?"

The question hung in the air. Both men stared at her—Rafayel with desperate hope, Sylus with restrained intensity.

"Then we figure it out," Sylus said. "If you want to."

"Both of you?"

"Yes."

"At the same time?"

Rafayel made a sound like a deflating balloon. "That's the idea, cutie. A package deal. Two artists for the price of one. I should warn you, though—I'm the more high-maintenance half."

"Debatable," Sylus murmured.

"Excuse me? Who spent three hours yesterday organizing his wrench collection by size and function?"

"Organization is a virtue."

"Organization is obsessive."

Y/N started laughing. The tension broke like a wave, leaving something softer in its wake. They were still them—still bickering, still dramatic, still too much.

And somehow that made everything easier.

"I want this," she said, the words coming out steadier than expected. "I've wanted this. I thought I was going crazy."

Rafayel's face split into a brilliant smile. "Really?"

"Really."

He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing embrace. She laughed again, burying her face against his neck. He smelled like ocean salt and expensive paint.

But it was Sylus's touch that made her breath catch—his large hand settling on the back of her neck, warm and grounding.

"Look at me," he said softly.

She lifted her head. Rafayel pulled back just enough to watch, his hands still resting on her waist.

Sylus bent down. His mouth met hers with careful pressure—testing, asking. She opened for him immediately, and he made a low sound in his throat, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw. The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping past her lips, confident and claiming.

When he pulled back, her head spun.

"My turn," Rafayel said, tugging her attention back to him. His kiss was different—playful and teasing, his teeth catching her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. He kissed like he painted, all passion and fire, leaving her wanting more.

They traded her back and forth, soft kisses that grew deeper, hands that grew bolder. Rafayel's fingers found the hem of her blouse, slipping beneath to trace the bare skin of her waist. Sylus moved behind her, his chest against her back, his mouth trailing down the curve of her neck.

"Bedroom," Sylus said against her skin. "Now."

They moved together through the penthouse, a tangle of limbs and urgent touches. By the time they reached Sylus's bedroom, Y/N's blouse lay somewhere on the hallway floor, and her bra hung loose around her shoulders.

The bed was massive, draped in dark sheets. Sylus guided her onto it, settling between her spread thighs while Rafayel stretched out beside her.

"Look at you," Rafayel breathed, his eyes fixed on her chest. His hand reached out, cupping one breast in his palm, testing its weight. "I've thought about this. About how you'd feel."

He squeezed gently, his thumb dragging across her nipple. The bud hardened, and Y/N arched into his touch.

"So sensitive," he murmured, leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of her breast. His tongue traced the edge of her areola before finally—finally—wrapping his lips around her nipple.

She gasped. Rafayel sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing, while his free hand found her other breast and pinched.

Meanwhile, Sylus had worked her jeans open, tugging them down her thighs along with her underwear. The cool air hit her exposed pussy, and she clenched in anticipation.

"Gorgeous," Sylus said, his red eyes dark with want. He spread her folds with two fingers, examining her like she was something precious. "You're already so wet for us."

His thumb found her clit, pressing in slow circles. Y/N moaned, her hips lifting into his touch.

"She sounds pretty," Rafayel said against her breast, switching sides to give her other nipple equal attention. "Let's hear more."

Sylus lowered his head. The first stroke of his tongue along her slit made her cry out. He licked broad stripes, gathering her slick on his tongue, before focusing on her entrance.

"Fuck," she gasped. "Sylus—"

He pushed his tongue inside her, fucking her with it in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each movement sent sparks up her spine. His nose pressed against her clit, providing constant stimulation while his tongue worked her open.

Rafayel's teeth grazed her nipple at the same moment Sylus thrust particularly deep. Pleasure crashed over her in waves, building higher with each passing second.

"More," she begged. "Please—"

Sylus pulled back just enough to speak. "Patience, sweetie. We're going to take our time."

He returned to her pussy with renewed focus, this time adding a finger alongside his tongue. The stretch made her gasp, her walls clenching around the intrusion.

Rafayel released her nipple with a wet pop, sitting back to watch Sylus work. "You look so pretty like this," he told Y/N, his voice thick. "All spread out and desperate."

"Rafayel—" she started, but whatever she meant to say dissolved into a moan as Sylus curled his finger inside her.

"Right here?" Sylus asked, pressing against a spot that made her vision blur. "Found it."

He rubbed that spot in firm circles while his tongue flicked rapidly over her clit. The dual sensation pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm going to—"

"Come for us," Rafayel commanded, pinching her nipple hard. "Now."

Her orgasm crashed through her. She convulsed, her pussy clenching around Sylus's finger while she cried out. He worked her through it, drawing out every last aftershock with gentle licks.

When she finally stilled, both men were staring at her with barely contained hunger.

"Beautiful," Sylus said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rafayel was already tugging off his shirt, his slender chest exposed. "My turn. I need—I've been waiting—"

He fumbled with his pants, finally freeing his cock. It jutted from his body, hard and flushed, beads of precum gathering at the tip.

Y/N's eyes widened. He was bigger than she'd imagined—thick and long, with a slight curve that promised to hit interesting places.

"Like what you see, cutie?" Rafayel asked with a smirk, but his voice wavered.

"Very much."

She reached for him, but Sylus caught her wrist. "Let us. We want to make you feel good."

She watched as Sylus undressed, his muscular body revealed inch by inch. When he finally freed his cock, her mouth went dry. He was even larger than Rafayel—thick and veined, his size intimidating.

"We'll go slow," Sylus promised, noticing her expression. "We'll make it fit."

Rafayel positioned himself between her thighs, his cock nudging against her entrance. "Tell me if it's too much."

He pushed inside slowly, giving her time to adjust. The stretch burned in the best way—his thickness filling her completely.

"Oh god," she gasped.

He bottomed out and held still, his hips flush against hers. "Okay?"

"More than okay."

He started moving, his rhythm slow and deep. Each thrust dragged against her walls, stimulating every nerve ending.

Sylus knelt beside her head, his cock jutting toward her mouth. "Open."

She did, letting him push inside. The weight of him on her tongue was intoxicating—his musk filling her senses as she hollowed her cheeks.

"Fuck," Sylus groaned. "Your mouth..."

Rafayel picked up speed, his thrusts growing harder. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by moans and gasps.

"You feel incredible," Rafayel panted. "So fucking tight—like you were made for me."

Sylus's hand tangled in her hair, guiding her movements. "Just like that, sweetie. You're doing so well."

Their praise washed over her, making her head spin. She felt worshipped—adored—two sets of hands and mouths claiming every part of her.

"I'm close," Rafayel warned, his rhythm becoming erratic.

"Me too," Sylus ground out.

"Inside," Y/N gasped around Sylus's cock. "Both of you—inside—"

That was all the encouragement they needed. Rafayel thrust deep one final time, spilling inside her with a broken moan. Sylus followed moments later, his cum flooding her mouth in hot spurts.

They collapsed together on the bed, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts. Y/N lay between them, feeling thoroughly wrecked.

But apparently, they weren't done.

"My turn to taste her," Rafayel announced, already sliding down her body.

"Again?" she managed.

"Again and again," he promised, pressing a kiss to her still-sensitive clit. "Until you can't take anymore."

What followed was hours of pleasure—Rafayel's talented tongue and Sylus's thick cock, sometimes together, sometimes taking turns. They pushed her to orgasm after orgasm until she lost count, until her body felt like liquid and her mind had gone blissfully blank.

By the time they finally let her rest, the sun had long since set. She lay boneless between them, covered in sweat and other fluids, hickeys scattered across her neck and chest.

"Look at you," Sylus said, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Completely ruined."

Rafayel laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "You look perfect. Tired and perfect and ours."

"Ours," Y/N repeated, the word settling warm in her chest.

Both men pulled her closer, their bodies cocooning her in warmth and safety. For the first time in a long time, she felt completely, utterly content.

"Stay," Sylus murmured against her hair. "Stay with us."

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied.

Rafayel's arms tightened around her, and Sylus's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining.

Outside the windows, Linkon City glittered in the darkness, full of danger and uncertainty. But here, in this bed, with these two impossible men—Y/N had never felt safer.

She closed her eyes, their heartbeats steady against her, and let herself drift.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges—missions and Wanderers and the shadowy machinations of EVER. But tonight was theirs.

And tomorrow night, if she had anything to say about it, would be theirs too.

[fairbrooke]

Ummm… Yeah, these shots are my favorites 🫦

[yukinohoshikuzu]

same look.

[thewrldx]

inspired by this ask that my lovely @zayora sent from her idea. don’t actually read it tho it sucks (i tried mommy)

"Still with me, kitten?" Sylus hums, broad hands smoothing down your sides before curling his fingers possessively around your hips so he can slam his cock back into your swollen hole with ease.

"Haah—! Sy—s'too much—" you manage between choked out moans.

"But you're taking it so good, sweetie," he praises, leaning his large frame over your body.

His face nuzzles into your neck before planting open mouth kisses over your skin. They are slow and messy, because he loves softly showing you affection while you’re trembling beneath him wayyy to much.

With your head hazy from your previous two orgasms, you grasp the comforter and drag your pliant body forward, trying to run away from his thrusts for, embarrassingly, the third time. Your thighs shake with the effort, but it proves useless when he follows immediately, crowding over you until his weight is too heavy for you to move.

Sylus growls then tsks, his tone shifting from praise to punish as one hand leave your hip to find your hair.

The silky strands wrap once around his fist before he tugs, forcing your head back and baring your throat. The position makes another broken moan spill from your lips, your back arching helplessly against his chest as he thrusts deeper in response.

"Where are you going?" he asks, punctuating each word with a rough slam of his hips.

Plap, plap, plap.

It's the only sound accompanying the thoughts in your head, all of which are filled with Sylus—and his cock which is splitting you open over and over as he holds you tight, keeping you from escaping what he's giving you.

And from the vulnerable position he has you in, you have a feeling he plans on keeping you like this a lot longer.

2026 © thewrldx

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[leviathanroze]

What he sees in you

🔞MDNI🔞

The soft hum of the air conditioning in Xavier’s apartment was the only sound competing with the ragged rhythm of your own breathing. You stood in the center of his bedroom, the plush carpet sinking beneath your bare feet, feeling suddenly exposed despite being fully clothed. Xavier stood behind you, his presence a towering wall of warmth that smelled faintly of ozone and clean linen. His hands rested on your shoulders, heavy and reassuring, but there was a tension in his grip that betrayed his calm demeanor.

"Starlight," he murmured, the words vibrating against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. You leaned back into him, seeking the comfort of his chest, but he held you firm, keeping you upright.

"Then open your eyes."

Your lids fluttered open. Before you stood the full-length mirror he’d dragged into the center of the room. In the dim light of the room, your reflection looked small, wide-eyed, and trembling. You glanced away instantly, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

"Don't look away," Xavier commanded softly. There was no anger in his tone, only a steely resolve that made your thighs clench instinctively. "I want you to watch. I want you to see what I see when I take you."

"I... I can't," you stammered, shaking your head slightly. "I look a mess, Xavier. I’m blushing, my hair is—"

"You look beautiful," he cut you off, his voice dropping an octave, turning into a low rumble that vibrated through your ribs. His hands slid from your shoulders down your arms, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner elbows before moving to your waist. "You look like a goddess who is about to be worshipped. But if you won't believe me with words..." He nipped at the sensitive spot just below your earlobe, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat. "...maybe I’ll have to show you."

His fingers deftly unbuttoned your blouse, the fabric parting with a soft rustle. He didn't rush. He took his time, exposing inch after inch of skin to the cool air and the unyielding gaze of the mirror. You squeezed your eyes shut, your face burning with shame and arousal.

"Eyes on the mirror, Starlight," Xavier reminded you, his breath hot against your neck.

You forced them open, meeting your own gaze. The reflection showed a woman disheveled and desperate, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips parted. Xavier stood behind her, a towering figure of silver and white, his blue eyes fixed not on the mirror, but on the back of your neck with a predatory intensity.

"I don't see what you see," you whimpered, the insecurity bubbling up again.

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, one hand slipping under the cup of your bra to knead the soft flesh, his thumb grazing your nipple until it pebbled under his touch. You moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder, breaking the line of sight with the glass.

"Tsk, tsk," Xavier clucked his tongue, withdrawing his hand. The sudden loss of warmth made you whine. "I said watch."

Before you could react, his hand tangled in your hair, gripping the roots firmly but not painfully enough to cause true harm. He pulled your head back up, forcing your gaze to lock onto your own reflection once more. The sting on your scalp sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, wetness gathering instantly between your legs.

"Keep them open," he ordered, his other hand working the zipper of your skirt. It pooled around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. "Look at that body. Look at those legs. You’re hiding a masterpiece behind those insecurities."

He stepped closer, pressing his hips against your backside. You could feel him, hard and thick, even through his dark pants. The size difference was always apparent, but seeing it in the mirror—his tall, broad frame eclipsing your smaller, softer one—made your head spin. He was fully clothed, radiating a contained power, while you were nearly naked, trembling and exposed.

"Xavier, please," you begged, though you weren't sure if you were asking him to stop or to never stop.

"Please what?" he teased, his hand sliding down your stomach, dipping into the waistband of your panties. His fingers found your clit effortlessly, circling the swollen nub with agonizing slowness. "Please touch this greedy little cunt? Is that what you want?"

"Yes... God, yes," you cried out, your knees buckling slightly.

"Then watch it," he growled, his voice losing its gentle edge, replaced by something darker, hungrier. "Watch how you respond to me. See how beautiful you are when you're falling apart."

He plunged two fingers inside you without warning. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your eyes rolling back for a split second before his grip on your hair tightened, forcing you to look forward again.

"I said watch," he reiterated, pumping his fingers in and out of you with a wet, squelching sound that seemed to echo obscenely in the quiet room. "Look at your face. Look at how you bite your lip. It’s fucking obscene, Starlight. I love it."

The degradation hit you like a physical blow, mixed perfectly with the praise. Obscene. Beautiful. Greedy. The words swirled in your mind, clouding your thoughts. You watched your reflection, mesmerized despite yourself. You did look obscene. Your face was contorted in pleasure, your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. And behind you, Xavier looked like a dark angel, his expression stoic but his eyes burning with a fire that threatened to consume you both.

He withdrew his fingers, glistening with your arousal, and brought them to his lips, tasting you with a groan that sounded almost pained. "Delicious," he muttered. "But I need more. I need to feel you wrapped around my cock."

He released your hair only to undo his pants. The sound of his zipper lowering was deafening. You watched in the mirror as he freed himself. He was massive—long, thick, and heavy, the head flushed dark with blood. The sight alone made your walls clench around nothing.

"Turn around," he commanded.

You did, facing him. He was still wearing his white sweater, the contrast between the innocent fabric and his raw, naked erection making the scene even more erotic. He grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms circling his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"Uh-uh," he scolded gently, turning you back toward the mirror. "Face forward. I want you to see me ruining you."

He lined himself up with your entrance, the blunt head nudging against your wet folds. "Are you ready, Starlight?"

"Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling.

"Good."

He lowered you onto him, impaling you in one slow, relentless stroke. Your eyes widened in the mirror, a guttural moan tearing from your throat as he stretched you open, filling you to the brim. It was too much, almost too much, the sheer size of him forcing your walls to accommodate him, molding you to fit his shape.

"Fuck, you're tight," Xavier hissed, his jaw clenching as he bottomed out. He held you there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust. "Look at us. Look at how well you take me."

You couldn't look away. The image was burned into your retinas. You looked small in his arms, impaled on his thick shaft, your body shaking with the effort of holding him. He began to move, lifting you up and down his length, using your body like a toy.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The sound of skin meeting skin was rhythmic and loud. Each thrust jarred your body, your breasts bouncing with the force of his movements.

"Look at that pussy stretching around my cock," Xavier grunted, his voice ragged. "You were made for this. You were made to take me deep inside you."

"Xavier... ah... it's too deep," you cried out, your hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.

"You can take it," he said, his pace quickening. "You’re my good girl, aren't you? You can take whatever I give you."

He shifted his angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. Your mouth fell open, your eyes struggling to stay focused on the mirror.

"Don't you dare look away," he warned, sensing your drifting focus. He brought one hand down in a sharp smack against your ass cheek. The sting radiated through you, mixing with the pleasure in a delicious cocktail of sensation.

"I... I can't," you sobbed, the pleasure building to a breaking point. "It's too much."

"You will," he demanded. He grabbed your jaw with his free hand, turning your face forcefully toward the glass. "Look at yourself being fucked. Look at the whore in the mirror who loves my cock."

The word hung in the air, dirty and degrading, but it only pushed you closer to the edge. You watched your face contort, watched the tears leak from the corners of your eyes. You looked destroyed, ruined, and utterly claimed.

"Who owns this pussy, Starlight?" Xavier growled, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm as his own climax approached.

"You do," you gasped. "You own it!"

"Damn right," he bit out, burying his face in your neck. "I'm going to fill you up. I'm going to breed this little cunt until you're dripping with me."

The primal declaration sent you spiraling. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. You screamed, your entire body convulsing in his arms, your vision whiting out.

Xavier groaned, his hips pistoning into you as he chased his own release. With a final, guttural roar, he slammed into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep inside. You could feel it—the hot, thick spurts of cum coating your insides, flooding you with an overwhelming amount of seed. It was too much, overflowing around his shaft, dripping down your thighs.

He held you there, both of you trembling, as the aftershocks rippled through your bodies. The mirror reflected the image of two people completely undone, sweat-slicked and gasping for air. You looked at your reflection—face flushed, eyes teary, marked by his handprints—and for the first time, you saw what he saw. You looked ravaged, but you looked loved.

Xavier slowly pulled out of you, a rush of warm fluid following his exit. He lowered your legs gently, keeping an arm around your waist to steady you when your knees threatened to give out.

"Look," he whispered, turning your attention back to the glass.

His cum was leaking out of you, a thick, white trail running down the inside of your thigh. It was filthy, obscene, and deeply erotic.

"Messy," you murmured, your voice hoarse.

"Beautiful," he corrected, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "You look beautiful filled with my mark."

He turned you in his arms, his hands cupping your face, wiping away the tears that had stained your cheeks. His blue eyes were soft now, filled with a gentle affection that belied the roughness of the past few minutes. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and sweet, tasting of salt and shared breath.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly against your lips.

"I'm... I'm more than okay," you admitted, leaning into his touch. "That was..."

"Intense?" he offered, a small, boyish smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. Intense."

He rested his forehead against yours, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "I meant what I said, Starlight. You need to see yourself the way I do. You're stunning. Especially when you're falling apart in my arms."

You felt a fresh wave of heat rise to your cheeks, but this time, it wasn't shame. It was desire. It was acceptance.

"Maybe... maybe we can do this again sometime?" you suggested hesitantly.

Xavier pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes widening slightly before darkening with renewed intent. "Sometime?" He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your chest. "Oh, Starlight. We are definitely doing this again. We’re going to do this until you can’t look in that mirror without remembering exactly how I made you feel."

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming down your back to pull you flush against him. The mirror stood behind you, a silent witness to your surrender, reflecting a future filled with passion, darkness, and the light of a star that was finally learning to shine.

[sylussdarklingrose]

Grind On Me

Summary: Stressed. Frustrated. Horny.

That's how you were feeling after your horrible day at work and you needed to let out your frustrations on something. Or more specifically, someone.

And what better way to end your night with Sylus sitting on your face and eating out his pretty pussy until he's sobbing?

Warnings: boypussy!sylus, top MC, bottom!sylus, pussy eating, overstimulation, men crying, maid sylus, squirting, fingering, double penetration in two holes

Word count: 3K

Collab with my wife @leviathanroze 🩷

The Linkon sky was a bruised purple twilight, the lingering scent of ozone and burnt metal clinging to the air even as the neon of N109 began to flicker awake. Y/N’s boots echoed a sharp, frustrated rhythm against the cracked pavement, her shoulders tense, jaw clenched. Another day of bureaucratic bullshit at the Hunters Association, another stack of EVER-related reports that felt like moving sand. The frustration wasn’t just mental; it was a physical heat coiled in her gut, a restless energy that made her fingers twitch. She needed… something. An outlet. A release. The thought of her vibrator back in her sterile Linkon apartment felt pathetic, insufficient. It lacked… presence. It lacked him.

The entrance to the Onychinus headquarters wasn’t marked, just a reinforced steel door set between two crumbling buildings. She knew the pattern. Three quick knocks, a pause, two more. The door hissed open on automated hinges, revealing the dim, industrial interior—exposed pipes, glowing data screens, the low hum of machinery. And there, leaning against a central console with that infuriatingly casual grace, was Sylus.

His silver hair looked even more chaotic under the low blue light, strands falling across his sharp brow. Those bright red eyes tracked her entrance, a smirk playing on his lips. He was in his usual attire—black trousers, a fitted dark shirt that showed the definition of his chest and arms—but it did nothing to dampen the raw, predatory aura he carried. The air around him felt charged.

“Kitten,” he drawled, the word a velvet rumble. “You look like you’ve been wrestling with paperwork and losing. The city’s weight is still on your shoulders.”

She didn’t bother with greetings. The irritation spilled out, hot and direct. “I’m fucking exhausted, Sylus. And irritated. And I need… I need to use something. I need to not think.”

His smirk deepened, a knowing glint in his crimson gaze. He unfolded from the console, moving toward her with that deliberate, unhurried stride. “And what did you bring to use, sweetie? Your little buzzing friend?”

“No.” She met his eyes, her own resolve hardening. The idea had formed during the train ride, crystallizing into a desperate, vivid need. “I want you. Specifically, I want you to sit on my face. I want you to squirt on my face.”

A flicker of surprise—rare for him—passed through his expression, followed by a slow, considering blink. His right eye didn’t glow, but the intensity in them sharpened. “That’s… a rather specific demand. And a messy one. You’re asking for a performance, not just relief.”

“I’m begging for it,” she said, the words leaving her mouth before she could filter them. The raw need was too loud inside her. “Please, Sylus. I need to feel… overwhelmed. I need to be under you. I want your pussy all over me.”

He studied her, the analytical part of him undoubtedly weighing her psychology, her genuine frustration against the potential spectacle. Then, that playful affection she’d seen glimpses of surfaced, mixing with his usual smugness. “And what else, my ambitious little hunter? You’re not stopping there. You have a full fantasy in mind.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. “A maid’s dress. Stockings. Heels."

A low chuckle escaped him. “A costume. You want a tableau. You want to devour a pretty picture.” He stepped closer, until the heat of his body radiated against her. One hand rose, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, a touch that was both assessing and tender. “If that’s what you want… if that’s what you truly need to purge that city tension… then I shall give it to you. But you’ll have to work for it, kitten. You’ll have to take what you’re asking for.”

The command in his voice, the subtle challenge, ignited something else beneath her frustration—a spark of dominance, of claiming. He was giving her control, but framing it as a test. “Where?” she asked, her voice lower.

“My quarters. They’re more comfortable than this steel playground.” He turned, leading her through a labyrinth of corridors toward a private section of the complex. The space was surprisingly lush compared to the industrial core—deep carpets, low lighting, a large bed with black silk sheets. It spoke of his hidden softness, his need for a sanctuary.

He moved to a closet, opening it to reveal a range of clothing, some tactical, some… less so. He pulled out a bundle of black fabric. “I don’t have a traditional maid’s dress, but I have something that will serve the purpose.” It was a sleek, black dress with a fitted bodice and a flared, short skirt. He added a pair of sheer black stockings and a set of elegant, black heels.

“Put it on,” Y/N said, the directive firm.

Sylus glanced at her, that smug smile returning. “Such a bossy mood tonight. Very well.” He began to undress, his movements economical and unashamed. His muscular physique was a landscape of defined power—the flat stomach, the strong thighs. When his trousers came off, the sight of him, fully nude, hit her with a fresh wave of heat. Between his thighs was exactly what she’d demanded—his pussy. It was a neat, pretty slit nestled in a thatch of silver-tinted pubic hair, the lips already looking plump and faintly glistening even without direct stimulation. He had no cock, just that beautiful, vulnerable opening.

He stepped into the stockings, rolling them up his calves and thighs with precise care, the sheer fabric clinging to his skin. The heels went next, elevating him, making his legs look even longer, his posture more poised. Finally, he slid the dress over his shoulders, zipping it up the back. The skirt ended mid-thigh, the stockings visible beneath. He looked… devastating. A powerful, dangerous man rendered in a costume of service, the contrast making her pulse hammer.

“How do I look, sweetie?” he asked, turning slightly, the skirt swaying.

“Perfect,” she breathed. “Now… get on the bed.”

He complied, moving to the edge of the large bed and sitting, his stocking-clad legs stretched out. “Your stage is set. Your performer is ready. What’s your first move, kitten?”

Y/N approached, her own clothes feeling cumbersome now. She stripped quickly, leaving her own body bare. The difference in their sizes was palpable—his tall, muscular frame against her smaller one. She didn’t feel small, though; she felt hungry. She climbed onto the bed, crawling until she was between his spread legs.

“Lean back,” she instructed. “Put your hands behind you for support. I want you elevated.”

Sylus obeyed, leaning back, planting his hands on the silk, his heels digging into the bed for balance. This position lifted his hips, presenting his pussy directly to her. The black skirt rucked up around his waist, the stockings sheathing his thighs, the heels pointing skyward. The view was obscenely elegant. His pussy lips were now fully exposed, parted slightly by the angle, a deeper pink hue visible in the low light.

Y/N positioned herself on her elbows and knees, her face directly beneath him. She could smell him now—a clean, musky scent, uniquely his. “Now,” she said, her voice thick with intent, “sit down. On my face.”

A moment of hesitation, genuine this time, crossed his features. It wasn’t refusal; it was vulnerability. Giving someone this kind of control, this intimacy, was a surrender. His red eyes locked with hers. “You’re sure?”

“I’m begging.”

He took a slow breath, then began to lower himself. His thighs, strong and sheathed in sheer black, descended. His weight, controlled but undeniable, settled. First, the soft pressure of his stocking-clad inner thighs against her cheeks. Then, the warmth of his pussy met her mouth.

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. The heat, the softness of his outer lips, the faint dampness already there. She opened her mouth, letting her tongue slide out to taste him. A soft, salty-clean flavor. Her world narrowed to this—the dark intimacy beneath him, the sound of his breathing above, the feel of his body covering her.

She didn’t wait for permission. She ate.

Her tongue dove between his folds, seeking the wet heat inside. She licked upward, tracing the length of his slit, then focused on the plump little nub of his clit. She circled it, fast and firm.

Sylus’s reaction was instant. A sharp, guttural gasp ripped from him. “Oh—fuck, kitten—” His thighs tightened around her head, not painfully, but possessively. His hands shifted on the bed, fingers curling into the silk.

She moaned against him, the vibration traveling into his flesh. She sucked his clit into her mouth, applying pressure, then released it to lick again. Her tongue was relentless, exploring every fold, dipping inside his entrance where she could feel him getting slicker, hotter. She used her lips too, kissing his pussy, nibbling gently at the sensitive outer lips.

“Your mouth—god, your mouth is so fucking good—” Sylus’s voice was a broken, ragged thing above her. He started to move, not just sitting static, but grinding. He lifted his hips slightly, then pushed them down against her face, a slow, deliberate roll. The friction was exquisite. His pussy slid over her nose, her lips, her chin. The stockings rubbed against her ears. She was drenched in him, in his scent, his taste, his motion.

She pushed her tongue deeper inside him, as deep as she could go, feeling the intimate, velvety grip of his inner walls. She curled it, searching.

“There—right there—ahh, ahh!” His moans escalated, losing any semblance of calm. He was panting, his breaths heaving. His grinding became more urgent, more rhythmic. He was riding her face properly now, each downward push a demand for more pressure, more contact.

Y/N’s own frustration was melting, transforming into a fierce, focused pleasure. The power of this—having this formidable man above her, completely lost in the sensation she was providing—was intoxicating. She sucked hard on his clit again, then whispered against his wet flesh, her words muffled but audible. “Come on, Sylus. Squirt for me. Fill my mouth. Drench me.”

“I—I’m trying—it’s so much—” His voice trembled. His body trembled. The muscles in his thighs were rigid. She felt his pussy clenching around her tongue, a series of tight, rapid pulses. The wetness was increasing, a copious flow that coated her tongue and dripped down her chin.

She added her fingers. Reaching up, she slid two fingers along his slit, finding his entrance and pushing inside alongside her tongue. The double penetration made him cry out, a raw, open-mouthed sound. “YES! Fuck, yes—more—more—”

She fucked him with her fingers, shallow at first, then deeper, crooking them to press upward inside him. Her tongue continued its assault on his clit. The coordination was messy, passionate, perfect.

His grinding became frantic, almost violent. He was bucking against her face, his heels digging hard into the mattress. His moans were continuous now, a stream of filthy, shattered praise. “You’re so good—such a good fucking kitten—eating me like you’re starving—ahh—I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

She felt it building inside him—a tension that wasn’t just muscular, but liquid. His pussy felt swollen, incredibly hot. The fluids were flowing freely, soaking her entire face. She kept pushing, kept licking, her fingers pumping steadily.

Then, it broke.

Sylus’s body arched, a sharp, convulsive movement. His thighs clamped around her head with shocking force. A choked, guttural scream tore from his throat. And then—a gush. Not a trickle. A gush.

Hot, clear fluid erupted from him, not just from his entrance but seemingly from everywhere inside. It flooded over her tongue, filled her mouth, spilled out over her lips and nose and cheeks. It was copious, drenching, and it had a faint, sweet-musky taste unlike his earlier lubrication. It squirted in a sudden, overwhelming wave, soaking her face and the bed beneath.

He collapsed afterward, his body slumping, his weight settling heavily on her. He was panting, wheezing, utterly spent. His pussy continued to twitch against her mouth, little aftershock clenches.

Y/N swallowed what was in her mouth, licked up what was on her face. She was drenched, sticky, and utterly satisfied. The frustration was gone, replaced by a deep, carnal contentment. She gently nudged him upward. “Alright… up. I want more.”

Sylus, with effort, lifted himself off her face. He looked wrecked—his silver hair disheveled, his face flushed, his red eyes hazy and half-lidded. The maid dress was rumpled, the stockings still perfect. “You’re… insatiable,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

“I told you I needed to use something,” she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Now… the double-ended dildo. Where is it?”

He gestured weakly toward a drawer beside the bed. Y/N retrieved it—a sleek, black silicone toy, substantial in length and girth, with a bulb at each end. She returned to the bed, kneeling between his legs again. His pussy was utterly soaked, glistening, the lips puffy and open.

“Turn over,” she said. “On your knees. Hands and knees.”

Sylus, still trembling from his climax, shifted onto his hands and knees. The dress skirt fell around his waist, his stockings and heels still on, presenting his ass and his wet pussy from behind. The view was even more obscene—his strong back, the dress fabric taut over his shoulders, the sheer stockings on his powerful thighs, and between them, that exposed, dripping slit.

Y/N coated one end of the dildo with his own slick fluids, then positioned herself behind him. She placed the other end against her own pussy, already aching and wet from the intensity of the facesitting. She guided the toy, pressing the tip against his entrance.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Always ready for you, sweetie,” he sighed, a thread of playful affection returning despite his exhaustion.

She pushed. The bulb end slid into his pussy with a smooth, wet sound. It stretched him, his already loosened entrance accepting it easily. She kept pushing until the middle of the toy was seated deep inside him. Then, she shifted her hips, aligning the other bulb with her own opening.

She sank down.

The sensation of the dildo filling her own pussy while simultaneously being inside him was electric. It created a direct, physical link between them. She was fucking him, and fucking herself, through this shared instrument.

She began to move. A slow rock of her hips, pushing the toy deeper into him, then pulling it slightly back, stimulating herself in the same motion.

Sylus moaned, a deep, resonant groan. “Ohhh… that’s… fuck… so full…”

She increased the pace. Her thrusts became more deliberate, more forceful. Each forward drive buried the toy deeper into his pussy, and she could feel the corresponding pressure in her own. The silicone was smooth, unforgiving, providing a relentless stretch.

She increased the pace. Her thrusts became more deliberate, more forceful. Each forward drive buried the toy deeper into his pussy, and she could feel the corresponding pressure in her own. The silicone was smooth, unforgiving, providing a relentless stretch.

“Harder, kitten—please—” Sylus begged, his voice dropping into a submissive plea that contrasted beautifully with his usual dominance. He pushed back against her thrusts, meeting her movements, trying to take more.

Y/N obliged. She grabbed his hips, her fingers digging into the firm muscle through the dress fabric. She started to pound.

The rhythm became brutal, a fast, hard pistoning of the toy between them. Each thrust jolted his body, made his back muscles flex, caused his stocking-clad thighs to shake. The wet, slapping sounds of their joined flesh and the toy filled the room.

Sylus’s moans escalated into a continuous, ragged stream. “Fuck—fuck—fuck—yes—right there—you’re fucking me so deep—I can feel it in my guts—ahh! AHH!” He was babbling, losing coherence, his head dropping between his shoulders.

Y/N’s own pleasure was skyrocketing. The toy was hitting perfect spots inside her, the friction intense. The visual of him—powerful Sylus, in a maid dress and heels, being fucked relentlessly from behind—was feeding a deep, psychological arousal. She owned this. She was using him exactly as she’d needed.

She changed the angle, tilting her hips so the toy pressed upward inside him. He screamed, a sharp, piercing sound. “GOD! THERE! DON’T STOP!”

She didn’t. She hammered into that angle, feeling his pussy clench around the toy in violent, rhythmic spasms. He was close again. So was she.

The dual stimulation was overwhelming. She felt her own orgasm building, a tight coil in her core ready to snap. His moans were now just desperate, repeated cries. “Kitten—kitten—I’m gonna—I’m gonna squirt again—please—let me—”

“Do it,” she growled, her own voice strained. “Squirt all over this toy. Soak it. Soak me.”

With a final, brutal thrust, she triggered it.

Sylus’s body seized. His back arched violently, his head thrown back. A second, powerful gush of fluid erupted from his pussy, this one even more copious than the first. It flooded around the toy, dripping down his thighs, soaking the stockings, splattering onto the sheets below. The squirting was accompanied by a broken, sobbing wail of release.

The sensation of his climax, the fluid gushing around the toy still inside him, pushed Y/N over the edge. Her own orgasm exploded, a white-hot burst that radiated from her pussy through her entire body. She cried out, her hips stuttering, still pumping as she convulsed. The toy felt electrified inside her, the shared connection making her climax feel doubly intense.

They collapsed together, a tangled mess of limbs, wetness, and the still-connecting toy. Sylus fell forward onto his elbows, panting desperately. Y/N fell beside him, the toy slowly slipping out from both of them with a wet, final sound.

The silence that followed was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and spent energy. The neon glow from outside painted stripes across the room.

After several minutes, Sylus turned his head toward her. His red eyes were soft, hazy, his smugness replaced by a genuine, vulnerable warmth. “You… purged that frustration, I think.”

Y/N smiled, a tired, deeply satisfied smile. She reached out, stroking his cheek through his messy silver hair. “I feel so much better now.” She let out a slow breath. “I hope… we can do this again.”

Sylus chuckled, a low, exhausted sound. “Whenever you need to use me, kitten. I’m your favorite tool.”

[leviathanroze]

Mine to keep

🔞MDNI🔞

The dream always started the same way.

Caleb would walk through the door of their shared quarters on the Skyhaven base, his Colonel’s coat still heavy on his shoulders, the weight of deployment pressing on every muscle. Exhaustion would pull at his bones — the kind that came from weeks of command decisions and too many close calls with the Deepspace Tunnel’s anomalies. But none of that mattered because he was home. Because she was there.

And then he’d see her.

Y/N, his pipsqueak, curled on the couch with that soft smile she reserved just for him. Except she wasn’t alone. A man sat beside her — dark hair, wire-frame glasses, hands covered in surgical scars. Zayne. The cardiac surgeon from Linkon City. His arm draped across the back of the couch behind her shoulders. Casual. Intimate. Like he belonged there.

In the dream, Caleb would call her name. She’d turn, and her eyes — those eyes that had looked at him with warmth since they were children in Gran’s house — would slide right past him. No recognition. Nothing.

I’m sorry, do I know you?

The words gutted him every time. He’d reach for her, and Zayne would step between them, expression cool and professional even as he stole everything Caleb had ever wanted. Everything Caleb had become a monster to protect.

Tonight, the dream ended with Y/N laughing at something Zayne said, her fingers intertwined with his, while Caleb stood inches away — invisible, forgotten, erased.

—

His eyes snapped open.

For three heartbeats, Caleb didn’t know where he was. The darkness of their quarters pressed in, broken only by the faint blue glow of the chrono-display on the nightstand: 0347. Skyhaven base. Home. She was here.

His arm was already moving before conscious thought caught up. His hand found her hip beneath the sheets, gripped hard enough that she stirred against him with a small, sleepy sound. He pulled her backward into his chest, his other arm snaking around her waist, locking her against him. The curves of her body molded to his front. Her warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her sleep shirt into his bare chest. Alive. Real. His.

Y/N’s breathing changed. She shifted, pressing her ass back against his hips, and her hand came up to cover his where it was splayed across her stomach. “Caleb?” Her voice was thick with sleep but already edged with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. Sweet. Familiar. The only thing that ever kept the darkness at bay. “Nothing.”

“You’re shaking.”

He was. Fine tremors ran through his arms, his hands. His jaw ached from clenching. The Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, the man who could crush bones with his Gravity Evol, trembling like a scared child.

“Talk to me.” She tried to turn in his arms, but he held her tighter, keeping her pressed against him. “Caleb.”

“The dream again.” His voice came out rougher than he intended. “I came home, and you were with him. That doctor from Linkon. You looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was a stranger.”

She went still in his arms. Then her fingers pried at his grip, not to escape but to lace through his own. She brought his hand up to her mouth and pressed her lips to his knuckles. Soft. So goddamn soft it made his chest ache.

“I’m right here,” she said against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s no one else.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The words caught somewhere in his throat, tangled up with all the things he’d done to keep her safe. The people he’d killed. The sacrifices he’d made. The Toring chip humming at the base of his skull, a constant reminder that he wasn’t even entirely himself anymore.

Y/N shifted again, and this time he let her turn. She faced him in the darkness, her hand coming up to cup his jaw. Her thumb traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, and her eyes — those eyes that saw straight through every mask he’d ever worn — searched his face.

“I love you, Caleb.” Each word deliberate. Weighted. “Not the Colonel. Not the childhood friend everyone thought they knew. You. All of it. The dark parts too.”

Something cracked inside his chest. He captured her mouth with his, crushing her lips beneath his own in a kiss that was more desperation than romance. She gasped, and his tongue swept inside, claiming her mouth like he wanted to claim every part of her. Own her. Brand her. Make sure she could never forget.

She melted into him, her body going pliant as she arched against his chest. Her fingers slid into his hair, gripping the short strands at the nape of his neck. When she pulled, a groan rumbled from deep in his throat.

He broke the kiss, breathing ragged. “I need to taste you.”

“What—”

But he was already moving. His hands found the hem of her sleep shirt, dragging it upward. She raised her arms obligingly, letting him strip it over her head and toss it somewhere into the darkness. Her breasts were bare beneath — she never bothered with anything else to sleep in, a fact that had driven him to distraction long before he’d finally confessed what she meant to him.

“Lie back,” he said, and the command in his voice made her shiver. She obeyed, settling against the pillows, her hair fanning out around her. Even in the dim light, he could see the flush creeping across her chest. Could see the way her nipples hardened under his gaze.

“You’re so beautiful.” The words came out reverent, almost pained. “My pipsqueak. Mine.”

He kissed her throat first. Let his teeth graze her pulse point, feeling it flutter wildly beneath his lips. Her breath caught. His mouth trailed lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her sternum, between her breasts. He detoured to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking until she moaned and arched into him, her hands fisting in the sheets.

“Please,” she breathed.

“Please what?” He released her nipple with a wet sound, his tongue flicking across the peak. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth. Lower.”

“Good girl.”

He rewarded her by obeying. His lips traced a path down her stomach, pausing to nip at her hip bone. She jerked, a startled laugh escaping her that melted into a moan when his fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear and dragged them down her legs.

She was already wet when he spread her thighs. He could see the gleam of it, could smell her arousal. The scent made something primal coil in his gut.

His fingers found her first, parting her folds with deliberate slowness. She whimpered when he circled her clit, the pad of his thumb barely grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves. Teasing.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Her eyes met his. Held.

He lowered his mouth to her cunt and dragged his tongue through her slit, slow and flat. Her hips bucked. A broken moan spilled from her lips, and he did it again, groaning at the taste of her. Sweet and salty and utterly intoxicating.

“Fuck, Caleb—”

“I’ve got you.” He didn’t look away from her face as he circled her clit with the tip of his tongue. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re not going to think about anything else. Not anyone else. Just me.”

She nodded frantically, her chest heaving.

He sealed his lips around her clit and sucked.

Her back arched off the bed. A strangled cry tore from her throat, and her thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop. His tongue worked her relentlessly, flicking and swirling and pressing in patterns designed to drive her insane. His fingers found her entrance, two of them sliding inside her slick heat while his mouth stayed focused on her clit.

“Ahh — fuck — right there, please, don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside her that made her see stars, and pressed. Rubbed. His tongue never faltered, and when her hips started grinding against his face, he let her ride his mouth, let her chase her pleasure while his free hand slid up her body.

His palm settled around her throat. Not squeezing. Just resting there. A reminder.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured against her cunt, the vibration making her keen. “Taking everything I give you. My perfect girl.”

Her moans grew higher, breathier. Her muscles tensed, thighs trembling against his shoulders. He could feel her getting close, could feel the way her inner walls fluttered around his fingers.

“Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes — yes, I’m—”

He sucked harder on her clit, his fingers thrusting deeper, and squeezed her throat just enough to make her gasp.

She shattered.

Her body convulsed, her cries filling the room as the orgasm ripped through her. He didn’t stop. His tongue kept working her clit even as she writhed and pleaded, her hands pushing weakly at his head even while her hips kept grinding against his face.

“Too much — Caleb, I can’t—”

“You can.” He pressed a kiss to her oversensitive flesh. “One more.”

“I can’t—”

“You will.”

His fingers pumped slowly inside her while his tongue began its assault anew. Overstimulation made every touch electric, every flick of his tongue a jolt of pleasure-pain that blurred the line between too much and not enough. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and he watched them fall, watched the way her face contorted with sensation.

“Please,” she sobbed, but she was already climbing again, her body betraying her. “Please, Caleb, I need—”

“I know what you need.” His voice was wrecked, barely more than a growl. “I’ve always known. You need me. Only me.”

Her second orgasm hit harder than the first. She screamed his name, her whole body locking up before dissolving into helpless tremors. He gentled his mouth, easing her through it, licking her softly until she went limp against the mattress.

But when he finally lifted his head, his lips glistening with her, his expression wasn’t soft at all.

“We’re not done yet,” he said, voice dark with promise. His hand slid down from her throat, over her breasts, her stomach, settling on her trembling thigh. “I’m nowhere near finished with you.”

Her eyes widened, pupils blown black with pleasure and something deeper—something like recognition. The way his voice dropped into that graveled command, the way his fingers flexed possessively against her thigh, the way his gaze burned with unspoken hunger—she knew what it meant. Knew him. This wasn’t just about reassurance anymore. This was claiming.

Her breath hitched as his thumb traced idle circles on her inner thigh, the touch featherlight but loaded with intent. The aftershocks of her orgasm still pulsed through her, leaving her sensitive and pliant, but the way he looked at her—like he wanted to devour her all over again—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her stomach.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmured, dragging his fingertips higher, skimming the damp crease of her thigh. His voice was a dark, honeyed purr. “You think I’d let you off that easy after you made me dream about losing you?”

A whimper escaped her lips as his fingers dipped lower, brushing through her slick folds without pressing inside. Teasing. Torturing. “Caleb—”

“I told you,” he interrupted, leaning down until his breath ghosted over her parted lips. “I’m not finished.” His other hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, holding her in place as his mouth hovered just above hers. “And this time, I’m not stopping until you can’t even remember his name.”

The promise in his words sent a shudder through her. She arched instinctively toward him, but he didn’t close the distance—not yet. He just watched her, eyes gleaming with something feral and hungry, waiting for her surrender. And God help her, she was already giving it.

[applepuppy77]

cw // suggestive , wireplay

robot au | maintenance day

[applepuppy77]

aftermath

[vivianean]

#UGH THIS IS GOOD #lwk making me wet

[hevthae]

first lads art post on here! I got possessed by the lads addiction😵‍💫specifically Caleb

gonna post more art in the future here and on x! eeeeeee

[qinchesprincesss]

Rafayel and his sugar daddy Sylus. 😜💦

[leviathanroze]

I wrote a fic based of this tweet but tumblr wouldn’t let me post so it’s on my ao3. https://archiveofourown.org/works/84586656