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Lost in Paradise

A wanderer attack leaves you, Caleb, and Sylus fighting your way out of its protofield. But... none of you have ever experienced a protofield like this before.

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➻➻ ABOUT | 5800 words. caleb x sylus x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | MDNI. dubious consent. sex pollen. fuck or die (kind of). oral sex. body worship. overstimulation. edging. possessive behaviour. jealousy. mutual masturbation. canon-typical violence.

NOTE: Time for Week 4 of this series! I've always wanted to try out the fuck or die trope without it feeling too outlandish so this is my take on it for the lads universe. Who better to experience this with than the man who knows how to fuck, and the man who knows how die?! Hope you enjoy xx

Week One's fic ✧ Week Two's fic ✧ Kinktober taglist/masterlist

"Watch your left, cadet."

"Cadet, ha. Very funny. There's nothin' even at my left, criminal."

"I am, now duck before I remove your arm instead of the Wanderer's."

You sigh as you click a new magazine into your gun, about to order them to stop (again) when they simultaneously turn to face you and shout, "Kitten" and "Look out!"

But you're already dropping low and rolling away as the knave's scythe-like blade slices through the air, crashing into the stone pillar you'd been using as a cover. The impact sends a rumble through the warehouse as you scramble over the cracked concrete and behind a large storage container, the metal rusted and warped from years of neglect.

Wincing at the new ache you know you'll have in your shoulder come morning, you bite out at your bickering companions, "I'm good! Can we focus on incapacitating this thing faster, please?"

You inhale the scent of mold and iron as the structure around you groans from the movement of your unexpected battle, support beams listing, concrete crumbling. The winter chill from outside seeps through the fissures in the ceiling and into your bones. Moonlight pours down in thin streams, catching on the drifting dust, the golden adornment's of Caleb’s uniform, the pale strands of Sylus' hair.

"Already on it, pips." The sound of three clean gunshots echoes through the space, followed by a feral screech and the click of a reload. "I just need to make sure he stays outta my way."

After discovering just how deeply Ever was rooted at the center of every thread you'd been pulling, you realized that the only way to reach the truth was to approach it from every possible angle.

If you wanted to get to the bottom of it and uncover everything this meant for you and your origins, you needed to start putting some puzzle pieces together. And Caleb up in Skyhaven, with the authority and access that came with his rank, as well as Sylus, the most powerful figure entrenched in the N109 Zone, where dark secrets hid and malicious conspiracies festered, seemed like the perfect way to start.

Funnily enough, convincing them to work with each other had been harder than convincing either to dig into Ever. Caleb refused to believe that you could stay safe in the company of someone wanted by the Fleet, Hunter's Association, and pretty much every other organization in Linkon, while Sylus didn’t buy a word of Caleb’s explanations for his disappearance. Or his role in the Farspace Fleet.

Still, the uneasy truce that formed between them had made the three of you an unexpectedly powerful force to be reckoned with. With the Association, the N109 Zone, and the Fleet all on your radar, you’d unearthed layers of Ever's corruption, proof of Wanderer experimentation, and finally started chasing real leads — one of which brought you to this storage facility on the outskirts of Charon.

When you stand back up to rejoin the fight, you feel a warm hand rest against your lower back, guiding you forward as a sardonic voice rasps behind you, "Me? Stay out of your way? Remind me-" Sylus' other hand appears over your right shoulder, parallel to your outstretched arms, and shoots twice at the knave's head as you get closer "-how'd the first Wanderer that attacked us get taken care of, hm?"

Though none of you look at the dead Wanderer near the entrance, you all know Sylus’ quick reaction and that powerful burst of his evol had given you and Caleb the seconds you needed to anticipate the knave that appeared right after.

The fact that you or your Hunter’s watch hadn’t even picked up a flicker of metaflux had sent a wave of unease through all of you, however. Since when have Wanderers been able to stay hidden from you?

"Could these be some of the altered ones?" The thought strikes as you move away from Sylus to support Caleb's other side.

It's more of an observation than a question, but you know you're all on the same page when Sylus' brow raises. And as he heads to the other end of the room to attack from a different angle, Caleb considers, "From the looks of it, the dead one didn't have a normal-looking protocore. And this one hasn't even activated its protofield."

A surge in odd Wanderers had been making waves in the news lately, sparking rumours of new species and a call for increased Hunter coverage. But it isn't enhanced abilities or even their appearance that makes them unique. It's their protofields.

Nero and Simone mentioned dangerously unpredictable energy levels and cited two Hunter teams that'd been affected: one duo went missing inside one for three days and reappeared without any memory of the encounter, the other pair made it out of the protofield but haven't spoken to each other since.

Considering all this confirms Ever's experimentation rather than any "new species," it explains why the other encounters were so strange.

“Then this isn't a random Wanderer attack," Sylus says.

"It's an ambush," you conclude, firing off a few shots at the knave's shoulder joints, hoping to disconnect the scythe from its body. All it does is screech again.

"Look's like someone's onto us." Caleb crouches low and aims a couple of well-placed shots at its legs. "But planting altered Wanderers? That's a bold move."

"Bold... or desperate," Sylus adds, instinctively aligning himself with Caleb's position, holstering his gun and raising his fists in preparation for the dazed knave's next move. Just a few more shots and it'll go down, you think.

“Desperate's good, it means we're close to something," you mutter as you click in one last clip. "And desperate people make mistakes.”

Though you don't think you could ever get away with saying it out loud, you’d noticed in the few months you’d been around them that there's a lot of similarities between Sylus and Caleb. The way they lead their people, the way they plan ten steps ahead of everyone else in the room, the way they gather intel through secrets and surveillance. Honestly, with how observant they both are, it's a miracle they haven't noticed their mirrored expressions sometimes: the same smirk, the same glare, the same flare of their nostrils.

Or, right now, the same grin in reaction to what you've said, a mixture of pride and affection.

It’s the sort of look that should irritate you. Feel belittling or patronizing in the way they seem to delight in the ordinary things you do. But making Caleb proud had long since become instinct to you, a reflex carved into your bones since childhood. And from a man who wasn’t impressed by much, earning Sylus’ admiration always felt like being seen.

Suddenly, the Wanderer jerks upright with a sound like metal tearing against stone. Sylus takes the opportunity first. Energy coils from his hand, a long tendril of black-red mist snaking through the air and wrapping around its midsection. But as he clenches his fist and prepares to pull the rope of energy back toward him, the creature convulses, its entire frame snapping in a violent surge before swiping at him.

"Sylus!" you call out, firing bullets at its weapon appendage in an attempt to help.

There's no need though, Sylus doesn't even break his concentration as a violet and orange light flare in front of him, bending gravity into a protective barrier seconds before the Wanderer's arm slams into it. Sparks flare as the impact ripples through the air and you widen your stance when the floor trembles beneath you.

“Nice timing,” Sylus quips, finally condensing his evol and pulling, eliciting the loudest shriek from the knave yet. Caleb capitalizes on the opening and the barrier in front of Sylus disappears right as he slams his hand, pistol first, to the ground, pulsing a wave of force toward the creature.

The Wanderer rockets upward, smashing against the crumbling ceiling with a crack. Dust and stone start to rain down, and before you can even think to dodge, you feel yourself yanked by the waist, boots skidding against the concrete to plant themselves at Caleb's side as a large section of the ceiling crashes down.

"Always pullin' you away from trouble," he teases.

"Yeah, trouble you always cause," you laugh, bracing your back against his side and firing two quick rounds into the creature’s chest as it falls.

Fissures form along its armor when it crashes down, writhing, screeching, dragging its blade across the floor in a frantic arc.

Sylus and Caleb react at the same time, and the synchrony of it makes you smile. Sylus’ mist unfurls in a black-red wave, wrapping around the Wanderer's weaponized limb like a snare, while Caleb channels gravity’s weight into its body, the concrete beneath it cracking from the pressure.

“Now,” Sylus growls through clenched teeth.

“Do it, pips.” Caleb presses the thrashing creature harder against the floor, both guns aimed at its head.

You try to steady your hand despite the breaths sawing in and out of your lungs. Ignoring the biting chill of the air numbing your fingers. Ignoring the sudden beeping coming from your watch. Ignoring the creature's protocore, which starts to glow brighter as you take a deep breath.

But just as you squeeze the trigger, everything goes white.

For a few seconds, all you hear are shouts of your name, but by the time you realize it, you can’t make them out anymore, can't feel any sensations.

And by the time you fully lose consciousness, you don't remember if you heard the sound of the killing shot at all.

The first thing your body registers is the warmth.

It’s heavy, enveloping. The kind that presses down on your skin, wrapping around you like a weighted duvet, from your ankles all the way up to the divots of your temples.

You twitch your fingers and find they’re not numb from the cold anymore. Flex your shoulders; the adrenaline that had burned through your muscles is gone. You inhale; no damp, rusty scent in the air. It actually smells familiar, like wood cleaner and linen, a little like…

Your eyes flutter open.

A soft glow blurs your vision first, amber light flickering until your eyes focus on the fireplace a few feet away from you. Logs crackle quietly inside a frame of yellow-toned wood, the finish warm like honey. The flames dance lazily, most likely the source of the waves of heat that are soaking into your skin. Though this time the heat seeps deeper, applying a pressure to your core that feels out of place but… pleasant.

You lift your cheek from the floor — a patterned rug instead of cold concrete — and prop yourself up on an elbow, finding yourself between two high-backed armchairs and a loveseat that face each other.

Your gaze drifts, catching details that pull at old, buried places in your memory. The worn furniture, the warm-toned woods, fabrics in soft greys and blues, mismatched decorations dotting the bookshelves that surround you. Though gran's house never had a library, this room could've seamlessly fit into the only home you and Caleb had ever known.

But something feels… off.

When you sit up fully, the heat prickling under your skin becomes almost suffocating, the pressure behind your navel more insistent. You scoot back from the fireplace and reach for the fastenings of your-

Why are you wearing a wine-red satin top and shorts instead of your Hunter's uniform?

Awareness slams back into your mind. The Wanderer, the warehouse, the white light, Sylus and Caleb shouting your name.

You push yourself to your feet, ignoring tenderness of your skin and the sweat that's starting to break out over your upper lip as you find them only a few feet away, behind the armchairs.

Caleb is slumped on his side, clad not in his Fleet uniform but in basketball shorts and a sweatshirt, the collar damp with sweat. His brows are furrowed, lips parted, breaths quick and uneven as he shifts restlessly.

Sylus is a few inches away, sprawled on his back, one arm half-flung over his chest. He's dressed in a loose cardigan hanging over a soft shirt and dark sweatpants, a deep flush painting his cheeks and neck.

You drop to your knees between them, pulse thundering in your ears. “Sylus. Caleb, hey. Wake up.”

Caleb’s cheek burns under your palm. The low, desperate sound of your name tears from his throat, and his eyes snap open, pupils dilating as they take you in. His hand covers yours, voice like gravel, "You're here."

You nod, relief breaking through your confusion. "Of course I am."

Caleb pushes himself upright, blinking hard, dragging in an uneven breath as he takes in the fireplace, the bookshelves, you. His elbow pushes against the heaviness of your breast when his hand comes up to cup your neck at your pulse point, as if to reassure himself you’re real.

You do your best to ignore the sharp dip of your stomach at the sensation, turning to Sylus when he exhales a shaky breath and sits up. Without warning, you meet molten red eyes and the warmth of his hand on your face. He watches in a trance as his thumb brushes back and forth across your sensitive lip.

"Softer than silk," he purrs. But just as you feel the strange urge to pull his thumb into your mouth, his eyes sharpen and he pauses, staring at his hand like he isn't sure how it got there before removing it and looking around. "Why are we in my study?"

"Your what?" Caleb cuts in as he slowly stands up and begins surveying the room with the practiced precision of a military man. Methodical, alert, assessing every detail.

You also rise, but the air turns thick and hazy around you, weakening your knees and sending you slumping into one of the armchairs, skin prickling, breathing unsteady. It’s only then you realize how wrong this all feels, how wrong you feel. How this pulsing in your veins isn’t from heat or exhaustion.

It’s lust, sharp and desperate and humming right beneath your skin.

"The study in my Skyhaven penthouse." Sylus gets to his feet, fanning himself with his cardigan before giving up, removing it, and looking around. "Or at least, something really similar to it. I've been… spending more time here lately."

"But why would we be here? We were just-" Caleb pauses by the loveseat, brushing his hair away from his damp forehead, looking down at his sweatshirt. "We're in different clothes, in a random room that feels familiar to all of us, it's hot as hell for some reason…"

“Almost there, soldier. Here, let’s dust off that brain together.” Sylus closes the distance between them, his hand sliding up to grasp the back of Caleb’s neck. His other hand cups the side of his jaw, guiding him forward until they’re nose to nose and he continues in his most patronizing tone. “We’re. Inside. A protofield.”

Caleb’s eyes darken, the heat in them mirroring the heat in your body. It's rushing south, tightening the muscles of your abdomen, thickening the saliva pooling in your mouth. You start rubbing your thighs together instinctively, letting the satin absorb your sweat and dripping arousal as it tightens over your clit.

For a heartbeat you’re certain he’ll rip himself away or snap back something cutting.

But all he does is lean even closer. "It's too.." his gaze flashes to Sylus' mouth. "It's too hot in here to think, if you haven't noticed. But if you’re suuuch a genius on protofield anomalies, tell me, Mr. Onychinus," His hands settle on Sylus’ to drag them off his skin. "How do you get out of a protofield when there’s no Wanderer to kill?”

Sylus' crosses his arms with a smirk. “A bit unfair to make me do all the work, don’t you think? But-"

"I’m the one who's been findin' the leads to that warehouse. In your territory.”

"But clearly this protofield is built to tempt you to stay, or… make you forget it's a protofield at all."

Their back and forth gradually blurs in your ears, their gravelly voices dragging over your skin like roughened palms as mindless lust continues to fill every one of your senses. The pulsing beneath your belly has become almost unbearable and rubbing your thighs together is no longer helping.

In the haze, your gaze drifts down, catching on the obscene outlines of their hardness straining against their pants. Pressed upwards to his waistband for Caleb and held down to his right thigh for Sylus.

The image of that is what finally pushes you over the edge, makes you drag your satin shorts off and glue your fingers to your aching center, the pads desperately pressing down to relieve the arousal pulsing from within you.

You're biting your lip on a moan, lamenting the small drop of relief in your empty bucket of arousal, when Caleb's voice, sounding even hoarser than before, finds its way back to you. “…can't be dead if we’re in its protofield. There has to be some kinda task or action we have to do that breaks it. Pip-squeak, did the other Hunters say anything about the—”

Over your heaving chest, you see two pairs of wide eyes and hear two sharp breaths as they take you in, writhing against your fingers in the armchair, slouched so far down your shoulders rest on the bottom cushion. Sweaty, desperate, entirely exposed to their gazes.

There's a rumbling sound from Sylus' chest that could be mistaken for the growl of a feral animal, and Caleb breathes out a, "Pip-squeak... fuck."

"I can't-" you choke on a groan as your finger hits a particularly sensitive spot, "I can't stop myself."

As always, they move in tandem, their instinctive care for you clearly at war with their own arousal as they approach. All clenching fists, and adjusting waistbands, talking over each other with, "it's gotta be the heat-" and "this is not what overheated looks like-" as well as "tell us what's wrong, sweetie," and "what are you feelin'?"

"It's been building and building and-" you stutter out a breath as they hover over you, both visibly hesitant to make a wrong move. "Nothing's helping."

Your free hand comes up to grope at one of your breasts, and while it make's Sylus' gaze shoot to the ceiling and his Adams apple roll in his throat, it seems to spring Caleb into action as he rips his sweatshirt off, sits in the other armchair, and pulls you into his lap. Your back rests against his chest, your ass parts over his hardness, your bare thighs spread over his partially clothed ones.

"I've got you now, pips, shhh, tell me what you need," Caleb coos into your ear as he fusses over you. Pulling your damp hair away from your shoulders, tracing his lips along the crook of your neck, soothing his hand back and forth over your thigh. His words grow rougher and rougher as you nestle into him, his hips giving a small, involuntarily pulses into you. "You know I'll always give you what you need."

"That!" you cry out as a large, hot, amazing pressure suddenly starts moving over your moistened center, making you gasp and press your hips down and elicit a pained grunt from Caleb. "Ohhh, that, that, I need that."

"What, kitten? This?" Sylus' voice is ragged but his tone is earnest, curious, matching his hesitant, almost experimental stance between your legs, like he's ready to rip his hand away at the slightest hint of discomfort.

But you can't imagine a world in which you wouldn't desperately grind yourself into Sylus' finger, wouldn't press your forehead into Caleb's cheek as Sylus nudges it a knuckle's length into you, nodding furiously into Caleb's temple as you command Sylus, "Yes. Don't stop."

The sound of his thumb disappearing into you echoes through the room, but you can't even find it in you to be embarrassed as the ridges and bumps relieve the pressure in your core for the first time since you collapsed into the chair. All three of you groan in unison.

You're so overcome when Sylus obeys, thumb moving in and out in a steady pace as his other hand resumes circling your clit, that you slide your hand into the hair at Caleb's nape, fist it in your palm, and yank his parted mouth into yours.

The sound he makes is raw, a startled whimper of your name that vibrates against your lips before it turns into a something deeper. Hungrier.

His hand shoots up to your jaw, fingers digging in just enough to tilt your face and move his tongue against yours. The flutter in your stomach turns dizzying and every heartbeat feels like a confession you’ve both been holding back for years. Every moment between you leading here, to this universe, to this room that was made for you.

The kiss feels so good, so right, you can’t imagine why either of you had waited so long. It feels like the culmination of everything you’ve done, every version of yourselves that ever existed and grew side-by-side. Like you were always meant to fit this way.

"Wait we-" Caleb makes a noise and pulls back, breaths ragged and eyes glassy. “We still need to find a way out of here,” he stutters out, though both of his hands continue to roam over the space between your breasts and your lower stomach, as if they're not planning to listen to his words.

You shake your head vehemently. In your mind, there has to be a reason you were sent here to experience something like this. Something so unique and beautiful and intimate with the two men you were closest to. No titles, no pretenses, no pasts or presents or futures.

"Then why does this room feel so familiar?" You savor his shaky sigh when you pull him back to you. “Like a world made for us,” you murmur, lips curling into a smile when he finally surrenders and tugs your bottom lip into his mouth. “Let’s stay in it a little longer.”

It's a heady feeling, this freedom you feel with them both right now. Holding Sylus' hair in one hand and Caleb's in the other. Having Sylus' kisses all over your thighs and Caleb's all over your neck. Sylus' hums and Caleb's gasps floating through the room.

The pressure and heat coil in your stomach, building quickly and becoming overwhelming. Caleb and Sylus seem to be growing restless too, Caleb groaning, shifting his hips beneath you, Sylus growling in frustration on the floor between your legs. Both moving with an impatient, desperate sort of energy.

Caleb is the first to break with a shaky exhale and a, "W-wait a sec." It takes him a few tries as he battles your grasping hands, like detaching himself from you is taking all of his willpower, but he finally wins and stands you both up.

You respond with a pouting whine as he moves away from you. But your brief glimpse of him removing his shorts disappears and your whine chokes off when, in a blur of motion, two ropes of Sylus' evol wrap around your elbows and yank you from your shaky legs back into the now sweat-soaked armchair.

Sylus leans in, his glassy eyes roving over you, palm cradling the side of your neck and jaw. “Does it hurt?” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly unsteady.

You begin to shake your head, about to say it's more of a deep ache than pain, but with Caleb so far away, and the lack of stimulation and touch at your core, the arousal becomes overbearing again and you nod.

“Not enough." You close the space between you, pull him in for a long, slow kiss that makes him rumble out a long, deep hum. “More. Need more.”

He tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb and murmurs, "You do? Are you certain?"

It's only when you whisper out a vehement "yes" that he slides down your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses over the top of your breast, the exposed skin of your stomach, the mound of your pubic bone. Until he's kneeling back at your feet, spreading you open, and sucking every dripping inch of your cunt into his mouth with one greedy pull.

Caleb consumes your responding moan of relief, kissing you with an intensity that makes every thought and sensation vanish. Leaving only the feeling of his tongue on yours and Sylus' tongue sucking hard, rhythmic pulls in time to your bucking hips.

One of your hands grasps at strands of silver. The other greedily roams over Caleb's body and you take advantage of him being bared to you for the first time. His chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the trail of coarse hair beneath his navel, lower and lower until your palm circles and squeezes the silky, slippery head of his cock.

You both part on a gasp and Caleb hisses as you slide your tight grip down to the root of him then back up, loving the way his knees lock and his thighs tense in response.

Your whimpers start to escalate as the aching arousal you've been feeling between your legs eases and becomes more acute at the same time.

"That's it, sweetie," Sylus coaxes. You shiver as the praise rumbles into your sensitive skin. "You want more? I'll happily give you more."

You throw your head back and let Caleb go when two of Sylus' fingers join his tongue, unable to concentrate on anything else except the chant of his name and the thigh-trembling euphoria that starts to wash over you when he pets that spot inside of you over and over and-

Without warning, the chair jolts beneath you and twists sharply to your left, the motion pulling you away from Sylus' mouth and out of his grasp. You let out a startled sound when Caleb's fingers wrap around the outside of your thighs to hold you steady and pull them open again.

It takes your buzzing brain a little too long to realize he's just used his evol to bring you to him.

He's kneeling now too, a predatory wildness in the violet eyes that lock on yours as he leans in and starts to lave his tongue and scrape his teeth over the every inch of puffy, pulsing, sensitive skin. Painting you with trails of his saliva. Denting your skin with imprints of his teeth. Like he wants to lick away every drop of pleasure you poured out over Sylus and starting over again.

"Like I said, pips," he mumbles, the words barely intelligible to you over your blissed-out shudders. "Always pulling you away from trouble."

“Trouble?” Sylus' huffs a dry laugh. “Me? I was giving her exactly what she asked for. Or are your listening skills as bad as your deductive reasoning skills?"

Caleb unlatches from the bruise he's sucking into the delicate skin next to your labia. “You were overwhelming her.” Gripping the space where your thighs meet your hips, he mutters the words straight into the stream of liquid leaking from your center. "That's not what she needs."

"You sure about that, puppy? Because from here-" You can practically picture the smirk on his face based on his tone alone, but your mental image of it is replaced by the real thing when the arm chair twists again and lands in front of a now-nude Sylus like a compass."You look like the one in need."

You're about tell them both that their tug-of-war is already getting old for you, but Caleb indignantly growls over you, "I'm not the one who-… did you say puppy?"

"Well, there's the yapping, the panting," Sylus hums and you whimper when he pulls back, taking your ankles and lifting your feet up one at a time to rest on the edge of the arm chair, opening you to him even more. "The marking… Isn't that right, sweetie?"

"Yes- n-no- stop," you pant out, too wired and confused and sensitive and close to deal with their arguments now.

"All you need is a good leash-" Framed between your legs, you see Sylus’ evol flare in his hand and yank Caleb toward him so hard their chests collide. "-to rein you in.”

Sylus barely finishes the words before their mouths meet in what looks like bruising clash of kisses, so sudden and aggressive, you can’t tell who moved first.

Hands fisting into hair, teeth sinking into lips, groans synchronizing, a battle of force and hunger that blurs into something almost feral. Something that might've been building between them from the start. Every push met with a pull, every defiance answered in kind.

You can tell they've both lost their battle with the same overwhelming lust that's been plaguing you when they get rougher, more heated, and seem to lose themselves. The sight of it, of two kings brought to their knees by each other, ignites that sharp ache within you all over again, blooming across your cheeks, down your neck, through your chest until it settles deep within your abdomen and burns.

It steals the air from your lungs, makes your fingers start furiously applying pressure to your core again without you even realizing it. An an ugly thought emerges as you submit to the seemingly endless fire burning through you: what if there's no end to this? What if this ache of emptiness never stops? What if the point of all this is to make the three of you break apart in here? Bodies tight as bows, kept endlessly taut, never allowed to release until you all snapped.

It's the first moment of clarity you've had since you woke up and it starts crumbling in on itself as soon as your thighs start trembling, but the fear lingers as you cry out, "I can't take it, this needs to stop."

A consistent stream of whines are escaping your mouth by the time Caleb and Sylus finally part and face you with dazed expressions, their fists clenched over each other's cocks.

You catch a flicker of clarity in Caleb’s eyes first. The reflex to calm you, care for you, breaking through the haze. “Pip-squeak,” he murmurs, voice rough, leaning close on his knees, eye-to-eye with you where you sit in the armchair. “I know. I can’t fight it anymore either.” As your breath hitches into a chant of please, please, please, he keeps murmuring between soft, grounding kisses, “It's okay. Shh… I’ll make you feel better, yeah? No, both of us will.”

Sylus is suddenly flung forward by an unseen force, bracing himself on all fours in front of you and letting out a dark, humourless chuckle.

“Right?” Caleb prods him.

They lock eyes for a moment, something wordless passing between them. Though Sylus’ expression looks more far-gone than Caleb’s — hair damp, breaths ragged, the aether core turning his eye blood-red when he blinks hard to refocus — his tone is low and lulling when he speaks to you. “He's right, sweetie, we'll be okay, just focus on my voice."

"You don't have to do anything, okay?" Something warm and syrupy starts to build within your insides again when Sylus wastes no time resuming his fingers' rhythm from before, just as thick, just as deep, filling the emptiness inside you once more. "Trust me, just like that, yes. Let go. We'll take care of you."

As his parted lips lean toward your center, shackles of force suddenly hold your legs open wide enough to fit both their heads, and Caleb gets there first, drawing every swollen fold into his hot mouth.

You can’t find words, only sound, small, broken, unsteady little stutters at the sight of them cradled by your thighs, each desperate noise timed to the stimulation of Caleb's tongue and the pump of Sylus' fingers. One hand latches onto Sylus' wrist and the other to the muscle of Caleb's shoulder, nails sinking into their skin as that syrupy sensation coalesces into something thicker, more overwhelming.

"That's it, kitten. My kitten with her claws," Sylus starts to dots wet kisses from the side of your knee up your inner thighs. "And her slobbering… little… puppy." Though Sylus slows down when his lips are only a few inches from Caleb's, there's no hesitation when Sylus' tongue licks right over his and they start the most indecent three-way kiss you've ever seen.

Everything starts to blur until you're full and hollow at the same time. All you feel are two tongues lapping and overlapping over your clit, two fingers stroking in and out of you.

The sounds of moans and flesh and sweat collide into a cacophony of noise that make it feel like the very air is humming around you. Heavy, electric, alive.

You feel like you can taste it when your lips part, when you see is your breast vanishing beneath Caleb's large palm, when the arm Sylus isn't using on you disappears, eliciting a whimper from Caleb.

The hum grows louder, until the room sounds like it's filled with static.

“Do you feel that?” your words scrape out of your throat, dizzy and slurred.

Caleb mouths something that looks like "gods, yes" into your cunt while Sylus’ hums a 'feels so good, kitten' around the skin of Caleb's neck. It feels like the three of you are moving as one, breaths syncing, hips rocking, circling, grinding. Until the pull between your bodies feels magnetic, desperate, necessary.

Until Caleb and Sylus exhale long, broken groans, their faces flushing, bodies tensing, muscles vibrating all around you as they reach their peak simultaneously.

Until, all at once, the rope you feared would be pulled taut within you forever finally unravels, igniting an unlit fuse.

And you detonate. Pieces of you scattering in every direction as the orgasm hits you so sharply and suddenly, it feels like the entire universe explodes into white-hot pleasure and pain right in front of your-

You're on your feet again, arms locked from the kickback of your firearm as the Wanderer's scream splinters through the air like a death knell and it collapses on itself with a loud, gurgling crack.

You pant hard, lungs burning, abdomen clenching, your whole body tingling as though you’ve been submerged under a pool of water and electrocuted. Every nerve down to your core feeling used and sensitive and exposed.

When you lift your head, Caleb and Sylus are both there too, standing fully clothed under the rays of cold moonlight and smoke. They look just as stupefied as you feel, eyes half-lidded, sweat plastering their hair to their temples, their breathing shallow and uneven. For a second, no one moves.

When you finally lower your gun, your arms and legs feel like liquid, and your legs shake in the aftermath of the shattered protofield as you drag a hand through your hair and glance between them, wide-eyed and breathless.

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