this is a compiled list from twt and lads official discord on ways you can send your message across to infold. please boost and reblog this post to get more attention on it thank you! you can do all or some of them
send an email to [email protected] with either of these templates i compiled here
uninstall the game
unfollow all official lads accounts
leave one star reviews and comment about the situation
i think the best thing they could have done would be delaying valkos release so caleb can get his main story development, him and sylus can catch up with some cards like the 4 stars (caleb still not having the 4* colonel fleet card… lawl…), develop the relationships further with all love interests, and implement new ways to get rewards/update abyssal chaos and stuff and then release valko when everything is up to dated/in the midst of it instead of just cancelling him and his development bc he was never the problem to begin with, it was everything else
i am actually genuinely heartbroken that we aren't getting valko. i was ready to delete the game when they announced him, and now i'm pretty sure i will. i just feel cheated that they announced him and are only now taking it back.
riddled with illness over the thought of a quiet, submissive omega going crazy during their heat and using their alpha to their heart's content without a single hesitation or ounce of shame. bonus points if they're embarrassed in the aftermath at their behavior -- shy and flustered while their alpha finds it all too amusing, praising them for taking what they wanted
Summary: Zayne likes when mc acts out, mc acts out because they like being punished by Zayne. Different from their usual punishments, Zayne implements a denial period, leaving mc desperate for someone to make them come. mc drags Sylus into it, and he can’t help himself from stirring the pot. Basically brat tamer!zayne x brat!mc x pot stirrer!sylus
A/N: been thinking lately about the zayne/mc/sylus dynamic. I think they're both so indulgent of mc, but zayne is definitely the stricter of the two. with a more masochistic mc, I think they'd act out to get punished on purpose, especially if zayne is partial to just bending them over (how fun would it be to get spanked by him? literally delicious) anyway sylus to me seems more indulgent and less likely to punish, since he and mc are always kind of fighting each other for dominance. just a few fun scenes of the three of them exploring a dom/sub dynamic and having fun together! Enjoy!
added note: mc isn't referred to with any gendered terms, but does have a pussy, do with that information what you will
EXPLICIT: MDNI
You tend to enjoy Zayne’s punishments. He likes rules, order, but he likes you more. Every time you step out of line, bend the rules, Zayne is there to correct you. Lately, though, he’s been testing you. Harder and harder rules to follow, harsher (more fun!) punishments for you to endure. With every test, you find a new way to break his rules, and he finds an exciting new way to torment you.
This, however, is the cruelest he’s been.
“A month?!” you almost can’t believe it, ripped out of your post-orgasm haze by the sentence.
“Yes. One month.” Zayne is smoothing his fingertips over your cheek, soothing if not for the shock you’re in now.
“That’s not fair!”
“It’s not up to you.” His hand rests on your cheek, gentle and cold. “You broke the rules, and this is the consequence.”
Your face crumples. “I don’t think I can go a month, that’s too long,” you try to bargain, appease him for a lesser sentence, but your lover is firm as ice, and he’s already made up your mind. You knew it was a bad idea. Zayne has been gone for a work trip, and you were under specific instructions not to touch. But this week was long without him, and a part of you hoped that he’d come home today, see what you’ve done, and punish you right there. Earlier today, your mind was racing with thoughts of how he might do it, his hand, the belt, overstimulation, or even his evol. Some delicious, delightful sensation that you can lose yourself in. This is the opposite of what you wanted.
“You can,” he pauses, thinking. “And you can touch, since it was clearly too hard to resist. But your orgasms aren’t up to you.”
You pout, sinking further into the bed. “Can we still fuck? I missed you,” you know its futile to try and goad him into changing his mind now, but his hands on your skin might soften the absolute torment awaiting you for the next month.
Zayne looks at you carefully. “Have you eaten dinner?”
You sulk, curling further into yourself. “No…” just how many times will you be in trouble tonight? You’d been so worked up earlier, food wasn’t even on your mind. But hours have passed now, and Zayne’s flight back had been delayed. He’s had a long week, too, and now you feel a little guilty trying to work him so hard when he’s already exhausted.
He just sighs gently, and pats your cheek. “Dinner first.” You catch a little flash of a smile, and perk right back up. Maybe you’ll get what you wanted after all.
You get yourself cleaned up and join Zayne for dinner. The conversation is pleasant, he tells you a bit about his trip, but mostly asks you about your week. He seems concerned you may have been too stressed in his absence, and that’s why you’re acting out.
Two hours later, you’re flat on your back on the bed, and Zayne is telling you just that.
“Was it too stressful?” he asks, head buried between your thighs. He’s had his mouth on you for at least an hour, and he still won’t make you come. “Waiting a whole week without touching? Must’ve been too difficult, hm?”
You can’t answer him. All that comes from your mouth are desperate noises and pleads. You didn’t realize how much you could miss his tongue in just one week. And now, jerk that he is, that tongue is on you now, and he won’t let you come on it. Frustration builds, and you jerk your hips up, a halfhearted attempt to force his hand. He moves with you, then fixes his arm over your hips, stuck in place.
“Are you going to let me work, or do I need to tie you down?” It’s just as much question as it is threat.
You whine helplessly. “Please,” but don’t try to move your hips again.
He hums sympathetically, before his mouth is on you again, working you up right to the edge of that cliff, so, so close, before he stops. Lets you down slowly, blowing cool breath over your clit to tease you.
The sensation is all too much. You sob before you can catch your breath to cover it. “I’m being good,” you insist through frustrated tears.
“You are.” Zayne rests his head on your thigh, looking up at you now. “You’re always good for me,” a gentle kiss on the inside of your thigh makes you shiver, “even when you break the rules.”
“Can I please cum now?”
“You already came tonight.” Zayne presses a sweet kiss to your throbbing clit, much like he kisses your forehead when he leaves for work in the morning. Then another kiss, and another, and a few moments later, you’re at the edge again, and your memory must be failing you, because you start begging again.
“Please, Zayne,” you’re all but crying now, tears down your face and heavy sobs shaking your ribcage. “I wanna cum, please?”
“I know you do.” His finger come up to hover over your clit, and you can feel the chill of his evol radiating off of it. Your pulse is in your clit, hot and overstimulated and so needy. “But it’s not up to you right now.” He takes his hand away, smooths it over your leg.
The fight leaves you at that. Your body is exhausted, every nerve ending on fire and overwhelmed. Your muscles are still tense. Your body is still searching for that peak, a delightful finish so you can rest, unaware that your mind has already given up and conceded. It’s not up to you. It’s up to him, and he said no. There’s nothing else to it.
Two weeks later, you’re going insane. Every time you’re with Zayne, you end up desperate and needy. He is an expert at edging you, keeping you teetering on that peak, clinging to him for stability. Sometimes he’s soft, gently petting you over your panties, asking about your day. But most times he dismantles you entirely. It’s clinical, precise the way he lays you out. He studies your every twitch, each minute spasm that tells him where to touch, and where not to. It’s unfair, really, how proficient he is. You wish he was worse at it. You’d tell him as such, if you didn’t know exactly how he’d respond. A stupid, insufferably smug smirk, subtle as anything. A large, cool hand lifting your chin and a warm mouth slotting against yours. And pretty soon after that he’ll edge you to tears again.
It’s almost worse to be by yourself. You’re allowed to touch whenever and however you want, the only thing between you and release is your willpower and your honor. Not to mention, fear of a worse punishment than this. Zayne will find out if you make yourself come. You don’t know quite how, but he has an uncanny ability to sense these things. Or worse, to coax it out of you himself. A confession drawn from his own hands. Your thighs squeeze together where you’re laid on the bed. It’s not even worth it to touch. To work yourself up and ride the edge. To pull your hands away. It’s not up to you right now.
Except he didn’t say it was up to him, did he? Just that its not up to you. Breaking the rules will get you punished, and if this is bad, you don’t want to know what worse looks like. But who says you can’t be clever and skirt around the rules? If Zayne is so eager to deny you, you’ll just have to get someone else to indulge you.
The next day, you ride from work right to the N109 Zone. Sylus has been busy lately, and your schedules haven’t allowed for any time together. But you’d been texting earlier today, and you could practically taste his eagerness to see you. It’s basic negotiation, right? Give him what he wants, and he’ll give you what you want.
I’ll come to you.
I’ll be waiting.
For a moment, you worry. Zayne doesn’t tend to ‘report back’ to Sylus, they usually don’t interfere in each other’s play. And Zayne’s rules are always just for you, and it’s your responsibility to follow them. Sylus doesn’t really impose rules on you like Zayne does. He just lets you bat at him like a fussy cat until he can manipulate you into letting him give you what you want, or until you wear yourself out fighting him. Even if Zayne hasn’t told Sylus about your punishment, there’s still a very good chance this ends poorly for you. But you ache and Zayne isn’t about to let you come anytime soon, so any chance you can get, you’ll take. Even if it might blow up in your face.
He said he’d be waiting. Except he’s not waiting. The twins inform you that some last minute ‘issues’ came up that he had to take care of personally.
“And he didn’t want backup?” Your brow furrows, “I would’ve met him there.”
“No need!” Luke chirps, “He said it was urgent, but boring. Didn’t even want to bring us along.”
Annoyed, you politely decline the twins invitation to their movie night and dismiss yourself to Sylus’ bedroom. You grab a soft, somewhat skimpy set of pajamas that Sylus has for you, black and silky with a few little ruffles. You change, lay down in his bed, and feel his absence envelop you. It aches in your chest, and you breathe deep and slow. The sheets smell so much of him, rain and gunmetal.
The ache in your chest dissipates as quickly as a new one manifests in your cunt. Heat building around your disappointment at having to wait even more. It’s not even worth it to touch. Your hand comes up to your chest, squeezing gently. Touching is only going to make it worse. You squeeze harder. Your clit pulses, thighs squeezing together for relief that doesn’t come. Breathe out slow, your hand grazes down your stomach, over your hip, to rest on the top of your thigh. Breathe in. Breathe out.
You slump into the bed in defeat. Frustrated and alone, you roll over, intent on napping until Sylus returns.
Sylus returns about an hour later, annoyed and eager to see you. Business has been trickier than usual lately, and it hasn’t afforded him enough time to see you. But it’s worth it now though, to know that you are resting in his bed, waiting for him to return. Who could blame him if his excitement turned to energy and he races through his home as shadow and mist, re-materializing just outside his bedroom door? He’s excited to see you, after all.
Behind the door, Sylus is greeted by his favorite sight. You, flushed and panting in his bed. A pillow between your thighs as your slick cunt glides against smooth silk. You perk up hearing the door open, moving slightly so you can meet his eyes. He’s smiling at you, playful, and you melt into the bed.
“My, isn’t this a wonderful gift,” in a few fast strides, he’s at the bed and by your side. His hand slides into your hair, pulling it into a firm grip at the root. He pulls up, careful but strong, and you follow him. He brings you up to eye level, plants a kiss on your mouth. Your hips haven’t stopped grinding into the pillow.
“What brings you here so needy tonight, hmm?” He holds his grasp on your hair, stroking your hip with his other hand.
Your movements falter, trying to focus enough to answer him. His hand at your hip grabs tighter, forcing your hips to keep moving against the pillow. Sensation rocks through you, too much and not enough on your oversensitive nerves, and your hands fist into his shirt as you paw at him uselessly.
“Can’t-” you gasp, trying to chase the sensation of the pillow, but his grip is firm. “Can’t make myself come,” you pull him closer, angle your head as much as possible for him to kiss you, “need you, please Sy?”
He takes the bait, pressing his mouth to yours. You’re so close, you can taste it. You open your mouth for his tongue, hot and wet as he licks into your mouth. As you pull him closer to you, he releases his grip on you, moving both hands to your hips to pull you into his lap. You whine at the loss of soft silk against your skin, but find yourself happily grinding against his hard cock through his slacks.
“Need me, huh?” He huffs, hot breath on the shell of your ear. “Isn’t that sweet?”
With him hard under you, rough fabric rubbing against your clit, it’s almost painful to hold back your orgasm. You slow your hips just enough to keep from going over, breathing hard against Sylus’ chest.
You lean into him, looking up and batting your eyes, “Sweet?”
His thumb runs over your cheek, just under your eye where tears have collected. He brings his thumb back to his mouth, runs his tongue over the pad of it. You watch, mesmerized. He brings his hand back to your face, presses his thumb against your lips, and you wrap them around it eagerly.
“Very sweet, kitten,” he runs his thumb back and forth over your tongue as you suck on it. “What’s wrong, hm? Too complicated for you to do it yourself?” He pins your tongue down when your face furrows, ready to spit him out and start arguing. “Sh, sh, kitten, no need to fuss.” His other hand is on your hip again, helping you grind against him, “I’ll take care of you.”
True to his word, you are well taken care of. Not long after, he has your legs spread over his lap, back pressed to his chest. His hand is soaked to his wrist with you, fingers pumping deep into you, pressing against every sensitive spot he knows. Your back arches when he curls his fingers just so, and you cry out as he angles his hand to hit there with every thrust.
“There you go,” he coos into your ear, “much better now, hm?”
Your hand comes up to tug on his hair, soft white locks pulled tight in your grasp. He hisses, pleased, and skates his other hand down your body to rub your clit. Steady, firm circles that make you gush around his fingers. You pull tighter as you come again, walls pulsing in rhythmic spasms.
“Good kitty,” his voice is thick with equal parts pleasure and pain, so satisfied with making you come.
His smug satisfaction goes straight to your clit, and you come around his fingers again. Your vision whites out and your ears ring, but you think you hear a fond chuckle before your body goes limp, mind hazy.
Dearest and most distinguished Dr. Zayne, our beloved has come to me in great distress with a complaint that may be of interest to you. Kitten was absolutely distraught, complaining of not being able to orgasm. I of course, rectified the situation. Perhaps the issue is medical in nature?
Sylus watches with interest as typing bubbles appear, and disappear again, before a message is delivered several moments later.
Is that so?
A day goes by. Two days. Not a word from Zayne or Sylus, and you think you’re in the clear. In a delightful change of pace, you have to work late, and Zayne got to leave on time. He offered to pick you up after you got done the backlog of papers you’ve been stuck with, and to take care of dinner. A few sweet texts and the promise of dessert later, your mood is lifted enough to finish your work in record time. As promised, Zayne picks you up, bringing you back to his house for dinner.
Inside, Sylus is waiting, sitting comfortable as a king on Zayne’s sofa. Your brain stops. You glance between them both frantically, trying to get a read on the situation. Are you already screwed or can you talk your way out of it? Desperation claws its way through you. Even if they don’t know yet, you know it’ll be no time at all before they find out. You brace yourself, ready to face the music.
“Dinner first.” Zayne’s voice knocks you out of your stupor. You look back at him, eyes searching his. He doesn’t look the way he usually does before you’re punished. It unnerves you.
Your dynamic with Zayne is steady, consistent. You step out of line, he punishes you. You like the ways he punishes you, and that’s partly why you act out so frequently. Chasing sensation. Letting him take you apart with pain, wielded so carefully in his steady hands. He knows best how to take you apart, put you back together again, whole and satisfied.
You wanted a simple, short punishment for your behavior. Zayne’s throwing you off rhythm.
Lost in your thoughts too long, you feel a hand gently press down on your shoulder, prompting you to sit in the dining chair pulled out for you. They managed to corral you to the dinner table without you even realizing. This month is messing with your head.
Food is served, fresh and hot on your plate. It looks filling, your stomach growls with interest after the lackluster meals you’ve endured today. A fork is placed in your hand, and you obediently begin to eat.
Towards the end of the meal, the sense of impending doom begins to creep up on you again, and you slow your eating in a feeble attempt to delay the inevitable.
“Sylus shared something interesting with me, the other night.” Zayne speaks, hands resting on the table on either side of his empty plate. “A medical complaint?” He tilts his head at you.
“I didn’t say that!” You protest, glaring at Sylus for snitching on you.
“Don’t speak until you’re finished eating.” Zayne’s voice is firm, but calm. You’re not in trouble, yet. “He said you claimed you were unable to orgasm.”
“I believe kitten’s exact words were,” Sylus pitches in helpfully, “Sylus, Sylus, I can’t make myself come, I need you, please Sylus” He pitches his voice up in his worst impersonation of you.
Your face heats with rage and embarrassment, slamming your fist clutching the fork on the table and standing to glower at him. He’s leaning back, relaxed and smug, barely holding back a chuckle at your anger. Puffed up like an angry kitten.
“Sit.” Ice washes over the room, soothing, cool. You take a deep breath, clench your fist and your jaw. Eyes on the table, you sit, lift another bite of food to your mouth with a tense arm and shaking hand. Across from you, Sylus claws at the air, another mockery of you. You keep him in your periphery, looking at Zayne instead.
“Is that what you said?” Zayne asks. You pause, embarrassed again, but nod. Another bite. “
You’ve finished eating. Zayne looks at your empty plate. “Over the couch.”
Your eyes widen. “I didn’t break any rules!” You protest.
“Yes, you’re very clever.” Zayne is already removing his belt. Before you can blink, Sylus is behind you, his hand in your hair, pulling you to stand and walking you to bend over the couch. “I said it wasn’t up to you, so you turned around and got someone else to do it.”
Sylus grumbles at being referred to as ‘someone else’, but keeps you held in place despite your squirming.
“Who decides how you’re punished?” Zayne is behind you now, rubbing the small of your back where your shirt has ridden up. He tugs at the waist of your pants, slipping them and your panties over your hips, down your legs. You shiver at the cold air on your bare skin.
“You do.” Your voice comes out shaky. Lightning races through your body, anticipation making you slick.
“So it is up to me.” His voice is final, and the crack in the room at the first hit of the belt on your skin echoes. You jerk, shocked, but Sylus keeps a firm grip on your hair. You don’t even have time to breathe before the next strike hits. One after the other, each bite of pain bleeding into the next. You pound your fists into the cushion below you. It feels endless, but eventually there is reprieve. A short break, the pain blooms into a delicious heat, and you start to melt. The strikes start again and the pain shoots through you. Sobbing helplessly, your hands scramble across the cushions to find Sylus’ legs, which you cling to, digging your nails in. Zayne pauses again, you force yourself to breathe.
Sylus moves your head to make you look at him, “Having fun?” he asks, voice light, playful. His other hand comes up to wipe tears from under your eye.
You sniffle and nod as best you can, grinning through your teary face. Your head is light and fuzzy, and each hit sends you further into that space. His hands in your hair, on your face, keep you on this planet, in this room. Taken apart and held together by people who love you more than anything, who always find a way to give you exactly what you want. You’re having the most fun.
Sylus smiles down at you fondly, gently rubbing the sweat from your temple. The strikes start again, and you dig your nails deeper into his legs. He smiles wider.
You stop being able to keep up with the individual strikes. Your ass, the backs of your thighs, burn with pain and heat. You’re floating, safe and held, but your mind is somewhere outside you. You register words, deep baritone voice says something. Asks something? You open your mouth to answer but realize you don’t know the question. Your head is underwater, floating weightless and shapeless, as your body sinks down and relaxes. The strikes stop, the pain still blooms across your skin, a pleasant heat and a sting that bypasses your brain and goes right to your clit. You breathe slowly through sobs and giggles, reveling in the pain.
Zayne’s cool hand is on your back again. The first thing that starts to bring you back. And your head is on someone’s lap. Sylus. And he’s petting your hair, almost in time with the chill of Zayne’s fingers running slow circles over your back. Your breathing evens out, soft cries replaced by satisfied hums. Zayne’s other hand grazes the back of your knee, ice cold. It’s the only warning you get before his frigid palm is fully on your thigh, soothing the heat. His hand is firm, thorough covering every welted inch of your skin. He massages gently, methodically. It’s so easy to just relax, to melt and let them take care of you.
In your fuzzy-headed state, you vaguely register movement around you. When your mind returns a little, you find yourself sprawled out on the couch over both their laps, Zayne still rubbing firm, cooling circles into your tender flesh.
“Better now?” Zayne asks, using the barest touch of evol to cool your heated skin.
“Mmhmm…” you hum slowly, satisfied. Your whole body feels fuzzy and pleasant. Your mind is floating somewhere outside of you, above the clouds and underwater. Gentle hands petting you and firm thighs under your body keep you grounded. You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually you return to your body. You notice your breathing, still a little stuffy from crying. Your hand is moving slowly up and down Sylus’ calf, the same pace as his hand petting your head. You squeeze his leg gently before looking up at him fondly. He smiles down at you, greedily taking in your satisfaction. You shift slightly, craning your head back to look at Zayne. His hand pauses over the swell of your ass, a soothing chill emanating from his palm. “Can we just skip to the good part next time?” You ask, earnest. The denial was equal parts torment and enjoyment, but the delicious sting of pain is something you’ve been craving.
Zayne chuckles at you, indulgent. “I thought you were taking your punishment well,” he starts, “But if you prefer I bend you over my knee,” he give a light slap to your ass, just enough to send a pleasurable jolt up your spine, and you melt into them again. “I’d be happy to oblige.”
Later, after you are cleaned and your skin is tacky with healing salve, you are in bed squeezed between your two lovers. Sylus’ firm chest is pressed up to your back as you rest your head on Zayne’s chest, over his heart. It’s started to rain, fat droplets of water hitting the roof make a calming background noise, letting you relax into the bed and the warmth.
“I believe,” you start slowly, mind still playing catch-up. “That I was promised dessert.”
Sylus’ chest shakes with laughter behind you, “That wasn’t enough of a treat for you? Greedy kitten,” he presses a sweet kiss behind your ear.
“That doesn’t count,” you and Zayne say in sync, with matching flat tones. You both take dessert very seriously.
“’M too tired now, anyways,” you sigh. You are wrapped in such comfort that leaving seems an insurmountable task, and not worth even the most enticing incentive. Dessert can wait until morning. “Want blueberry pancakes for breakfast.”
“Anything you want,” they both say, and you know it’s true.
The sound of the rain, the gentle rhythm of your breaths, and Zayne’s steady heartbeat under your ear lull you to sleep faster than anything. Before sleep takes you entirely, you press your lips to Zayne’s chest, squeeze Sylus’ hand where it holds yours, and then you’re swept off into dreams. Sweet, sweet dreams of cold, pain, and blueberry pancakes.
Summary: Caleb has taken care of you forever. Protecting you was easier as children, when threats were everywhere, but as you become more capable, Caleb has to find new ways he can rescue you. Zayne, ever-concerned about your well-being, wonders if you’re aware that the biggest danger is asleep in your bed.
Warnings & Tags: Threesome (M/F/M), Edgeplay (sort of (Caleb has a little baby edgeplay kink because he’s desperate to save and protect you)), Oral (m! receiving), Asphyxiation, Choking, Dubious consent, fem! reader
Word Count: 4.8k
A/N: This idea has been plaguing me every time I smoke, so I wrote fanfic for the first time in like 6 years and made a whole new sideblog to deal with it.
EXPLICIT: MDNI
Caleb has always protected you. Since the cold, sterile days in the lab, strangers poking and prodding, he’s been by your side. After the catastrophe, when Gran took you both in, he protected you from threats big and small. From spiders dropping down before your eyes, to neighborhood bullies, he swept you out of harm’s way each time. He chased off potential suitors, made sure all your friends kept you at arm’s length. Every threat, each danger that dared to bare its fangs at you was banished before it could sink its teeth into you. A privilege reserved for him alone.
Protecting you used to be easy. Spiders, other children, your classmates, all of these were easily dealt with. Now though, you’re stronger. You’ve grown into a capable hunter; strong, resilient, clever. He’s seen you fight, fought alongside you as you tear through wanderers. He knows how capable you are. A part of him, hidden deep, knows that you don’t really need him. He’s left you before after all, and in his absence you conquered untold dangers, eliminated threats lurking in the dark, chased shadows into the light.
It’s a relief to know that you’ll be okay in those painful moments he has to part from you.
But he misses saving you. Truly rescuing you from danger; the only one who can protect you. Feeling the fear rolling off you, seeing the terror in your eyes, the way you’d cling to him. The terror transforming to relief and gratitude as Caleb, the only one who can, sweeps you to safety.
Caleb has always protected you. No one else can take your guard down like this, all soft smiles and relaxed muscles.
It’s because of this that you ended up here. Caleb in your kitchen, wearing the frilly pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron you had bought just to embarrass him, the one he wears every time he cooks for you. You can hear the running of water as he washes dishes. You’d finally made good on your promise to invite Zayne for dinner. He’s sitting on your sofa, as relaxed as is possible for the ever-restrained surgeon. He gazes at you with rapt attention as you ramble about your day. He doesn’t say much, you would almost think he wasn’t paying attention if not for his eyes locked on to your face. Zayne offers a small nod, or a soft question every few minutes, but his stare on you is impossible to ignore. You sip from your glass, the last drops of red wine rich on your tongue.
You hear the sink drain, and soon after Caleb emerges from your kitchen, apron and gloves removed. He refills your glass before you get the chance to ask him and settles behind you on the sofa. Zayne spares him a brief glance, before his eyes settle back on yours with determination. Caleb’s fingers slide down your arm before gently taking your hand to place your glass in it. His chin settles on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist, and though you can’t see it, you can feel him staring Zayne down. Trying to intimidate the intruder who’s trying to steal you from him.
You’re not oblivious to the tension between the two of them. Both childhood friends, both with their own claim to your heart. And now you bear witness to petty rivalry again. They’ve been behaving themselves for the most part; Zayne silently picking around the extra carrots in the dish Caleb made, and now how he ignores Caleb’s blatant affection in favor of listening to you. He’s familiar with how possessive Caleb is with you. He can see the ravenous need in his eyes like he’s standing before a mirror. It’s easy to recognize another man consumed by his own desire. But with his eyes on you, Zayne can’t tell how much you really see. Are you aware that the beast you so willingly snuggle up to is a far more dangerous predator than any threat lurking in the dark?
Lost in his thoughts, Zayne returns to the present to see your brow furrowed in concern. Caleb is nuzzling his nose in your neck, Zayne can see the thin sheen of saliva left behind by sloppy kisses as Caleb stares him down. Your glass is empty again. How long was he wandering in his own mind?
He doesn’t get the chance to think about it before you’re moving closer to him. Zayne feels a swell of pride as you gently pass your glass to Caleb, leaving his space in favor of fussing over your dear doctor. He can feel the heat radiating off of you as you move to straddle his lap. Your warmth is pleasant, a balm to soothe the ever-present chill in his bones. Zayne feels his face prickle in discomfort, and he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Caleb burning a hole into his head. He can practically hear the glass creak under the strain of fingers no longer trying to be gentle for your sake. The rush of being envied fills him, but he sets it aside to focus on you.
“Are you alright, Zayne?” Your fingers flutter over his face, up his cheeks to brush his bangs out of his eyes.
He hums, eyelids falling heavy as he basks in your affection. His hands settle gently on your hips, thumbs drawing soothing circles into the soft material of your clothes. Desire spikes in Zayne’s chest, yearning to feel the heat of your skin unobstructed.
“I’m okay,” the words come out like molasses on his tongue. Sweet, heavy, slow. Against his will (or is it, really?), he finds himself leaning into your touch, pressing a gentle kiss to your palm resting on his cheek.
A small shift and a subtle swell of warmth is all the warning Zayne gets before your lips meet his. You taste of the wine you drank, rich and bitter. As he licks across the seam of your lips, into your mouth, the sweetness of the dessert he’d brought washes over his tongue. Chasing that taste, his hand pulls you further into him. Chest to chest, your hands knot in his hair. The obvious desire consuming Zayne consumes you in turn. The warmth filling your belly from the dinner Caleb made and the wine he selected is transformed into the heat that Zayne brings out of you.
When you feel the desperate tug of your lungs urging you to pull away for air, you ignore it and chase Zayne further. He feels the familiar urge to scold you about your self-preservation instincts, but settles for pulling away from you with a gentle hand pressed against your collarbone to hold you in place. He doesn’t stray far, soft, hot breaths mingling in the narrow space between you.
The peaceful bubble around you is broken as Caleb comes up behind you. His left hand settles on your hip, occupying the empty space Zayne left to push you away. His right caresses up and down your spine, thumbing at the gentle arch of your lower back. Zayne can see your attention being pulled away from him. Caleb nudges his nose against your jaw, and you turn to kiss him deeply. You’ve always fawned under his attention, let yourself be spoiled by his care. Zayne has seen how Caleb’s affection makes you helpless. He’d never considered you particularly cautious, but he can see how any remaining fear washes away from you. You could hardly fathom anything bad happening to you, not when Caleb’s here to protect you. Even now, you’re content to ignore the threat he poses to you, your loyal, violent predator.
He knows he should say something. Zayne wants you safe, healthy, cared for. Caleb can provide an illusion of these things, luring you in with false promises as he snares a trap around you. Caleb doesn’t frighten him anymore. Cold glares and vague threats won’t be enough to keep him away from you anymore. Zayne is confident that he could win, if it came to that. But what would you do? If they forced your hand and made you choose between them, would you pick him? A flicker of doubt flashes in his chest.
Forcing himself back into the present, Zayne takes advantage of Caleb moving to suck deep bruises and bites into your neck. A cold, steady hand on your cheek draws your attention, and he kisses you once more. His other hand slides up your waist under your shirt, and the chill makes you squirm. Your hips press flush against his, soft rocking movements as the heat between you rises. You’re beginning to pant from exertion, chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid movements.
A sudden jerk of your hips and a whine muffled by his mouth catches Zayne’s attention. He pulls away to check on you and his eyes find your heavy gaze before his own drift down. Caleb’s still gnawing at your neck, indentations of his teeth decorating your tender flesh. But below that, he finds Caleb rubbing gently at your clit over your clothes. The touch surprised you, but now, through the layers of your clothes, it’s not enough. Your hips roll into his hand, chasing the feeling you know he can give you. Your head rolls back against his shoulder, limp and pliant, waiting for Caleb to take care of you, like always.
“It’s rude to forget about our guest, pipsqueak,” Caleb finally pauses his assault on your neck to provoke you. His eyes flick to Zayne, who’s been consumed by the implication of the word ‘ours’ as though Caleb lived in this house. As though it was him who spent late nights on this sofa, soothing your mournful tears. Zayne helped you pick up the pieces after Caleb ‘died’, helped heal you, as he’s sworn to do. Caleb abandoned you, left you behind just to return and pretend he’s saving you.
Before hot rage can overtake his desire, you return your attention to Zayne. Mindlessly obeying Caleb’s silent command, you kiss Zayne long and deep. Your hands come up to pull at his shirt collar, drawing him further into you. When you begin to paw uselessly at the buttons, his hands, ever-steady and capable, come up to undo them for you. Once his chest is bared to you, your hands skate over the expanse of skin, flushed from your attention. When your hands venture down and meet his belt, your fingers curl into the leather and fabric.
“Off.” You swallow heavily, breathing hard between kisses. “Want you to fuck me.”
No longer having the patience to be coy, you reach one hand up to grab his, insistent. As he moves to remove his pants, Caleb shifts behind you to pull your shirt over your head, then dragging his hands down your body to tug off your pants. As soon as your clothes hit the ground, Caleb’s tugging his own shirt off to press his chest against your back. You can feel the heat of him behind you, slightly sticky from sweat. The cold metal of his necklace pressed against your spine send a shiver through you.
“C’mon doc, you heard her,” Caleb turns his gaze to Zayne once more, eyes unreadable. A smile plays across his face, self-satisfied. Like this, he looks more like an obedient puppy, only wanting to keep his master happy. Zayne catches a shadow across his face, sees a hint of the predator lurking in the dark, waiting to strike.
You press needy kisses to Zayne’s neck, palms pressed against his chest, hips rolling into his. He can feel his desire to please you winning out over any sense of jealousy or danger. He reaches down to help guide his tip to your entrance. Before he can reach out, Caleb’s hands are pressing your hips down, filling you with Zayne’s cock. Desperate mewls fill the air as Caleb moves your hips for you. He bats away your hand attempting to paw at your clit, and you resign yourself to the teasing rhythm he’s decided you deserve.
It’s only a few short moments before your need overtakes your self-discipline. Yes, Caleb knows just how to touch you, how to tease and sate you. But he’s not the only one who knows how to play this game.
“Zayne,” your voice is thick with desperation. “Want - mmm - want you to fuck me, please,” You suck a deep bruise below his jaw, over his pulse.
Zayne takes the bait you laid for him. How could he not? With one hand grabbing your hip, and the other on the back of your head, he maneuvers you to lay on your back, head resting on plush pillows over the arm of the sofa. He leans over you, pressing his hips to yours with the pace and pressure he knows you like.
“It’s alright, love,” Zayne’s words are a balm smoothing over you. Still needy, overwhelmed with desire, but not as desperate. You feel yourself relax at the assurance that Zayne will take care of you. The vows he’s sworn to himself serve to soothe you back to complacency. He’ll always take care of you, so long as you just let him.
Caleb, pushed aside by Zayne’s movements, feels the familiar sting of envy. He sees how you look up at Zayne like he’s saving you from Caleb’s torment. The relief and gratitude in your eyes should be his. Everything about you should be his. A well-angled thrust presses into you, forcing your head back and your mouth wide in a desperate cry. Caleb seizes the opportunity to grasp your hair, not as gentle as he usually is. His head tilts as he looks down at you, studying your face. A frown twitches at the corners of his mouth when he sees your eyes, full of love and adoration, but not what he’s looking for. He wants to see the fear and panic fill your eyes as the threats in the dark make themselves known to you. More than that, he wants to see the relief and gratitude when he comes to your rescue. Never mind who was making the shadows on the wall of the cave you share.
He feels desire consume him. Desperate need to protect and provide fills his chest, makes him tense. There isn’t danger here, not really. For all that Zayne might glare at him or mutter dryly about him, he wouldn’t really try to drive you and Caleb apart. Zayne knows that it would break your heart to lose him again, so a chilly tolerance has been built between them. You’re safe here, both your heart and your body. You’re stronger, more confident than when you were children. If there was danger lurking outside your door, you could handle it and be back between them before they even felt the chill of your absence. Caleb feels a small voice tug at the back of his mind. Play nice, it urges. But the ravenous need soon fills him again, and before he can resist, he’s guiding his cock into your mouth.
You take him in eagerly, your tongue laving over his tip. Zayne’s thrusts into you force eager moans from your lips, muffled now by Caleb’s thick length in your mouth. You, familiar with Caleb’s routine, eagerly arch your neck towards him, trying to guide him down your throat. He obliges, one large hand on the side of your head, the other grabbing harshly at your chest. Caleb starts a steady, slow rhythm, kind enough to ease you into it. Zayne feels a sense of watching a frog in a pot of slowly heating water. Your eyes flutter closed, fists clenching at your sides as you fight the urge to gag. With Caleb looming over you, consuming your senses with his presence. He slows slightly, pulling himself from your throat until his tip is just resting on the back of your tongue. So close to making you gag, but just shy of it. You feel warm with the kindness and care you receive. Zayne’s mind fills with the thought of a predator playing with it’s prey. Before you can get too comfortable, Caleb presses back into your throat. A surprise, this time, though you quickly ease into it. Your body tenses, struggling with the effort of holding back gags and trying not to choke. You can just barely breathe through your nose when he pulls his hips back.
“Relax,” Zayne, not one to be forgotten, speaks. You can’t see him, and he sounds muffled with Caleb’s hand over your ear, but you feel the soothing chill of his palm over your heart. You feel your tense muscles relax, the overwhelm threatening to take you over dissipates under his attention. His hand skates down your front slowly, easing the searing heat of your body. Satisfied that you’ve calmed down, he draws wide, lazy circles around your clit. The teasing motion stands in sharp contrast to his firm, steady thrusts into your core. It’s a mind-numbing sensation, almost enough to distract you from Caleb’s cock filling your airway.
Blissfully, you begin to feel the steady build of your release under Zayne’s careful ministrations. Your back arches sharply. The sensation of Zayne taking you apart is overwhelming. As your hands desperately fly to his, needing to feel him under your palms, your fingers intertwined with his. As soon as Zayne takes his hand in yours, your body starts to relax again. Climax still building, but calm, no longer fighting against the intrusion in your throat. Caleb’s not ready to let you relax yet, though. Not before you panic a little. Not before you feel your heartbeat pounding at your temple, strong and fast, before slowing down just slightly. If your eyes were open, you’d see the slight fuzziness at the edges of your vision. He can’t let you up until he knows that raw, mortal fear has chilled you with it’s embrace. He wants you to worry, just a little, that maybe he won’t let you up this time. Why would he? That fear, that he could really kill you, won’t even cross your mind. Not really. There’ll be a faint shadow flickering at the edge of your awareness but it is chased away by the warmth that embraces you. Of course, Caleb would never really hurt you. He’s killed others for doing even less, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he really hurt you, right? Caleb presses his hips as far as he can, cock so deep down your throat, balls pressed up against your nose. He places his palm over your throat, feeling the outline of himself buried so deep inside you. He feels your throat constrict around him, sees the familiar lurch of your chest as your lungs desperately beg for air. He’s watching you intently, waiting. He knows you, better than you know yourself. He knows what you can take, how to push your limits without you realizing.
But Caleb’s not the only one watching. Zayne, previously lost in pleasuring you, but pulled back to the moment once your chest lurches silently. His thrusts slow, focusing on where Caleb is hilted in your throat. If you’d been more aware, you would’ve whined and dragged his hand back to your clit, heels pressed into his lower back encouraging him to keep fucking you. But your body is occupied with your own suffocation. Zayne drags his gaze up to Caleb’s face, sees the hungry look in his eyes. He feels that prickle on the back of his neck, the same sensation he’s been feeling all night. The same thing he felt before, when every attempt to get closer to you was met with a menacing glare from behind you. A guard dog protecting its master. A predator claiming its prey.
“Ease up.” Zayne’s voice is firm. It’s only been a short few moments, not nearly long enough to do any damage, but that look in Caleb’s eye tells him that he wants to try.
Caleb doesn’t even look at him, eyes fixed on you. “She can tap out if she wants to,” he supplies easily, as though he’s got you pinned after a spar, rather than suffocating you.
Your hands fly to Zayne’s arms, gripping tight. You smooth your thumbs in stuttered circles up and down his forearms. He knows what you’re telling him, you do the same whenever he chastises you for being reckless, for pushing yourself too hard. You reach out, caress his scars gently, almost absentmindedly, and you tell him I’m okay. I’ll be more careful next time. Zayne can’t focus on your attempt to comfort him. He’s too preoccupied counting the seconds until he pushes Caleb off of you altogether.
Ten. Zayne feels your grip on his arms tighten.
“Caleb.” His voice is low, warning.
Twelve. Your fingernails dig into his skin. Caleb stares down at you, caressing your hair, your throat, your chest with a tenderness that feels almost out of place, but any sense of wrongness is washed away with your lack of oxygen and your desperation.
Fifteen. Your chest lurches again. Zayne doesn’t feel the sting of your nails in his arms, numbed by his own panic. His arms twitch, urging him to push Caleb off of you, but you only grip him harder.
“She can take it.” Caleb’s voice is cold, devoid of any emotion. He knows you can’t hear him right now, not with enough awareness to remember, anyway. There’s no need to fake any niceties or behave for your sake.
Seventeen. Zayne’s blood pounds in his ears.
“That’s enough,” Zayne’s throat feels thick, that heavy molasses choking him now.
Nineteen. Your grip on Zayne’s arms loosen, just slightly. Before Zayne can react, Caleb is withdrawing himself from your throat, grabbing the back of your head and holding your head steady as you gasp and cough. His gaze stays on your eyes, now open, as he fists his cock over your face. Your vision, still blurred and hazy from asphyxiation and tears, begins to clear and you see Caleb standing above you. His moans echo in your ears as your hearing returns and your blood stops rushing through your head.
Zayne looks down at your face, finally seeing what Caleb’s been looking for. Your lips, soaked in spit and swollen, are stretched into a blissed out smile. Your body, still heaving for breath, relaxes into his grip. There are hearts in your eyes as you look up at Caleb.
Zayne takes a deep breath and shifts uncomfortably. The panic fades as his mind catches up. You’re breathing. You’re safe. You’re okay. The words float in his head like a mantra, soothing his frayed nerves. The motion, subtle as it is, catches your attention. Head still held in place, your gaze snaps to Zayne. He feels the emotion in your gaze collide into him like a kick to his chest. Your eyes are wide with the echo of fear, but more than that, he sees relief. He’s seen that same look in the stray cats in the alley by the cafe after he chases feral dogs away from them. The terror of that drooling, gaping maw of sharp, strong teeth, made to bite and tear and break, is gone now. In it’s place is the relief of an animal that thought it was dead already finding itself miraculously alive. He sees you possessed by gratitude for your rescuer that placates you into obedience. Zayne finds himself relieved as you blink, freed from the restrictive binds of your gaze.
When Zayne looks back up, he finds Caleb’s purple eyes boring into him. They’re dark, cold. Zayne knows that look, too. It’s followed you for as long as he’s known you. She’s mine, it says. You can’t have her. The two men have been in a stalemate since you were children, neither willing to risk your ire or broken heart if something should happen to the other.
The tension is melted away when your hands grip at Zayne’s arms again. He feels, just as he’d thought about before, your heels press dully into his back, urging his hips to thrust into you again. Ever your doting caretaker, Zayne obliges. Within moments, he’s resumed his steady pace thrusting into you. Caleb keeps your head fixed, palming himself over you. He tugs at your hair, urging your eyes back to his, masking his rage with that familiar affectionate look. As your climax builds and your attention drifts, he tugs again, keeping you focused on him. Zayne doubles down, rubbing firm, quick circles into your clit. Your hips buck into him, chasing your own release, and Zayne grips your hips harder, holding you still and forcing you to let him take control. As your back arches and your body tenses, consumed by your own release, Zayne presses deep, hot cum spilling inside you.
Your body relaxes and the tension in your muscles releases. Your eyes are still on Caleb, now furiously chasing his own orgasm above you. They both know what you’re going to do before you do it. They can see it, practically in slow motion, as you bat your eyelashes up at Caleb, opening your mouth and letting out a soft “please”.
Caleb, still fighting to hide barely contained rage, smiles down at you. You’re as you’ve always been, waiting for Caleb to take care of you, soft and obedient. He feels the burn of Zayne’s vigilant stare, waiting for him to step out of line. As though Caleb’s rough treatment wasn’t exactly what you needed. Still, he resists the urge to press back into your throat, settling instead for nestling his tip in your mouth as he strokes himself. Between your tongue lavishing him in attention, your sweet noises escaping your mouth at the taste of him, your lovestruck gaze staring up at him, he reaches his climax quickly. You moan and your eyelids flutter as the familiar heady taste of his cum floods over your tongue. He rides out the final waves of his orgasm before pulling himself out of your mouth. He feels his cock twitch when he sees you swallow his cum.
“Attagirl,” the familiar praise makes you smile, welling with pride.
Caleb pulls away from you and Zayne seizes the opportunity to gently maneuver you into a seated position on the sofa. He pulls your back into his chest, smoothing cool hands over your heated skin, easing the aches that have begun to form. Comfortable silence washes over you, seemingly oblivious to the tension between your two lovers.
“Drink.” Caleb is first to break the silence, holding a glass of water towards you. As you reach for it, Zayne’s hand covers yours, helping you bring it to your lips. Caleb wipes away the stray drops that escape the corner of your mouth, tracing their movement down your chin to the ridge of your collarbone. You feel your body grow heavy, breathing slowing as exhaustion creeps up on you. When you begin to still, eyes lidded, Zayne and Caleb hold you tight between them. Your head is full of gentle caresses, sweet kisses, and whispers of praise and affection. Whatever tension there was is set aside as they clean you and wrap you in soft, fluffy blankets.
Later, long after the sun has gone down, Zayne puts his coat on to leave. You’re long asleep, tucked into bed. Caleb holds you close, pressing gentle kisses to your temple. When Zayne walks past your bedroom, he freezes. A flash of something in the dark, the reflection of eyes set his hair on end. In the soft glow of light spilling in from the hallway he can just barely make out your face. You’re relaxed, brow smooth, a small content smile on your lips. Unaware of the snare you’ve been caught in. Tight around, Caleb’s arms hold you close. In the dark, as their eyes meet, Zayne feels the same threat that’s been following him since the day he met you. A predator, lurking in the shadows. This time though, Caleb breaks his stare first in favor of looking affectionately at your face. The message is clear. Zayne’s not a real threat, he never has been. None of his sweet affection could compare to the doting of your beloved Caleb. He’s been there to protect you from the start, always taking care of your every need. He knows what’s best for you, after all. He’s warm, comforting and bright enough to sooth your fears and banish the shadows cast on the walls to frighten you. When danger lurks in the dark, Caleb is there to protect you. Zayne wonders if you see who drew the monsters in to begin with.
theartofmadeline
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