A place where everything is wrong and everything is right at the same time, a place where shame cannot be found as entertainers found themselves desperate for the feeling of heavy gold filling their greedy pockets.
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Kyogoku 京極 - 文豪ストレイドッグス
Ogimoto 荻本 - 呪術廻戦
Tokitoときと - 鬼滅の刃
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Currently being re-written:
Paired Wintry Winds
The Spider's Thread
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🎴 The Madam's Recent Literature Proses
Baby, I Love Your Taste on My Lips | Xavier x reader
You Should Keep Me Next to You (Always) Caleb x reader
🎴 Upcoming Literature Pieces
▶ BSD (in no particular or chronological order)
Paired Wintry Winds ❇ Kunikida Doppo x reader - mild to heavy angst | drama | fluff | slightly dark
Rewriting draft (5k word count)
The Spider's Thread ⚱ Yandere!Mori Ougai x reader - very dark themes
Rewriting draft (4.4k word count)
The Flower's Poison ⚖ Fukuzawa Yukichi x reader - fluff | slight dark themes | angst
Main outline (751 word count)
▶JJK (in no particular or chronological order)
Gojo Satoru x reader - angst | drama | very dark themes
Rough outline (completed)
Draft (1.6k word count)
Geto Suguru x reader - tragedy | angst | very dark themes
Rough outline (completed)
Draft (2.5 k word count)
Gojo Satoru x reader - platonic | drama
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Draft (866 word count)
Sukuna x reader - angst | tragedy | dark | psychological
Rough outline (completed)
Draft (none so far)
▶ KNY (in no particular or chronological order)
Uzui Tengen/Makio/Hinatsuru/Suma x reader - angst | drama | fluff | dark
Rough outline (still working on it; currently at 3.6k words)
Draft (none so far)
Sanemi x demon!reader - very dark themes | trauma
Main outline (completed)
Rough outline (nearly completed; currently at 2.9k words)
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In general:
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arctic hare!xavier, river otter!rafayel, timber wolf!caleb, snow leopard!zayne, lynx!sylus x snowshoe hare!female reader
↳ warnings: sfw, suggestive themes, world building, mild blood/gore, mentions of animal death
5.7k words
With the evening comes stronger winds, large gusts that blow in from the valleys below only to break and disperse against the jagged mountainside. It whistles through the trees, making the leaves dance and shudder like the restless rattling of skeleton bones creeping from their graves, howling like a forlorn spirit in search of something long since lost, forced to sing mother nature’s melancholic melody forevermore. Gradually, the sun surrenders its place in the sky to that of the moon. The only proof of its setting is a faint orange streak along the horizon. Though the full moon is swollen and bright, she is shrouded by a silvery veil of grey, the gloom unwilling to relinquish its hold over the twilight sky and hiding her pale face from view.
The walk to Zayne’s is quiet, save for the rushing of wind in your long, fuzzy ears and the distant sounds of drunken laughter and song floating from the tavern across the square. It’s likely that the patrons there are celebrating the arrival of autumn. Though the night is only just beginning, you can imagine them slow with drink, all dizzy grins and clunky, overflowing tankards, sloshing ale all down their fronts. You're almost tempted to join them, never one to turn down a night of merriment amongst friends, but the thought of delaying your winter preparations due to an untreated injury steers you toward the physician’s home instead. He lives just within the forest tree line, preferring to keep close to the scattered patches of herbs that litter the ground there (and as far away from the lively town square that can be deemed appropriate). Doctor Zayne is a snow leopard, and while he’s friendly enough, his species is a solitary one, and he tends to keep to himself more often than not. Some might consider him to be cold—perhaps even rude, thanks to his candid manner of speech and impersonal approach to medicine—but he has earned the right to pass judgement and you’ve never once found fault with him for doing so. Zayne may be a bit stoic by nature, but he has always treated you fairly and welcomed you into his home without complaint… during the daylight hours that is.
Zayne is one of the few unmated males you see on a regular basis, as is expected of a young woman like yourself. Traditionally, unmated females are strictly forbidden from interacting with unmated males outside of necessary business. The Elders say it is to keep the innocent from corruption and the mature from temptation, lecturing anyone who will listen on the dangers of premarital fornication. But, as the village physician and apothecary, Doctor Zayne has always been an exception to this rule, free from the prying eyes of The Council to do as he pleases.
He deserves that much; no one would dare argue that. Not after the deadly plague that swept through your community nearly five years ago, killing many and permanently disfiguring others. Because the disease was spread through contaminated well water, the heaviest casualties were amongst the womenfolk who drew from it. You were lucky to have survived… the same could not be said about others. It was Doctor Zayne who shouldered the weight of your ailing town’s survival during those trying times. As one of the few literate men in town, his education stretched much further than those in power, forcing even the most respected to place their faith in his skillful hands. It was thanks to Zayne’s efforts that the awful sickness did not spread further than the infected homes and claim the lives of every snow dweller in town. And it was by his hand that the plague was eradicated altogether, a careful concoction of medicinal herbs—discovered by the physician himself—halting its progress entirely. His heroic actions and sacrifice of self were what solidified his place in the community, and he’d earned the respect of the Council and everyone who bowed to them. He was safe, trusted.
You’d been a patient of his ever since he’d taken up the mantle of village healer, visiting him at least once a quarter. He performed your annual examinations, spread salve on your burned knuckles, and dutifully explained the intricacies of reproduction (you’d been unable to meet his eye for nearly a week after that conversation). And when you’d come of age, body finally reaching sexual maturity once you’d entered adulthood, he’d been the first you sought out. Since then, you’d been visiting his home more frequently, trading fresh bread for herbs that would stave off the new, scalding heat threatening to consume you with each moon cycle.
Still, you’d never bothered him this late in the day, always stopping by during the lunch hour between customers. You can only hope he will still see you…
Zayne’s cottage is awfully still when you arrive. The only indication he’s even home is the feeble glow of lamplight in one of the windows, shining like a watchful eye, peeking out at you from the dark forest that surrounds it. Your feet stop just short of the front door, stomach twisting in knots as you mull over whether or not such a trivial injury is worth disturbing the reclusive physician. Though you're sure he’d never turn you away, the fear of rejection still eats away at your confidence. He’s never given you reason to, but you somehow always feel small and naive in Zayne’s presence, like a youngling receiving a scolding, afraid their father might take a switch to their bottom. It’s a bit pathetic how you wish to please him. Perhaps it is because you respect him so much that you feel so strongly.
But, despite your hesitancy, Caleb’s instructions to seek medical attention sit heavy like stones in your belly along with the work that still lies ahead of you. You wouldn’t want to let him down either, right? What if he found out you’d neglected his advice? Would he be disappointed? Insist on nursing you back to health himself? Or would you meet the same fate as that poor deer, neck caught in his unyielding grip, flesh torn by his claws? You can almost feel the warm oozing of blood pooling in the dip of your collarbone… can almost see the crimson staining his chin… your own this time.
He’s probably out there… in the woods… right now… hunting or, perhaps, watching you. Lurking just out of sight, hiding amongst the shadows that play between the trees, dodging the gentle light of twilight. Maybe he’s tracking you, cataloging your every step, ensuring that you heed his words like the good little rabbit he knows you to be.
The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making your tail flutter and your skin prickle, thoroughly spooking you. That certainly settles things.
Mustering your courage, you rap your knuckles twice against the heavy oak door, but you don't dare knock a third time. The sound is hollow and emotionless, echoing faintly within the cold home. With the wind at your back and your heart in your throat, you wait, and wait, and wait for what feels like an eternity, listening hard for any shuffling of feet or rustling of movement behind the door. Each excruciating second leaves you unsure of whether or not you hope he will answer anymore, insecurity creeping in. The silence stretches so long you wonder if he’s forgotten to snuff his lamp before retiring to bed or simply fallen asleep at his worktable. It wouldn’t be entirely unusual, workaholic that Zayne is.
Just as you’re turning to leave, having convinced yourself (with, admittedly, not much difficulty) that he has retired for the night, the door creaks open. The groan of wood and iron hinges joins that of the passing wind, and a single eye, startlingly green in the darkness, appears in the crack.
Your heart lurches up into your throat at the alarming sight, clogging your windpipe with its incessant drumming. The eye blinks once, eerily slow, before the door finally swings open to reveal the man attached to it. You swallow down a breath of relief when Zayne comes into view, the fresh oxygen forcing your heart back down into your chest where it belongs.
Zayne looks… disheveled, like you’d caught him in the middle of some sort of strenuous activity. His cheeks are flushed with exertion, and his temples are dotted with sweat, matting his carefully styled bangs against his forehead. The spectacles he sometimes wears while attending to patients or reading medical texts have slipped down his nose, drawing attention to the prominent dark circles that line his hazel eyes. You swallow thickly when you realize just how indecent he is, clothing all askew. His shirt is half buttoned, gaping at the chest. It’s with great effort that you do not let your gaze follow the pale expanse of skin down to where it hides away behind hastily buttoned fabric, just above his navel. The suspenders you’ve only glimpsed from beneath his charcoal overcoat now hang free and loose around his hips, trousers sitting enticingly low. So low, in fact, that you briefly wonder what you might discover should they slide any further down…
Oh, good grief!
You’ve got to pull yourself together! Honestly, what inappropriate behavior! He is unmated- YOU are unmated! Are you no better than a wild animal? Drooling over the poor man as if he were nothing more than a potential breeding mate. Surely, you had not been blessed with intelligence to use it for such vulgar daydreaming!
Only once you finally get a grip on your treacherous thoughts, do you notice how Zayne has rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, the fabric wrinkled like he’d done so in a rush. The cuffs are flecked with the same strange substance that stains his palms… a deep, reddish-purple in color and caked most heavily beneath his manicured claws. Like he’d shoved his hands into a bramble of blackberries before remembering to preserve his crisp button-down—something you find rather odd, given the physician’s well-known preference for cleanliness.
Zayne finds his voice long before you can even begin to formulate a coherent question.
“What are you doing here at this time of day? The moon is nearly up,” ah, yes… Zayne never had been one to mince his words, had he?
You at least have the decency to look a little embarrassed, face warming under his sharp gaze and ears folding down shyly. He seems irritated… or at the very least, confused. Perhaps you shouldn't have come after all.
“How can you tell? It’s so cloudy tonight.”
Zayne sighs with the weight of a man whose patience has been stretched too thin and whose mind has been stuffed too full, like the burden of knowledge really does sit heavily upon his broad shoulders. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, leaving a faint smudge of purple in the divot there, “You may call it intuition if you wish, but that’s not what’s important right now… what’s important is why a young woman like yourself is wandering around just before nightfall.”
“Well, I…”
Zayne stares at you expectantly, eyebrows raising a fraction.
“I uh… I accidentally baked too many sweet loaves this morning. I thought you might want the extras?”
You might be more chicken than rabbit after all.
Zayne’s eyes drop to the basket at your hip, tucked safely into the crook of your elbow and lined with fabric to keep its contents warm, before returning to your face. Though his expression remains impassive, if not a little suspicious, the glimmer dancing in his irises betrays his excitement as does the gentle sway of his tail, long and thick with spotted grey fur. Your gaze follows the appendage, fascinated by the juxtaposition between it and its owner. It seems the snow leopard can only conceal his feelings so much, ratted out by his very own body.
“Oh. That’s very kind of you, but you didn't have to come all this way, and at such a late hour no less. I could have stopped by your shop in the morning on my way into town.”
“Well, I guess I could always just… take this back home with me… since you’re not interested,” you can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you when the corners of his mouth dip down, unable to resist teasing the elusive physician about his sweet tooth.
“No, that will not be necessary. I will gladly accept your gift. After all, it would be rude of me to refuse such a thoughtful gesture, especially since you ventured into the woods simply to deliver it.”
You laugh more heartily at his eagerness, all hesitation gone from him now that he’s accepted your offer. Zayne is already wiping the muck from his hands off on the back of his trousers—something you, once again, find a bit strange—when you step forward to hand over the basket, laughter dying on your tongue as soon as another twinge of pain shoots through your spine. Though you're far better at suppressing your cry this time around, you can't help the way your eyebrows furrow, teeth grinding together. Of course, Zayne takes immediate notice, gaze hardening as he regards you, slitted pupils sweeping over your rigid form: cold, clinical, assessing.
“You're hurt.”
He says it so matter-of-factly you nearly cringe, that childish feeling of incompetence you’d been hoping to avoid suddenly clogging in your sinuses and stinging in the corners of your eyes. You don’t trust your voice, so instead you nod, unable to meet his eye.
“I see the sweet bread is not the only thing that brought you here tonight. Come inside, I’ll take a look.”
After taking the basket from you, Zayne steps back to allow you entry into his home and out of the wind, ushering you over the threshold and into the dark foyer. You glimpse an open doorway down the hall and to the right, presumably his personal study and laboratory. The dim light of a waning oil lamp illuminates just enough of the room for you to make out the towering bookcases that line its walls and the items they house. A great many books rest on their shelves, the spines of which you cannot read, seeing as you'd never been taught. Some are worn dull from frequent use, while others remain vibrant and bound tight. But, most peculiar of all, are the jars that fill the scattered spaces between texts. They vary in size and shape, each with different occupants: herbs mostly, but sometimes strange, gelatinous substances and the occasional specimen, submerged in fluid and in varying states of decomposition.
“Please make yourself comfortable in the front room. I must see to a few things before I can begin the examination, but I won't be long.”
The leopard’s words pull you from your curious daze, peeping eyes snapping back to his face in hopes he hadn't noticed your snooping. A gentle hand at the small of your back guides you into an adjacent room instead, one you recognize from your previous visits. It’s a rather plainly decorated room, with tall ceilings to accommodate predator and prey alike. Countless rows of little drawers line the far wall, each meticulously labeled in alphabetical order, identification cards bearing Zayne’s elegant, swooping penmanship. It’s in these pigeonholes that he stores his herbs, so pungent in smell that your eyes nearly begin to water. But, beneath the bitter scent of camphor and valerian root, there lingers a far gentler smell: dark amber and frozen pine… one your twitching nose recognizes as Doctor Zayne’s. The room is otherwise devoid of life, unfeeling and sterile, save for the large fireplace on the wall to the left. A few scientific knick-knacks and a small collection of books sit collecting dust on the mantle, the only touch of character the doctor has bothered to grace the space with.
Rather than escort you to the small, velvet couch that’s been shoved into the corner, Zayne guides you instead to the large, wooden examination table situated in the middle of the room. It’s quite tall—built so that a predator might lie comfortably on it—so Zayne offers you a boost, his touch featherlight at your waist as you scramble up onto the hard surface, legs dangling beneath you. As soon as he sees you're settled and a fire is blazing in the grate, Zayne makes his way back down the hall, disappearing behind the door of his laboratory with the basket of bread and leaving you to your own devices.
“Right. Well, guess I’ll just… sit here,” you mumble to yourself, taking to counting the rows of brass drawer handles to pass the time. However, you don’t get much further than thirty-four as Zayne, true to his word, returns quickly, looking a bit more like himself and less like the mad scientist who’d met you at the door.
“Apologies for the wait, you caught me at an… inopportune time,” he explains, adjusting the cuffs on the fresh shirt he’d donned. Zayne is once again the picture of professionalism you remember him to be, suspenders back in place and placket buttoned respectably to the collar. The only indication that anything had ever been amiss to begin with is the faint redness of his palms and forearms, the skin likely irritated from scrubbing away that sludgy grime beneath his nails in such a hurry.
“Thank you for seeing me so late, Doctor Zayne,” you watch as he makes his way over to the apothecary cabinet, hinge squeaking awfully as he pulls one of the larger drawers from its slot on the bottom row.
“I can never say no to your sweet bread,” he muses while rifling through the drawer, the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips and the ears atop his head flicking in mild amusement. As soon as he finds the stack of paper he’d been searching for, he returns to the examination table, tapping its edge against the dark wood to straighten it out. Then he retrieves a small inkwell, along with a goose quill and a stool. Curling his long tail up around his thigh to keep out of the way, he takes a seat next to you, waist nearly level with the table despite its lofty height.
“So tell me what’s troubling you.”
“My um…” good gravy, as if this whole thing couldn’t get any more embarrassing, “my backside. Well, my tailbones specifically. I sorta fell earlier.”
“‘Sorta?’ Either you did, or you didn’t.”
Your cheeks flush a muddy shade of scarlet, gaze falling to the floor when he calls you out, “I did fall. Tripped over a root.”
Zayne dips the nib of his quill into the little pot of ink before jotting a few words down, “And when did the incident occur?”
“Last night… or this morning, rather. I’m not sure what time it was exactly, but the sun was not yet up.”
“And you said a root tripped you?”
“Yes, Doctor. Nasty old thing, halfway out of the ground.”
“Hm,” the scratching of Zayne’s quill against the parchment pauses as he looks up from his notes, eyeing you with curiosity, “Where were you when you fell?”
“The woods. Somewhere up in the mountains? I’m not too sure… I couldn't make out my surroundings clearly in the dark.”
At this, Zayne puts down his pen entirely, propping his chin on folded hands and leaning forward over the examination table, head tilted just slightly, “And what, pray tell, were you doing halfway up the mountainside at night?”
Ah…
You fumble for a response, quickly settling for a half-truth, “Oh, you know, just… out for a stroll. I’d been having a hard time sleeping—all the fuss over the Harvest Festival is stressing me out, I guess—and thought the fresh air might help clear my head.”
Something in your gut tells you it’s wise not to mention your encounter with Caleb… that the timber wolf would not take kindly to townsfolk knowing his business. Besides, unlike your beloved friend Tara, it has never been in your nature to spread rumors. The good butcher had done his best to make amends, and for that, you’d keep the knowledge of his whereabouts to yourself. Speaking about it now would only rouse unnecessary suspicion, your little village being a superstitious and judgmental bunch. No, it would not do to have the nosy old crones in town asking questions, wondering why an unmated male would approach a lost woman in the woods… or why he was out in the woods at night to begin with. For now, it shall stay between you—a secret shared in the wee hours of morning and left to fester in the gloomy mist.
“I see,” if Zayne finds fault with your excuse, he doesn't mention it, continuing with the assessment as if you hadn’t spoken at all, “Though I doubt you broke anything, I’d still like to take a look, just to be sure. If you wouldn't mind standing, please.”
The snow leopard leaves his stool, moving to help you hop down off the table and steadying you when your legs wobble slightly. The fire blazes behind him, bathing his silhouette in its gentle glow, the strong line of his jaw dripping with golden light.
Blinking owlishly, you stand before him like a lost sheep awaiting its shepherd’s orders. Zayne has always had this effect on you, able to stall your thoughts and stuff your head with cotton. Somehow, though you try so very hard to act mature and responsible, you lose yourself to his presence, unable to act without his explicit permission. Perhaps it’s the way he carries himself, his silent strength blending seamlessly with the natural poise of his species. It’s instinctual, your desire to follow where he leads, eager to prove your worth. Or perhaps it's his impressive height and handsome face, all sharp angles and rigid planes, softened only by the two round little ears that sprout from beneath his dark hair. But you suspect, more than anything, it is those mesmerizing eyes of his, distinctly feline in shape and painted in mother nature’s finest shades of green and brown. It’s easy to get lost in them, to watch the way his pupils contract and dilate with the changing light, the gold flecks in his iris shimmering with each subtle shift of his head.
Something warm and gooey takes root deep inside your belly, melting you from the inside out, sparks dancing along your heated skin. Surely, this is what it means to be a woman in the presence of a truly capable man…
When he fails to see any movement from you, Zayne clears his throat, eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly in confusion, “I’ll need to see the affected area to properly assess the severity.”
“Oh, right…” his words pull you from your trance and spur you into action, face warmed by more than just the fire’s heat as you quickly turn to offer up your backside.
“Please place your hands on the table and bend at the hip.”
It’s almost humiliating, bending over like this, nearly folded into mating position as you hike up your skirts, bunching them around your waist to allow the doctor access to your injury. It’s an awkward arrangement, your back arching uncomfortably, and the table’s lip digging into the flesh of your palms. Luckily, Zayne is no stranger to vulnerability in his home, having seen many patients in varying states of undress and stripped of their pride.
“You said it was your tailbones and the surrounding area that were causing you pain, correct?” the soft ‘thud’ of his knees hitting the ground behind you only flusters you further, thankful the doctor can't see the shame that twists your face and creases your forehead.
“Yes…”
The calm, self-assured manner with which Zayne delivers his next words seems far too nonchalant for their implication. Your ears twitch with each syllable that rolls off his tongue, muscles tightening with anticipation, “I’ll need to remove your undergarments to get a better look. Is that alright?”
“Yes, of course,” you breathe, legs feeling less like limbs and more like the strawberry jelly you spread over your toast this morning. Well… there goes your dignity along with the wishful thinking that your future husband might be the first to bear witness to your most intimate parts.
You can’t help but cry out when Zayne’s hands find your tail without warning, a pitiful little string of noises tumbling from your lips when he gently grips the appendage at its base. Something primal gnaws at your instincts, caught somewhere between fear and desire… leaving you just a bit nauseated.
“Apologies…” Zayne murmurs, the barest hint of his own embarrassment creeping into his voice, hands suddenly stilling, “I should’ve announced myself first.”
Mortified, you grope for something—anything—to dispel the mounting tension that now hangs heavy between you. It’s as if the room has shrunk to no more than a stuffy broom cupboard, the walls suddenly feeling a bit too close for comfort.
“Oh! I-It’s… It’s alright!” no… no, it is not alright. The words leave you in a panicked rush, cracking in your throat as you desperately try to find your balance on shaky limbs, lest you make a further fool of yourself by toppling over. You settle for white-knuckling the edge of the table, grip so tight you fear it may crack under the pressure. Behind you, the fire crackles and pops in the grate, flames leaping like little, dancing fairies, toes licking the wood as they twirl about, laughing at you and your sorry performance as they go.
“I’m going to push your tail through the hole now,” Zayne informs you this time, voice strained as he returns to the task at hand, carefully maneuvering your tail through the little opening in your bloomers so as to avoid it catching when he finally pulls them down.
Saliva gets stuck in your throat, making it harder to swallow down the noises that threaten to leave you with each squeeze and pull to your sensitive tail, drool pooling in your mouth when his nails accidentally rake over your skin. It’s completely overwhelming, having his hands on you like this. No one had yet touched you there… none but yourself, under the cover of night, hidden away beneath your sweet and colorful patchwork quilt, running your fingers through the fur and tugging at the fuzzy, little appendage experimentally.
“Done,” though the leopard’s palms are practically ice-cold, they seem to burn where they rest on your hips, so hot you can feel the warmth seeping through the soft cotton of your bloomers, “I’m going to pull these down now, alright? Not all the way, just enough for me to get a closer look at your tail.”
“Alright…”
And then before you even have time to gasp at the rush of cool evening air, your undergarments have slid beneath your tail, exposing you to the doctor’s prying eyes. As he promised, your most intimate parts remain covered, but the curve of your ass is on full display, rabbit tail quivering where it curls at the base of your spine. Zayne clears his throat, taking a steadying breath of his own, before he begins examining you, gently moving your tail this way and that.
“It seems like you have a bit of bruising, here,” his fingertip lightly traces a circle around your tail before following the line of your backbone up to the dimples that dot your behind, “and here.”
“I-Is it bad?”
It’s quiet for a moment, the physician carefully contemplating his next words, “Not terribly. There doesn't seem to be any vertebral fractures, and your tail is responding as normal, but… the bruising looks fairly serious. It may take a few weeks to clear up… I suggest you take it easy until then.”
“A few weeks?!” you whip your head over your shoulder, mouth agape as you stare incredulously at the man still kneeling behind you, “But… but- what about the Harvest Festival?! There’s still so much left to do!”
“There’s no point in shouting, what’s done is done. Besides, your injuries could have been far worse after a fall like that. You're lucky nothing is broken. The bruising is favorable by comparison.”
Zayne lets out a tired sigh when he notices the tears welling at the corner of your eyes, glittering in the firelight, “I’m sorry, but you have to rest your body. If you don’t, you’ll only delay the healing process. You don’t want to be in bed longer than necessary, do you?”
“No… I suppose not.”
Zayne stands, giving your bum a gentle pat after he’s returned your bloomers to their rightful place, the most obvious display of affection you’d ever received from the quiet doctor. He leaves you to straighten yourself out as he makes his way over to the apothecary cabinet once more, clearing a few stray lavender stalks from his mortar and pestle before adding a few handfuls of leaves to the well.
“I’m going to make you an herbal poultice of wormwood and mallow. The wormwood has anti-inflammatory properties that will help with any swelling and hasten the healing process. The mallow should soothe the irritation. I want you to apply it morning and night. Spread the paste between muslin—or cheesecloth if that’s what you keep on hand—and place it on the affected area for at least a half hour.”
“Alright…” you sniffle, using the hem of your sleeve to wipe at your eyes before any tears embarrass you further, “Anything else? Should I eat an apple a day too?”
Chuckling lowly, Zayne shakes his head, dark bangs flicking with the movement, “Just a bit of rest will do.”
The room falls quiet, save for the sputtering fire and the grinding of herb against stone. Your eyes follow the dancing flames, but you don't really see them, mind wandering as you process your diagnoses. Bedrest means a delay in winter preparations and a hold on your daily work… and a hold on work meant less bread and unhappy customers. Your tears nearly return at the idea. Perhaps you can convince Tara to help you out with a few orders…
Zayne is the first to break the silence, a subtle redirection when he notices your gloomy demeanor, “The weather is changing.”
“Indeed, it is,” you sigh, thoughts still lingering stubbornly on your chores, “I’ll have to bring out my heavy quilt this week… oh, and mend that hole in my coat.”
His pestle stills halfway through its rotation around the mortar, spilling a bit of paste over the edge thanks to the abrupt stop. Zayne glances over at you, a single, dark eyebrow raised, “Yes... and we have entered a new moon cycle.”
“Oh, that reminds me! The autumn equinox is this month. I’ll have to start running my errands earlier in the day… I don't wish to get caught in the dark if I can help it.”
By now, Zayne has set the mortar aside entirely, staring at you pointedly from over the rim of his glasses. You had always been a bit slow on the uptake, a quality he often found himself endeared to, but was proving to be irritating in this very moment.
“Your next heat is due,” he offers up dryly when the silence finally captures your attention and you blink at him in confusion, “It should arrive within the next few days.”
A violent shade of scarlet blooms across your cheeks, face heating once more under his piercing gaze. The ears that usually stand tall and proud upon your head slowly make a home against your hair, folding back shyly at the mention of such intimate things.
Ah, yes, your heat… You’d been so busy preparing for the oncoming Autumn you’d nearly forgotten. Every month, Zayne supplied you with the medicine necessary to keep your symptoms at bay, allowing you to go on living as though you simply had a mild cold. You hadn’t endured a single heat in its full capacity since your first, brought on by your coming of age. Quite frankly, you wished to forget that miserable experience altogether.
“I suggest you take the necessary precautions unless you intend to find a mate,” Zayne returns to his work, diligently grinding the herbs down into a fine paste before scooping them into a foggy, old mason jar.
Your response, or lack thereof, draws his eye, curiosity glimmering in its hazel depths, “…Do you?
“Do I what?” you ask, a little too quickly.
“Intend to find a mate.”
“Oh,” you’re not quite sure how to answer…. Did you want to find a mate? You’d never participated in the mating season before. You’d always been too young—and when that was no longer an issue, too busy. But, now that you’d been ordered to take it easy, you could give it a try… if you wanted to, that is.
You're a woman after all, why shouldn't you find a husband? It would be nice to spend the frigid winter months wrapped up in the strong arms of a loved one… and it would be nice if the aching emptiness between your thighs on lonely nights could finally be filled.
“Maybe…”
So quiet you almost t miss it, Zayne’s breath hitches— just a fraction. With a little more force than necessary, he clamps the lid over the jar, tightening it as far as it’ll go before labeling its contents.
“Is that so?” his voice remains professional, despite the subtle pull at the corner of his lips, “You might want to see Xavier if that’s the case. He might have some insight on the matter. But, if for some reason you change your mind, come see me. My store of skullcaps and peppermint is currently depleted, but I intend to go foraging tomorrow afternoon. I’ll set some aside for you, should you need it.”
And with that, he offers you the jar of poultice, along with a small bunch of lavender (“to help you sleep,” he explained) before escorting you back to his front door. You thank him profusely for allowing your interruption and for tending to your injury, curtsying your goodbye before you venture back out into the black of night, the sun having fully set while he’d examined you.
Just as he’s waving you off, he calls out, “Oh! Promise me something!”
“What is it?!” you call back, turning back to find that he is no more than a fuzzy figure in the doorway.
“No more nighttime strolls, alright?!” Zayne’s voice is hardly a whisper over the howling wind that’s whipping at your hair, but you hear him loud and clear.
“Promise!”
𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 // 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙
a/n: finally we have chapter three! i’m sorry this update took so long. on top of a hectic few months in my personal life, it was hard finding motivation to write with everything happening in the fandom… but! alas, i have made it out of the fires of writing hell (not unscathed) and finally have a new chapter for you! i hope you enjoyed meeting our beloved doctor zayne as much as i enjoyed introducing him. he’s a wonderful man: caring, capable… literate. what more could you ask for? perhaps he’ll find his way onto your roster should you choose to find a mate this season… assuming his strange experiments and animal specimens don’t put you off! we shall see how you manage in the next chapter. until then, dear readers, enjoy chapter three!
Description: A collective steamy exchange between the trio leads to adverse consequences and spilt directions. Choices—and mistakes—are made. Friends alike are impacted and tensions rise. Who would you choose? Zayne or Caleb? (...Both?)
This is a Pt. 2 to Pathetic Desperation (Blurb; 2.3k). Absolutely read it before this for context! (I’ll be combining both parts and uploading to AO3 because this shit is LONG!)
WC: 10.5k
This College AU You!MC is messy—like, bad messy. LMAO. No clue where this came from, honestly. But I had fun writing it and that’s what matters! Enjoy!
You!MC gets freaky with Caleb, then Zayne, then Caleb again, LOL. (I think I refuse to write a Pt. 3 because it’ll break me and I CAN’T keep doing this to Zayne. WTF!) Last comment...the final Caleb section of smut is so driven by the song "Cigarette Stub" - Asal..."kiss you me like you love me, touch me like you're pissed off" AAAHHH!
- Blueberry જ⁀➴ ৻ꪆ (Masterlist)
Strolling awkwardly across campus with Zayne only a few days after the…incident, suddenly a large, heavy set of arms swings around both you and Zayne’s shoulders, “Hey, guys! How’s it going, hmm?”
You wince, this voice the complete opposite of indistinguishable. When you cock your head toward Caleb, he’s got an overtly smug grin. You simply narrow your eyes at him, but that has absolutely zero effect on his demeanor.
Zayne’s voice is curt, his eyes forward, “Fine…”
Caleb turns toward him, his fingers digging into both of your shoulders, “Oh, yeah? I bet.”
You roll your eyes, “Caleb, ugh.”
He turns back to you, “What!?”
You shrug his arm off, “I gotta go, yeah? I’ll see you both—er, later…”
After you start to walk off, “Pips—!”
Once you’re far enough away, Zayne’s voice becomes a hiss, “Could you have made that any worse than it already is?”
Grabbing Zayne’s other shoulder with his now free hand due to your departure, Caleb responds mockingly, “Yes, yes I definitely could’ve.”
“I’m also leaving.” Zayne jerks Caleb’s arm and hand off his shoulders, “I won’t see you later.”
Exasperated, Caleb tosses his arms up, “Oh, come on!” If there’s one thing Zayne and you both knew, it was that Caleb possessed little room for tact.
***
Both his repeated instances of pestering you—and Zayne—as well as the incident itself was brought up with Gideon many, many, times over the course of several days.
“You’ve gotta just let it go, man.”
“Let it go!?”
Gideon sighs, “Yes, let it the fuck go.”
“You saw it! You want me to just—”
He interrupts Caleb, “Yes, I, very unfortunately, saw it. That’s why I’m telling you, just let it go.”
Caleb rolls his eyes, “Oh, fuck off. It was hot.”
“That’s one way to describe it. I’d use the word disgusting but—to each their own.”
“Dude!”
“Dude, what!?” Gideon lowers his voice, “What do you think is gonna happen? You’ll have a three—”
Caleb grimaces, “Shut up! Fuck, no. I’d have to kill him.”
Gideon’s voice raises, “Then just drop it!”
“I can’t!” Caleb runs his hands through his hair, “It’s—oh my god, you saw it, you know.”
Gideon pinches the bridge of his nose, speaking again once he lets go, “I really wish I didn’t!”
“Lies.”
“Truths! All the truths! I had to wash my eyes out after!”
Caleb scoffs, “Oh, come on. It’s not like we—”
“Stop. Whatever you’re gonna say, I can’t take it.”
***
Attempting to have a normal lunch, “You liked it, hm? I could tell.”
“Caleb!”
His brows raise, “I heard you moaning.”
“I was drunk! We were all—”
Interrupting you, he cocks his head to the side, “I know you, you weren’t that drunk. Neither was I…neither was he. Well, maybe him the most, honestly.”
Your shoulders tense, “Okay, whatever. Just—”
He interrupts again, “So, who’s it gonna be, hm?”
“Who’s it gonna be, what!?” After raising an octave, you bring your voice back to neutral, “It’s not a big deal. It didn’t mean anything, just some fun.” Your eyes look to his pleadingly, “Right?”
He nods quickly, shaking his head after, “R-right—I’m—I’m sorry…”
“It’s fine, just—!” You let your shoulders drop and exhale deeply, “Let’s just…leave it in the past, okay?”
“Okay, mhm,” he bows his head slightly, “yeah…sorry.”
***
Despite it being far less painful than Caleb’s version, this conversation wouldn’t let up on its other opposing end either.
You sigh, “Listen, we’ve got to stop having this conversation. I accept your apology, okay? Just—”
His voice is tense and racked with guilt, “I am, really—really—sorry. It was inappropriate, I—”
“Zayne! I promise, we’re totally okay. Just…let’s drop it, yeah?”
His brows furrow and he nods quickly, somewhere between a yes and a no, “O-okay, yeah. I’m sorry.”
***
For almost a week straight, from all angles, this simply wouldn’t let up. At least you found yourself having lunch without them—for now.
Gideon’s girlfriend shakes her head, “You gotta pick.”
You squeal, “Pick!?”
“Yes, pick.”
Stammering, trying to push that night from your mind that no one will let you forget, “I c-can’t! I pick neither!”
Her face scrunches accusingly, “Neither!? Oh, come on.” She sighs, “If you don’t pick soon, they’re gonna lose their fucking minds. Well, one is gonna lose their mind regardless, but…” Each word from her elicits a stronger and stronger expression of stress from you. “If you don’t pick, both are losing their minds—so, you gotta pick!”
“Oh my god. I can’t. I cannot have this conversation! Why can’t everyone just let it—”
Her eyes widen, looking past you to the nearest door, “Hey, guys!” When you turn and see the pair, your heart races, wishing you could just disappear…off the face of the earth.
***
You couldn’t keep having these conversations. It had now actually been a week, and there was at least one a day. From all directions, it kept coming up.
Whether it was because of the conversations, or what actually happened, you couldn’t stop thinking about it—waking up to the thought of it. You’d lost count of how many mornings this past week you spent squeezing your thighs together and screaming into your pillow.
You thought it simply couldn’t get any worse than this. But, oh, it was about to get, much, much, worse. In more ways than one.
***
“Okay, screw this. You guys are making this so awkward. Would you just kiss both of them and then pick so he,” Gideon gestures to Caleb, “can stop bothering me, and so he,” then he gestures to Zayne, “can stop looking so depressed and guilty.”
Their voices overlap, their tones much different, “I’ve not been bothering you!” “I don’t look depressed.”
Gideon rolls his eyes, “Right, right. Neither of those fucking statements are true.”
His girlfriend chimes in, tapping his arm, “Babe! Quit it.”
“No! This is ridiculous, everything is so weird now, and I’m stick of it!” He looks between Caleb and Zayne, “One of you make a move before I lose my fucking mind with this situation.”
Caleb’s response is quick, “I vote I do it.”
She scowls at him, “Caleb, shut the fuck up, would you?”
With a flat expression, you put both of your hands up, “Alright, you know what? I’m leaving. Bye.”
“Pips!”
“No! Just—leave it alone, Caleb. Why do you have to always go and make everything worse, hm?” Now that one...was like a knife straight to the heart.
That same night, he sent you just a few texts…
hey…i’m sorry
really really really sorry
can we just…talk?
i promise i won’t be a dick :p
i just want to apologize
please pips
There were more, but there was another significant thread about a week later.
when are you gonna stop ignoring me?
it’s been a WEEK
i can’t take it
I’M SORRY OKAY PLEASE
:(
we need to talk call me
***
Later that same night after his second long thread of messages, a week past everyone’s arguing and two weeks past the incident, thinking the knock you heard may have been a friend from across the hall, as soon as you open the door, “Ugh! Caleb! What are you doing here? Just…” you push the door closed slowly, “go away.”
Wedging his foot between the door and its jamb, “No.”
“Caleb!”
“No.” He places a hand on the door and pushes, not hard, but a push nonetheless, “You’re gonna let me in and let me apologize.”
Grumbling your annoyances to yourself, you let him in. This was bound to come to pass anyway, better to just get it over with. Right?
Folding your arms across your chest, you look away from him. “Pips…” he sighs, "will you at least look at me?” You sigh in return, still avoiding eye contact—it was too hard to look at him right now, “I-I, I’m sorry, okay? Fuck! I don’t know what to say, I just…I can’t stand to be away from you.”
You finally look over to him, and it breaks your heart to see just how sad he truly appears when you finally get a good look at him, “Caleb…”
“It hurts, pips. It hurts so fucking badly.” His hand raises and flattens over his heart, “My chest—i-it’s like I can’t breathe. It’s driving me crazy.” He takes a step closer toward you, “I am really sorry if I hurt you.” He shakes his head, “Shit, I did hurt you. I’m so sorry. Please, just—stop being mad at me. I-I—”
You sigh again, deeper, “Caleb, I can’t just…decide. It’s…”
“You can.” Another step. “You can. We’ll just…let it go. Like you wanted in the first place. I’m sorry I didn’t do that…in the first place. This is all my fault.”
“Well…” feeling your own sense of guilt, “it’s not entirely your fault…” You end up letting out a small huffed laugh, the entire situation frankly crazy, and a bit of everyone’s fault. The three of you, that is—and for more reasons than just that one night.
Seeing the slight smile from your quiet laugh, “You have no idea how much I’ve been missing seeing you smile.”
“Caleb—”
“I’m serious.” A third step. “I can’t live without it.” A fourth.
“W-wait—”
He grabs both of your hands, “I-I know you want him. I’m not stupid, just—” his head drops and shakes again, “Please…” before he looks at you again, “Can I show you how much I want you?” Your eyes widen, a slight shake in your hands that he won’t let go of, “Please. I need to show you.” Your mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out. “Pull away, shove me, hell, hit me and—I’ll stop. I just need to show you.” His look his earnest, deeply and fearfully earnest, “Will you let me?”
You’re frozen, the look in his eyes paralyzing you and stopping your heartbeat. “Caleb—” You take another step back but he follows, “w-wait—” he lets go of your hands as you take another step back, “Cal—”
He interrupts, “God, you’re so pretty, just—”
With the next step you take, you bump into your desk, “C-Caleb—”
Your hands raise and press against his chest. He swallows hard, “Push me away.”
“I-I—” You stop speaking completely the closer he gets, stammering due to your proximity.
Leaning in slowly, as close as he can get within the limit of your patience, his nose brushes against yours, a warm wash of his heavy breathing hitting your lips, “…Push me away.” He sighs, his eyes closing briefly before looking back at you, “That simple…just…” Your chest heaves as he tilts, his lips so close to yours without touching.
When he pushes the remainder of the distance, his eyes close and yours widen, “Mmm—!” Your left hand balls into a fist and beats down on his chest softly once as your eyes flutter from the delicateness of his kiss…then a second time, a bit softer…before your hand flattens and your eyes also close, “Mmph…”
“Mmhm…” The sound he makes affirms—relishes—in your reaction. Both of his hands raise to cup your face.
It was soft, tender, and full of longing. Full of everything he ever wanted to say. There was no tension, rivalry, alcohol, or…obstacles. No lines drawn in the sand. It just felt…real; overwhelmingly—scarily—real. It was the scariest thing you have ever done together—and that was saying something considering all that you’ve been through together.
When he pulls back, you can hardly focus, “See? Just—” He presses his lips against yours again, holding you close by your face, his fingertips adding the slightest bit of pressure as he attempts to reserve his desperation of this moment—this long awaited moment.
Letting you breathe, your voice is a soft moan, “Cal—” but he comes right back, “Mmm—” You feel yourself melting, giving into the soft touch he provides, feeling a much different feeling than that night. That night was lust, this is…
“Mmm—” He breaks away, giving you several soft kisses against your lips, the corner of your mouth, all while you go slack. Mumbling against your skin between kisses, “P-please, just… I-I—” He can’t finish, not without pressing his lips back against yours more passionately.
He lets his fingertips slip from your cheeks, gliding down and over your jaw, coiling past your neck and up and into your hair. Trying to tame himself, his grip in your hair gets tighter and tighter before it suddenly loosens. Breaking apart from your lips, both of you heaving, he presses his forehead against yours, “…Well?”
His eyes widen when your hands slide up from his chest and grip the back of his neck, pulling him back against your lips for another kiss. Left stunned, as soon as you speak, “Show me. Keep—” he’s right back against your skin, providing a less controlled kiss.
When he pulls back, “Mmm—oh my—” you don’t let him continue to speak, needing—badly so—to keep exploring whatever this feeling was, buried deep under the surface of your skin.
Sinking into it, losing yourselves in it, he’s quickly switching the angle, bringing his face back only an inch as his nose brushes against yours only to crash back down. This happens a few different times, the lasting kiss only getting deeper, more desperate—your mouths slowly opening for each other in the process.
Strangely, you can feel his reservation, and so you’re first, slipping your tongue into his mouth to meet his own. Timid at first, this turns into both of your heads cocked heavily to the side, welcoming each other gladly and rubbing the flats of your tongues against the other. It was like you already knew what he would taste like. Sweet, warm, and like a place you could call home…
Pressed against your desk, he parts from you when there’s an opening, gripping behind your left knee with his right hand, dragging it up along his own leg. As soon as he has your thigh up high enough, his lips are back on yours. He doesn’t push too far, try to wrap it around his hip, or explore too thoroughly, he simply holds your leg against his body, his fingertips squeezing your skin as his weight is able to bear down harder onto you.
With the ability to press into you more openly, you feel his hard length press into you. “S-sorry—ngh—”
“It’s o-okay—” It wasn’t, but right then…you wanted it to be. “W-we—” You moan when his lips find your jaw, then your neck—a lot more tender than that night. “Oh m-my god—” The feeling of his lips breaks and you can feel him smile against your skin before his lips are back on you, parted and pressing open mouth kisses to your neck until he reaches just beneath your ear.
“S-sorry that I gave you a hickey—” he pants against your neck, “I saw it…” He gently kisses the exact same spot the hickey was that by now had faded. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to...”
You almost laugh, “Y-yes, you did.”
He groans, pressing his mouth back to that spot, sucking softly. “I w-won’t do it again, I’m sorry.” He kisses your skin, “I’m sorry. So sorry…”
“Mhm—ngh—”
Suddenly, he drops your leg and both of his hands return to your face, kissing you deeply, so long that you start to get dizzy and push on his chest lightly—seeking air. “Do y-you want me to stop?”
“Mm-mm. Just—” You felt nauseous, strange and somehow deliciously nauseous, “C-can’t breathe—”
He laughs softly, kissing your cheek. “I’ll catch you if you pass out.”
“Caleb!” You flick his chest with your finger.
“Sorry.” He smiles, leaning back in hesitantly to kiss you again, waiting for you to tilt in his direction before doing anything.
When you come back together again, it’s somehow more desperate than before. The desperation peaks to the sounds of throaty moans following from one to the next, exchanged by a lasting connection. Without warning, he bites your bottom lip, not too hard, but still. You whine, feeling the pressure of his length against you.
Unprompted, he pulls away, his voice different than it was minutes ago, “He’d probably tell you I’m an asshole.” He kisses you again, “Could never like you the way I say I do.” Again, harder, “That I could never be gentle with you. He has no idea.”
“C-Caleb—”
“He doesn’t deserve you. Couldn’t care for you like me. Couldn’t protect you like me.” He stares into your eyes piercingly, your skin burning not just from his touch, but also the searing intensity of this look in particular, “All I think about is this.” He grips your face, planting his lips on yours again, “Only this.”
“Mmm—”
Leaving you gasping, he suddenly drops to his knees. His hands find your hips, his face rubbing against your stomach. Your hands reach down and tentatively touch his shoulders, not knowing what to expect. “Just—” His fingers barely tip up the hem of your shirt, his lips hardly grazing your skin.
“I just—” His nose digs into your torso as he exhales deeply, “I want…” You feel like you’re trembling, unsure if what’s happening is actually real—actually happening. “I-I want to make you feel good.” His lips touch your skin again before he looks up at you, “So good… If you’ll let me…”
A hot flush rises in your cheeks and your stomach drops—picturing it, “I d-don’t know…”
“Fuck. Sorry, I’m s-sorry. I shouldn’t…say that…just—I do. I always do…” his hands grip your hips tighter as he presses his face back into your torso, his voice a whisper, “so fucking badly.”
Collecting himself and letting you go, he stands back up quickly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry— I’m not trying to pressure you, I—”
You cut him off with your lips on his for a quick, rushed kiss, “H-how would you do it, hm?”
“O-oh—” he nearly coughs, his face immediately getting more flushed than it already is, “Lots of ways…lots, pips.”
“…You said you wanted to show me, so…show me.”
He stammers, practically groaning outwardly, “Y-you’re sure? Like—are you fucking with me, o-or…?”
Driven by a deep dark place of curiosity lusting to test the level of his devotion, “I am not fucking with you.”
“Don’t. I-I—” he grips your face again with both hands, “I want to. I—” His lips hover over yours, looking for restraint and unable to find it—anywhere. This was insane. Internally, you both acknowledged as much, but…you just had to get it out. You had to see what would happen.
Fuck it, he thought. Selfishly and pathetically, he thought if he did a good enough job, he could win this game Zayne and he had been playing for years.
“Okay—mmm—o-okay, yeah.” You smile softly, enjoying the sound of nerves that don’t usually accompany him or his demeanor. Your grin is cut short though when he’s pressing back into you with his body, his lips back on yours. When he pulls away again, the look in his eyes and the subsequent shift in his tone sends a raking shiver down the entire length of your spine, “Lay down.”
Both extremely jittery, you hardly speak over the next several moments. You sit down at the end edge of your bed, bracing yourself to scoot back with your hands. Before you can get too far, “W-wait.” You stop, and he leans in, hooking his fingers into your pants. You lift your hips, the eye contact between the both of you searing you to your core.
Before he can settle between your legs, his lips land on your knee first, trailing up your thigh, “So pretty…” Eventually, he’s settling in between your thighs, running his warm palms up and down your skin, “You’re beautiful. So beautiful.” He trails light kisses to your thighs.
He laughs into your thigh, “I have to cope with humor and being a dick or I’ll lose my fucking mind.” His voice gets more serious again, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He exhales against your skin, pressing several kisses into your thighs between words, each kiss a bit deeper, adding a pressure that sends a shock through your nervous system, “So, so, so…mmm…sorry…”
Stopping himself, he looks up at you, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” You nod, but that’s not enough, “Pips, I’m serious.”
“Mmhm, mhm…I-I will…”
He sits up again, “Good…” His fingers slip under the edge of your panties at your hips and pull. Once they’re completely off, he swallows hard, trying to silence a soft hum from his throat at the sight of you.
It was shy at first, timid. He presses a light kiss against the rounded curve of your pubic bone, not quite touching you—yet. Again, a little lower. Acknowledging the pure insanity happening—that you gave permission to happen—you let your head fall back onto the pillows.
His voice is soft and quiet, “Look at me. …Look, I’ll show you.” He kisses with more pressure, directly over the hood of your clit.
“S-shit.”
“Just,” open, his mouth hovers over you, deep pants washing over your skin, “watch me, hm?” When he spoke those last words, his bottom lip grazes your skin. Holding your eye contact, he lets his tongue jut from his mouth, softly stroking your skin over your hidden clit.
“Mmm—oh—”
He does so again, but with slightly more pressure, “Mhm…”
“C-Caleb—”
“I’m right here. Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”
You nod, swallowing harshly, “Mhm, y-yeah.”
“I’ll go slow.” Eventually, that became a lie. But not quite yet. It was slow, at first.
He makes gradual, soft licks over your slit until it naturally parts, already wet from the time spent against your desk, providing easy access to your clit as he pushes up. His tongue is warm, so fucking warm—the thought, feeling, and taste of it still lingering in your mind and mouth. In between licks, to calm the nerves surrounding you both, his lips press soft kisses against your skin.
When his tongue becomes more intentional and lasting, your chest starts heaving, the flat then more pointed motions causing your stomach to sink into knots.
With each squirm, he flattens, rocking the rounded center base of his tongue up and down in a slow grinding sensation. With each sigh and instance of relaxation, he points, flicking and circling your clit lightly, waiting for whatever motion would elicit the strongest reaction. He is surprised to find you reacted in particular to the slow, soft, yet intentional grind rather than any deliberate flick with his tongue.
He doesn’t mind though, this meant his mouth could be closer to you, taste you more openly, and if he just…let his mouth close around you, he could consume you completely.
The pull of his mouth has you lacing your fingers into his hair, pressing your body closer to him and pulling him in, “Caleb—oh m-my god—”
“That’s it—mmm—hold onto me.” From here, he increases in fervor, hums sounding from his throat at each physical and vocal reaction from you he obtains. Lost in the feeling and unable to focus on anything else, you miss him driving his hips forward into the mattress.
“Nngh—I-I—”
He pulls away, voice raspy, “Don’t stop looking at me.” He can barely finish his sentence before his mouth is back on you.
“S-shit—your tongue—oh m-my—” Realization settling in on who was about to make you cum, you minorly—for lack of a better word—start to freak out. “W-wait—wait—oh my fucking—nngh! God! I’m—f-fuck—wait—m’gonna, m’gonna—!”
Despite your words and your shock, you don’t let go of his hair nor do you stop the soft bucking of your hips, grinding your soaking wet cunt against his mouth. His eyes practically light up before relaxing into a heavy-lidded gaze again, moaning against your skin from the depth of his throat, not once stopping the movements from his tongue.
In short, unlike you pleaded, he doesn’t wait. After all, there was no “stop” in that broken sentence.
As soon as you start to properly lose yourself, your thighs tightening against his head, your head landing back into the pillows as your back arches, his hands snap up from your thighs to palm your hips, gently pressing and holding you down. When you relax into it, his hands slip underneath your shirt, gripping around your waist—only your waist.
“Mmmph—! Caleb! Oh m-my—y-you—ngh!” It feels like a never ending wave, his tongue particularly delicate against your clit to continue the feeling and ensure you ride out each and every portion of this violent feeling.
He offers only slight respite when you start to calm down, “Oh my god.” He licks you teasingly again, eliciting a whine, “You—” again, “T-that was—mmmph—” He pushes back in, lacking restraint and wrapping his lips around your clit to gently suck until you’re whimpering loudly.
“H-hey—” Your head snaps back up, only to see him with his eyes closed, “C-Caleb—nngh! Oh, f-fuck—I’m—”
Sucking a moment longer, when you sound near to exasperated tears through a shriek, he flattens, grinding his tongue against your clit until you cum for a second time.
Panting in pathetic, broken breaths, “O-okay—nngh—h-holy fuck—you showed m-me…” you breathe out deeply, “…y-you…showed…me…”
He chuckles, pulling away from between your legs before plopping down right beside you, a bit more like his usual self.
When you turn your head toward him, he’s already looking at you. You both share a glance to each other’s lips. You both know you probably shouldn’t, but…
Your eyes trail further, instantly landing on the painfully obvious outline of his hard cock through his pants. A thought crosses your mind, but when it passes, you both turn to look at one another with blushing faces. “No, n-no. Seriously. I…I just wanted to do that.” He chuckles quietly, “Well, um,” he clears his throat, “sorry.” You laugh, biting back a smile. “Sorry! W-what’d you expect, I just—”
He just made you cum with his mouth, twice. You press both of your palms against your face and interrupt him, “Oh, god…”
“It was really hot, you know. You’re pretty when you cum—really pretty…” Tentatively, his lips gently touch your shoulder, “Can I do it again?”
Your voice is muffled by your hands, “Caleb!”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m pushing my luck.” Knowing you well and sensing that you’re now feeling abashed, naked from the waist down with him fully clothed, he hops up out of bed. Also knowing where you’re likely to keep your things, he finds a pair of underwear and some shorts.
Walking back over, he hands them to you, slowly sitting back down, “…Thanks.”
While you’re wiggling yourself into the articles of clothing he brought you, he lays back down beside you. Once you’re dressed again, his forehead presses into your shoulder, “I meant everything I said, pips.” He sighs, lifting his head to look at you, “I—”
“Don’t.” You sigh before stammering, “W-we…”
“Why not?” His hand brushes against yours before pulling away, “Fine…” He sighs, “You already know. Of course you do. Just…think about what I said then, yeah?”
“M-mhm, y-yeah, I will…”
***
Perturbed and exasperated, Gideon exclaims on the other end of the phone, “Excuse me, what the fuck happened!?”
“It was so hot.”
“Okay, my god. Less details. As few as possible, actually.”
“I can’t stop jacking off.”
“DUDE! UGH, my god…fucking EW!” He sighs deeply on the other end of the call, mulling over the details shared against his will, “…She didn’t…?”
“No, no. I didn’t want her to. I didn’t ask.”
“Bro.”
“What!?”
“My god. This—t-this just keeps getting worse! You’re insane. Everything about this is insane! What the fuck!”
“Just because she didn’t—”
“That is not why I’m saying this is insane! …My god, dude.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Caleb that if you didn’t choose him, it would quite literally break him. He knew his best friend well—too well. The more this escalated, the harder the fall from grace would become.
***
A few days pass and you receive a voicemail. Conveniently, Caleb and you had both been busy, only seeing each other in passing with a subtle blush, maybe a text or two here and there.
Getting a moment to listen to the voicemail, “Hey…you, um…you never got the chance to open your gift, I don’t think. Could we…talk, maybe? You could open it and we could…talk—yeah. Why don’t you give me a call back when you can, okay? Alright, bye.”
Only a few hours later, you’re sat with Zayne at the end of your bed in your dorm. Your eyes are fixated on the small snowflake pendant of a dainty necklace. “I-it’s so beautiful, thank you. I—”
He interrupts you by clearing his throat, “I know we shouldn’t talk about it, but—I really am sorry, again. Um, you know me, don’t really drink—ever—so, I-I—”
“Zayne, seriously. It’s okay. We’re okay. This is a really sweet gift, thank you. Would you…” you cautiously hold out the necklace to him, “put it on for me?”
“Y-yeah, yeah. Of course.” You switch the angle you’re sitting at, turning your back to him. He swallows, “Will you…”
“Oh, yeah! Sorry…” Using one hand, you sweep all of your hair forward and over one shoulder.
He gulps quietly, a knot forming in his throat while staring at the same spot on your neck he put his mouth that night. Holding the chain in one hand, both of his arms come around you, his other hand unclasping the hook to bring the necklace toward you and lay it over your neck.
His voice is quiet, “Okay, there.”
Lifting your hair out and over the necklace, you turn back around with a smile, touching the pendant with your fingertips. “Thank you, Zayne.”
“You’re welcome. It looks really pretty on you.” You blush, your hands falling to your lap. Feeling a sense of emboldenment similar to that night, he tips forward, “Really…pretty…”
Your voice is a hushed whisper, “Zayne…”
His eyes dart to your lips before back up, “You’re really pretty…”
You both tip and tilt, slow and full of caution, until your voice cracks out of guilt and you speak suddenly, “C-Caleb and I— W-we kissed—like actually, kissed. I-I, I’m—”
His voice is sudden and surprisingly smooth—calm, “Did you get it out of your system?”
Your eyes widen, “W-what?”
“Did you both get it out of your system?”
“I-I—I think so—but…” you shake your head and swallow, your eyes snapping shut a moment, “we did more than—”
“Stop.” He blinks in a similar manner, turning his head slightly, “I don’t care.” Turning back toward you, glancing at your lips again, “Honestly, I don’t care.” He sighs, “He’s not right for you, you know that, right?” He looks into your eyes with a serious, pleading look, “He’s incapable of being right for you.”
You sigh, “Zayne—”
“Not even close to enough. Too arrogant. Too easily angered.” His jaw clenches, “If you think you owe him something, you don’t.” He shakes his head, “You don’t owe anyone anything.” He glances back to your lips—each sentence between the both of you bringing you closer, “You don’t…owe me anything.”
You feel his fingertips brush your thigh, “Just tell me, do you like me how I think you do? …Do you…like me how I like you?”
Your eyes flick across his face, processing the depths of his expression, “…Yes.”
“Good.” He leans even closer, his breath washing over your lips, “That’s all I need to know.” Slowly, the mattress dips the further you both lean into one another, “Nothing else.”
The kiss you share is a gentle, timid exchange, timed perfectly with a longing sigh from each of you, “Mmmph—” It’s slow and sweet at first, both of your hands reserved and either in your lap or on the bed.
He reaches out first, his left hand crossing over your waist to grip your right hip. He pulls away, “I-I’m sorry, you don’t— I’m not trying to—” Your arms snaking up his shoulders and around his neck silence him instantly.
You bring your lips closer to his again, your voice nearly an inaudible whisper, “Kiss me.” His eyes search yours thoroughly, searching for any resistance. When he finds none, he meets you again, much less tempered. “Mmm—”
As you hold yourself to him, his hand on your hip slides down your thigh, a slight tug under your knee bringing your thigh up onto his leg. When you break away, you both have a tame smile, one that only grows as he brushes his nose against yours.
You anchor your palms on his shoulders, swinging your thigh completely over his lap to straddle him. Despite still wearing a small smile, his eyes widen. You don’t allow that expression to last long though, cupping his face in your hands before crashing your lips down onto his.
As the kiss deepens, you feel the rim of his glasses touch your skin. Pulling away with a gasp, you both release a quiet laugh when you simultaneously reach for them. “Can I?”
His hand backs off, “Mhm…” Slowly, you pull them off his face. It was a rare sight—Zayne without his glasses. Your gaze softens when you truly get a good look them.
“Y-you—you’re so…handsome.” The flush already present on his skin immediately deepens. “I’ve— …I’ve always thought that.”
Sat in his lap, holding his glasses between your chests, both of his hands come up to your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheeks, “You’re…the most…beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—I’ve ever known.” Forgetting his glasses are still in your hands, you tilt toward his lips, “I’ve always thought that.” You both share another warm smile, the confession—while innocent and secretly already known—feeling so good to release and say aloud. “I’ll…always think that.”
The following kiss is intimately tender, your heads craning in opposite directions at the feeling of a more opened mouth kiss. Without parting from your lips, his hands gently take his glasses from yours, extending his arm out once he has them to place them on the bed as far as he can without leaving you.
As soon as he’s finished, his arms coil around your waist, drawing you closer to him. Between kisses, “Mm…I m-meant…what…I said…you don’t—ngh—owe me…anything.”
“Mhm,” you kiss him passionately again, your hips driving down into his lap, “I know.”
After falling back onto the bed together, somehow things end up scooted to the headboard as a cozy make-out ensues. Eventually, both on your sides, you’re completely entangled, one of his legs between yours. Without realizing it, you start grinding onto his thigh, desperate to feel more friction as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.
Breathless, he pulls away, a small smile on his lips, his cheeks and ears completely flush. The look he gives you prompts you, “W-what?”
“N-nothing, you—” He doesn’t finish, instead applying pressure with his body until you’re completely on your back and only he is left on his side. Leaning in to kiss you again, his hand gently rests on your thigh, slowly working inward and gripping, squeezing your leg. Sighing into your mouth, his hand gets closer and further between your legs, feeling the warmth between them.
Your hand lands on top of his, delicately brushing your fingertips over his knuckles. Together, the pair of your hands slides up until his fingers are flush between your legs, applying a bit of pressure.
Deepening the kiss, you moan into his mouth when he intentionally rubs your clothed cunt, the base of his palm creating additional pressure near your pubic bone.
Eventually, his fingers slip beneath the confines of your pants and panties, “Is this okay?” You nod, angling toward him as his middle finger slips between your slit. He bites back a groan when immediately feeling how wet you already are.
“M-mhm—ngh—”
Dipping down, his finger drags back up and lands on your clit. His voice is quiet before he starts moving, “You’re sure?”
When you nod again, the pad of his finger delicately circles your clit, “Y-yes—oh m-my—”
“You’re so pretty.” His face nuzzles into your neck, his lips placing soft delicate kisses against your skin, “Beautiful…”
The tip of his middle finger is gentle, coaxing, and slow—easily drawing a moan from your lips. You sigh, a relaxation happening that spreads from your chest and out—everywhere, “Z-Zayne…”
“Tell me if,” his lips press against your jaw, “you want me to stop, hm?”
You nod against the pillow, “Mhm—y-yeah.”
“Good.” He sits partially up, his face hovering above yours. His eyes flick across your expression, stopping at your furrowed brows, your soft eyes, your parted lips…
His breath washes over your lips, his own mouth parting at the sound of a whine from you, his lips touching yours but offering no kiss. Your voice is a whisper, “I-it feels s-so good—ngh—”
“You look…” Your head hardly lifts, both of you teasing one another with the subtle touch of your lips, each gasp from your mouth making him shudder. With the feeling of his finger circling your clit, eventually—quickly—a moan breaks past your lips but is shortly silenced by his mouth crashing down onto yours.
As his tongue slips into your mouth, your legs raise, your knees up as you wiggle and start to squirm, the feeling of release quickly building. When you moan loudly into his mouth, it only makes him press his weight further into you, groaning in return.
Tipping back, his lips press into your cheek, his voice hoarse, “I want you to cum…”
“I-I—oh my god—”
“Mmhm…” You moan again not only to his intentional movements on your clit, but also to the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your thigh, a slow movement forward from his hips driving the pressure further.
“Z-Zayne—ngh!”
“That’s it…” Your head turns toward his, desperate to get your lips back on his.
The look in his eyes is one you’ve absolutely never seen before, your lips teasing each other again before leaning into it completely, your hips softly bucking into his hand when your lips finally meet, “Mmmph—”
You don’t stop kissing until your moans become overwhelming, your head turning away and down into the pillows, “Oh m-my god—nngh!” His face immediately nuzzles into your neck again, his mouth slow and tender in how he sucks your flesh, the drag of his finger slowing as he works you through the raw, tantalizing feeling.
He’s already starting to crawl on top of you before his hand completely leaves your panties. “Zayne—h-holy sh—” You can’t finish speaking before he’s recklessly meeting you for another kiss, his body wedging between your thighs as his hips drive into you.
“I’m s-sorry—” his lips press against yours again, “just—” again, deeper. You pull him closer, your hands threading into the hair at the nape of his neck.
Wrapping your legs around the low point of his waist, and in a moment between kisses, “Z-Zayne—”
His face nuzzles back into your neck, his mouth leaving a trail of sloppy kisses, “Mm—y-yeah?”
“I-I—ngh,” you moan to the feeling of his hard cock pressing into you, “I want y-you inside me.” He groans loudly into your skin, his teeth grazing your skin in restraint.
Taking a moment to respond, his hips roll forward several times—picturing it...imagining it. He’s not sure he really heard what he thought he did. Pulling his face out from your neck, he presses his forehead against yours, “Y-you—a-are you—”
You interrupt by getting your lips back on his, mumbling against his skin, “Y-yes—mm—yes.”
His hips don’t stop, “Do you hav— Are you really—ngh—sure?”
“Yes a-and yes.” You both let out a quiet, light laugh before kissing again.
“Mmhm—god, mhm—I want you…so badly.”
Your hands reach for the bottom of his thin sweater, starting to lift and tug, “Off. Take this off.” With zero hesitation, he sits up onto his knees and practically tears the garment off and over his head. Your fingertips delicately touch the skin of his abs, trailing upward toward his chest, “Y-you…"
His hands touch the hem of your shirt, “Can I?”
You sit up to support the action, “Mhm…”
“You’re so…beautiful— I’m—” You don’t let him continue, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him back down again.
Only a few short minutes later, you’re both completely undressed, somewhere in between you leaned and reached over to your nightstand, fumbling around for a condom while he kissed your thighs, your stomach, your arms…
Up on his knees in front of you, your eyes are fixated on his cock, the flush pink of his tip matching perfectly to his lips. You clench at the sight of a bead of slickness just before he rolls the latex down onto himself, “You’re sure? Please, tell me if—”
You smile, forcing your eyes back up to his to interrupt, “Yes, more than sure.”
He smiles softly, “Mhm—o-okay…” Bending down again, his mouth trails up your thighs before placing a light kiss against the top of your slit, driving a quiet moan from you and a groan from him against your skin. The thought…another time…crosses both of your minds—but instead land on simply being desperate to feel each other instead.
His mouth follows up your stomach, between your breasts, and back to your neck. By the time he’s at your neck, his cock is pressing into you, anticipation spreading between the both of you. He lifts to look at you properly, “Tell me if—”
You cut him off, your brows raising, “Zayne.”
He blushes, kissing you lightly instead, “Sorry. I’ll stop.” You nod with a small smile, wanting his lips back on yours instead.
Slowly with the support of his hand, he guides the head of his cock along your slit, the graze against your clit before back down to your entrance leaving you whining. Watching carefully, he guides himself, sinking his tip inside your twitching cunt. You both gasp, quickly sharing a look. Letting himself go, both of his arms prop himself up beside you as you wrap your legs around his waist, the adjustment causing him to sink further.
Your voices overlap, “Oh my god—mmm.” “Zayne—ngh—y-you…”
Pressing his forehead against yours, his brows knitting deeply as he pushes deeper, “Is t-this okay?”
“M-mmhm—” your voice cracks, “ngh—y-yes.”
Until he’s completely inside you, the kisses are slow, soft, and teasing, tiny whines from you and deep hums from him. Once he’s filling you to the brim, the pressure its most intense and with no space between you, you both moan, abandoning the intimacy of a soft kiss for a much deeper one. With your lips locked, his hips move back before driving forward again at a controlled pace.
When that pace picks up, you gasp, cocking your head back and away from his lips, tilting into the pillows beneath your head. “You’re—ngh—this is…”
“Mmhm—oh m-my god—will you, aah—thrust a little—mmm—faster…”
“Ngh—m-mhm…” Trying to temper himself as to not lose control too quickly, he still does as you ask. The subtle rock of his hips becoming one of intention, a small tilt each time toward the end, “You feel s-so good—”
“I-it’s—” You gasp and are silenced when one of his hands lowers, his palm applying a light pressure between the low of your stomach and the top of your pubic bone. Not, whatsoever, expecting the move from him, “Zayne—ngh!”
His voice loses its sense of control, “I want to feel you cum—mmm—while I’m inside.” The buck of his hips is not only now faster, but also harder, the pressure from him, his hand, and the tilt of his hips growing in how overwhelming it becomes.
When loud moans start to fall from your lips more frequently, he watches your expression carefully, his own lips parted, low moans coming him. “Mhm—” His palm lets up on the pressure, his thumb finding your clit instead, creating a bit more distance between you two.
“H-holy shit—ngh—y-you—”
“I’m right here—mmph—”
“D-don’t stop—oh m-my god—m’gonna—” Your voice cracks into a loud moan, your legs squeezing tighter around the low point of his waist, inadvertently forcing his thumb off your clit and his arm out from between you.
Your hands paw at his shoulders, tugging him down and closer, the thrust of his hips even faster as he buries his face in your neck. “Mmm—o-oh my—I’m—” Still not recovered, you shudder to the feeling his mouth—his teeth—sinking into your neck, a loud groan reverberating against your skin as his hips snap forward, slowing in speed but increasing in strength as he quickly finds his own release.
“Z-Zayne—ngh!” You feel his cock twitch, your walls squeezing down around him, “Kiss m-me.” When his face departs from your neck, his mouth is slack and hovering above yours, another firm thrust forward from his hips as he continues to cum. The kiss is sloppy—needy—each of you exchanging deep moans trapped between your lips, his hips eventually slowing.
After several sweet, gentle kisses surrounded by endless panting, he’s careful in how he pulls out of you, your legs lowering beside him. Once you’re both laying beside each other again, you turn nearly simultaneously, sharing a look and immediately blushing, a quiet yet affectionate laugh coming from both of you.
***
“He did what!? And you fucking let him!?” Surprisingly, this was one story Gideon didn’t let slip to his girlfriend; probably because he didn’t want to think about it—not one bit.
“It’s…” you sigh, deeply, “there’s more.”
“More!?”
… … …
“You two did WHAT!? Yesterday!?”
You flail your arms across the table, “Shh, SHUSH! Oh my god…”
She points a finger toward your neck, “Wait—what are you wearing?”
… … …
“Oh. My. God.” She lowers her head before letting it snap back up, “Well…you’re fucked. Like, so…extremely…fucked.” What she didn’t want to say was: he’s going to find out. They’re both going to find out. Imminently. Technically, Zayne already knew. Well, sort of. He didn’t know what he knew exactly, but he knew.
You groan, folding your arms over the table and laying your head within. You knew you were, indeed, utterly fucked.
***
It only took a few days for that information—all of it—to slip amongst the group. Truthfully, you had no one to blame but yourself. But them, too; however, the guilt you felt was plenty strong enough to place everything on yourself.
Once that information made its way around, it took no time at all for Caleb to be barging back through your door. Only this time, it wasn’t to apologize.
Before he even can speak, he paces around your dorm, taking only a few steps back and forth while you bite the nail of your index finger. “You’re saying y-you don’t— I thought…” He laughs, and that scares you. “I’ve—I’ve been alone in these feelings for years? Sitting around like a dumb, pathetic third wheel?”
“Caleb…”
“No, no. You know what?” He finally stops moving, turning to face you instead. “Say it.” He exhales slowly, “Say you feel absolutely nothing for me.” You sigh, your lips parting but no sound leaves them, “Not one single thing. That it’s all just for him, hm?”
“I-I—”
“Go on. Not one, tiny, burning thing that eats at you from the inside like it does to me. I need to hear it and I’ll let it go. Forever.”
“C-Caleb—I—”
“You c-can’t just—ah! You drive me insane! I know I’m not insane. I saw how you looked at me. How you kissed me!” He folds his arms over his chest, “So, please, say it.”
“I-I can’t! I fucking can’t, okay!? Are you happy!? God, you’re so—” He’s quick to close the gap, taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours, “Mmm—” your hands are weak against his chest when he pulls away, searching your eyes only to come back more intensely, “Cal—”
His jaw clenches as he presses his forehead against yours and his eyes close, his voice quiet, “Do you actually think…he loves you how I do?” He lets you go, stepping back. “He can’t! It’s—It’d be impossible!” You stand in place, your chest heaving. “I love you.”
Your head tilts to the side in warning, your jaw clenching as you give him a stern look, “Stop it.”
“Did he tell you he loves you?”
Your breathing shudders, “Caleb, I’m serious.”
“I. Love. You.” He steps closer again, “I know. I fucking know some part you loves me, too. Loves me more than what we say on the surface.”
“Caleb!”
He comes right back, “If he won’t say it, I will. I love you. I love—”
While you interrupt, “S-stop…please, I-I—” he’s close enough to take your face in his hands again.
“I love you.” There’s a brief silence as you stare at one another. In the midst of the silence, your breathing only mutually gets faster and faster before you’re recklessly coming together in a heated kiss.
Between passionate kisses, “Just—ngh—stop…talking…”
“Whatever—mmm—you have…had—it can’t—ngh—I know…it’s not…like this.” He breaks away properly, staring at you intensely, watching for any micro expression written on your face, “It can’t be.”
Your lips brush but don’t properly touch, “Just—stop it…” You’re the one to meet him intensely this time.
“Ngh—no—” He pulls you off his mouth using his hands, “Look at us!” You come right back, “Mmm—” He repeats the process, his forehead pressing against yours as he speaks affectionately, “Look at you…” He returns, a groan from his mouth to yours, “Fuck—you make me crazy.” Again, and again, between each confession, “So fucking crazy… I need this… I need you…” Each time he speaks between a kiss, it only makes you come back to him needier than the time before, “Say stop—mmm—right now—ngh—and I’ll stop.”
Without the time to respond, he’s already kissing you again, “Ngh—oh m-my god—mmm—” His hands leave your face and find your waist, then your hips, walking you the short distance back until your back presses against the door of your dorm.
Breaking away with a gasp, he speaks earnestly, restraint slipping further and further away with each kiss, “Say it.”
“Y-you—”
He interrupts, “Hm?” He takes your hands and lifts your arms above your head and against the door, “What do I have to do, hm?” Pushing his fingers into your palms, he threads his fingers into yours until they’re laced, “It’s me.” Holding you there, his lips are back on yours, speaking yet again between desperate kisses, “You h-have to—tell me—to stop.”
“D-don’t stop.”
“Again.” His lips touch the corner of your mouth as you moan from the pressure he creates with his hands—his body, “Tell me again.”
“Don’t s-stop.”
His tone then carries a certain grit that makes your blood boil, “One more time.”
“Fuck you! Don’t fucking st—” Silencing you mid-sentence, his lips quickly make their way back to yours, “Mmph…”
He breaks away with a gasp, “Oh, now you’re mad at me, huh?” With his breathing rapid and beating down against your mouth, “How long can you keep that up? Were you mad when you were practically screaming my name when I made you cum?” His knee slips between your legs, “Didn’t seem mad to me.”
You huff, “Y-you’re such a—”
He interrupts, “Go ahead.” He presses more of his weight into you, “If it makes you feel better, I can take it.”
“Asshole!”
He nods, “Mhm, that’s right.” His hands squeeze yours tighter, “Deny all you want. All you need to. Doesn’t change this feeling, does it?”
The look in your eyes tempts him to crash down again, “Mm—ngh!”
When you nip his bottom lip with your teeth, he parts from you, a small smile in tow before he comes back down, “Mhm, that’s it—f-fuck—mmm—”
Suddenly, he lets go of your arms, dropping to his knees—like he did before, only this time it wasn’t out of desperation. Instead, his movements contained an unrestrained desire to prove you wrong. So wrong.
He presses his lips against your clothed cunt, applying ample pressure with his mouth while his fingers sink underneath all of the fabric at your hips. Once his mouth is off you, he’s yanking everything down with a swift tug. Slowly, both of you taking labored, angry, breaths, he lifts your feet one at a time to get your clothes completely off while staring up at you.
When you’re bare from your bottom half down—again, rather than do what you think he might, he grips your hips in his hands hard, turning you around and pressing you against the door. “O-oh—” You’re silenced by the feeling of his teeth nipping your ass, descending to bite your thigh, and your ass again before upward toward your hip. Each bite makes you whine, your hands pressed against the door beside your chest providing you the only distance from the door.
Standing back up, he draws your hips back toward his own, the feeling of his hard length contained by coarse jeans making you moan. Letting go of your hips, his hands slowly brush all of your hair to one side of your shoulder and over, finding the clasp of your necklace.
His fingers delicately find the clasp and unlock it, slowly pulling it off your neck. “I don’t…” from one end, he holds the chain near the door and beside your face turned against the wood, “want to look at this.” As soon as he finishes speaking, he drops it to the ground. With force, his hands come down on the door, his face leaning in toward your exposed neck, his lips pressing back into you, causing you to gasp.
His lips find your ear, “I should give you another hickey.” His teeth nip the edge of your ear, “As many as I can, actually.” You whimper softly when his right hand leaves the door and snakes around your waist, pulling you closer against his body. “That way…” he lowers slightly and presses his lips tenderly against your neck, “he’ll get the message—” again, with more fervor, “not…to touch…what’s mine.”
You can’t help but moan, especially when his right hand drops from your waist and weaves down between your thighs. You whimper when his middle finger pushes past your slit, his lips on your neck again. He chuckles quietly against your skin, “You like that idea, hm? You’re already so fucking wet. Ready for me to make you cum again, huh?”
“S-shit—Caleb—”
“Mm-mm, I’ve got you right where I want you.” His teeth nip your ear again, “…Right where I think you want to be, hm?”
You moan loudly as his middle finger toys with your clit, nodding against the door, “Mmhm—ngh!”
“Good… I’m curious, pips. Did he get you this wet, hm? Did you even cum?”
“F-fuck—shut u-up, stop t-talking.”
“Mm-mm. I want to know. Were you grinding your cute ass on him before he fucked you? Soaking wet just from kissing him?” He arches over slightly, pulling you closer, slowly slipping his finger into your dripping cunt, causing a loud gasp to rip from your throat. “Where did he put his mouth, hm?” Quickly, your right hand snaps off the door to grab his wrist, but not to stop him—to anchor yourself. “I need to know…” Retracting his middle finger almost completely out of you, he pushes back in with the addition of his index finger. “…So I can put my mouth there instead.”
Your grip on his wrist loosens, “Oh m-my god—”
“Mhm—fuck—you feel so good—”
“Caleb—h-holy fuck—”
“Mm-mm, wanna make you cum just like this—with just my fingers.” His voice becomes a whisper, “Remember, I told you. …Lots, and lots, of ways.”
Pumping in and out, his lips touch your neck between each stroke of his fingers, “With my mouth—hmph, did that—now with my fingers…” You moan with each angle change and twitch. He only presses his cock harder against your ass, “I think you know what’s next after that…”
“Oh my god—nngh—”
“S’warm…s’cute—wrapped around my fingers like this…” Intentionally, the pads of his fingers gently press into your G-spot with slight pressure, “Did he touch this?”
You eek out a pathetic moan, his voice a hiss by your ear, “With his fingers or his dick, hm?”
“Fucking—nngh! S-shut up…”
His teeth sink into your neck like they did that night, hard, “Doesn’t matter.”
“S-shit—”
He groans, “That’s it, gonna cum already, hm?”
“N-no—ngh—”
“Mmm, but I can feel it—“ his fingers push against and massage the spongy wall of flesh, “you’re squeezing me.” His tongue runs along your neck before he speaks again, “God, this would feel so fucking good around my cock.”
“C-Caleb—I’m—”
He interrupts, his voice smug in your ear, “Thinking about my dick inside you, hm?”
“Nngh! M’gonna—oh m-my god—w-wait—”
“No more waiting. I want you to cum—just…like…this.” When you start to shake and whine, you release his wrist completely and press your hand back against the door as his fingers curl and press, “Picture it’s me, deep inside you—” He moans when feeling your walls clench around his fingers as a direct result of his words, “Mmm—fuck.” His voice becomes gravely when you start trembling, moaning loudly as you cum, “Mhm—good job…”
After you both pant and stay as you are a moment, he eventually steps back from you. As soon as you turn around, you stare at each other a moment before coming back together—like putty in his arms. Wasting no more time, he’s stripping you of the rest of your clothes. In the midst of things, all you manage to get off is his shirt.
You gasp loudly when he bends and scoops you straight off the ground by the backs of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. After approaching, he practically tosses you down onto your bed sideways. “Did he fuck you right here, hm? Right where I made you come?”
“God—ngh—” you tilt your head back onto the bed, your tone weak, “just shut the fuck up!”
“No.” Unbuttoning his pants, he lets them fall to the ground and steps out of them, “I’m gonna fuck you in the same place—better.”
Crawling onto the bed, he stays up on his knees between your thighs, “Show me where he put his mouth.”
Your eyes are practically glazed over when you weakly point your finger to your thighs, all over your stomach, your chest, your neck… His mouth follows anywhere you point, his teeth frequently sinking into your flesh, nipping before he kisses and sucks. “Oh my god—”
“Mhm—every place.” Once he’s close enough, he nips at your chin before going back down toward your chest, kissing along your throat first. “Everywhere else, too.” With his hands, he yanks up your clasp-less bra against your clavicle. “Here, hm?”
“N-no.”
“Seriously?” He scoffs, “God—what a—”
You whine, interrupting him, “Just—!” Before you can say anything else, he’s interrupting you by taking one of your breasts into his mouth, immediately groaning into your skin and pressing his hips down into you. “Oh m-my god—”
“Mmhm…” His other hand raises and gropes your opposite breast. Not waiting long, he’s switching sides with his mouth, his hand applying pressure while he sucks.
His hips continue to drive forward with force, moaning when he lets you go and brings his face to hover above yours, “Did you beg him like this?”
You eek out a weak moan, “S-stop it.”
He uses one hand to push his briefs down, “Did you?” You gasp when the underside of his cock grinds against your soaked slit, a moan of his own spilling out at the contact.
“Mm-mm—p-please—!”
Between heated, nearly angry, kisses, “A little more—ngh—I want to hear—mmm—how bad you want it.”
“I w-want it. I fucking—ngh—” sharing sloppy, wet kisses, your hands are everywhere you can get them—on his face, neck, shoulders, and arms… You miss his hand slip between the two of you, angling his pathetically hard cock with your entrance, “I-I need it, p-please.”
You gasp when his tip presses into your entrance, “Oh m-my—” He doesn’t let you speak, crashing his lips onto yours, drinking in each whine you give him with each inch he provides.
“C-Caleb—nngh!”
“Y-you—this—mmm—” he groans loudly, his forearms coming down by your head, boxing you in, “mine…fuckin’—ngh—mine.”
When his length is buried its full extent inside you, completely—utterly—skin-to-skin, you’re both gasping desperately, his forehead pressing against yours. “It’s n-not the same. I k-know it’s not. Can’t be.”
Your neck cranes and your lips brush against his, “C-Caleb—nngh—y-you feel—”
He interrupts, groaning, “You’re perfect—s-so perfect—you feel amazing—nngh—”
When he really starts to thrust, you both lose it—lose yourselves. Each one a bit faster, harder than the last. The raw feeling of him has you pawing—clawing—at his back, moaning loudly out into the room. Occasionally—truthfully, much more than occasionally—his mouth his hot on yours, trying to keep each and every moan that escapes your lips. He wants—needs—to claim them all for himself.
When you can’t stop saying his name, over and over again, a pained gasp mixed with a grunt rips from his chest, “Oh my god—I’m—I’m gonna cum—”
“Caleb—nngh—w-wait—” you’re trying to warn him, but each next thrust is more powerful than the last, “Caleb!” and all you can do is moan, scream his name as you start to reach your own release at the repeated plunge of his cock hitting your G-spot in just the right way, “Mmph—h-holy f-fuck—!”
Still shaking from the start of your orgasm, he’s quickly—and for him, regretfully—slipping out of you completely, his twitching cock pressing and grinding against the top of your slit while his hips continue to buck forward, “Mmm—nngh!” Numerous ropes of his cum hit your stomach—some even all the way to your chest.
Panting loud exasperated breaths, you both stare down, having watched the entire scene unfold, “Oh m-my god…”
Still slowly grinding against you, you’re whining at the friction while he groans, “Mmm—h-holy shit—” Tentatively, your eyes meet again.
“C-Caleb, I—” The way you begin to speak makes him shake his head, still shuddering and panting.
His forehead presses against yours, his eyes closing as he interrupts you, “D-don’t say it…I can’t handle it.”
I have SO MANY THOUGHTS on the Love and Deepspace men and their kinks. Here they are. Crossposted from TT and updated to include Valko!
he's into restraints. Wants you pinned down and at his mercy. Loves it the most when you struggle
somno, but I feel like that's obvious (doing it while you're/ he's asleep, waking each other up with sex)
high key into roleplay as long as you aren't asking him to dress up as someone else (or Lumiere) Professor Xavier, anyone? 👀👀👀
A little bit degrading. def likes being mean to you. (Followed by praise) like "who's MY dirty little slut?"
o control/denial, & overstim
anal, obviously. Wear a little bunny tail for him and you'll be leaking him for days
Marking. Everywhere. Bites, scratches, his come, a necklace with his name, he wants the whole world to know you belong to HIM!!!
this man is old af. he's probably willing to do/has done everything at least once. Probably will do it again
loves wrecking you and watching the evidence, definitely the type to stare at the mess when he's done with you and tell you how pretty you are while covered in his —
obvious but he lives for the structure of D/s dynamics and with him it's probably a mostly full-time thing once things are established. Def has rules, punishments, and endless funishments.
he loves to hear you beg but he won't give you what you want until you're crying for it. Gasping, needy, breathless. That's where he wants you always. You better beg loud and well if you want him to give you what you need 👀
temperature play also seems obvious but I think he'd make an ice copy of his cock to use while he's at work/busy. WILL require pictures 👀
def thinks he likes to watch you warm up. I can see him sitting back and telling you to show him how you want to be touched...and then telling you should move your hands
breeding but he's lowkey about it until you tell him you want him to get you pregnant.
also obvious from his anniversary 4*, Dr/patient RP.
obvious from his cards: public play, but like specifically he loves getting down in his office/putting you over his desk
mildly into food play, wants to "clean" sweets off you
wants to make you squirt, does, basically every time
not super into pain, but does like to give you some taps for noise/to get your attention
restraints are a big thing. He always gets out of them. You on the other hand...
the push/pull of your dynamic makes him hard so he's into everything that plays on that. Pred/pray, D/s, chasing you down, manipulating you into giving him the power (lots of mind games/tricks with this one!!) he's into all of that. Because catching you and making you submit??? Heaven!!! Or being forced to his knees for you? Yes!!!!!
into pain, giving/receiving. If you tell him something hurts, he'll smile a little and say "good," or if he's in a softer mood he'll coo at you telling you how brave you are while still-- ANYWAY and he can take everything he dishes out.
wax play!!! With his evol and artistic eye he loves turning your body into a canvas. "You look so pretty dripping all these colors, cutie."
praise & "what a naughty girl" but it also goes both ways.
super into feet. He is a Pisces. He's also a fish. Feet interest him. Step on him and he might just come all over the place.
loves to record you both in the act. Loves to watch.
overstim till you cry and don't know your name anymore
breeding af. Wants you to smell like him. Same with biting!!!
absolutely gets off on you calling him your God.
into being Strapped down by you
all of them love to eat it but Sylus is by far the most hungry. He would live on his knees just eating away if you let him. You don't even have to touch him. Just let the man feast!!! He's hungry!!!!!!
loves when you spend his money. like it actively makes him SO hard. He'll be on a call with you while you're online shopping, using his card, telling him what you're getting, and he WILL come.
yearns to be used tbh. Treat him like your plaything. Use him as you'd like. He's into it.
sort of expanding on that, free use in general is a big thing for him. It goes both ways, and there's signals for safety and check-ins, obviously, but especially when his aether core is acting up, this happens a lot!!
obvious but he loves the size difference. Even if you aren't all that much smaller than he is, his cock is so big watching it go in and out? Yeah. That's a biiiiiiiiig stretch
service top/Pleasure Dom. Will fuck you until you can't see straight anymore and make you give him one more.
"use your words, kitten. Beg me for what you want." but like...all the time
loves using his evol to restrain you or bounce you on his cock.
likes watching you take big things. Def uses toys on you. 👀 and you can use whatever toys you want on him!!!!
obviously into biting and into knife play (in safe ways, obvs)
likes pain, and will give or take it.
absolutely into Pred/prey dynamics and WILL chase you through the woods and will say "licyify"
SERVICE SUB!!!! that's his happy place. He yearns to be your house husband in that little apron, his necklace, and nothing else. The less you do, the happier he is. Let him do all the work, for everything, tysm. The better taken care of you are the harder he is
breeding. Oh gods, he wants you to have his babies so bad. He's always babbling about this when he's in you. Like...it might be all he thinks about.
obviously he's into your used panties. Lingerie is a treat for him. If you gag him with them, he'll probably come on the spot.
tbh he's into everything you're into because you're what matters to him. He'll do ANYTHING you ask him to. In bed. In life. In death. Anything you ask for, it's yours.
that said he def loves fucking in his uniform. And pinning you down with his evol when you're being a brat. Will lift you up with it so he can eat, and fuck you on the ceiling.
into breath play tbh
loves making a mess out of you. So into overstim (both ways) that he actually *can't* stop until he's too tired to go on. He'll come 3-4 times and keep fucking it back in and he loves the look and sounds
into when your makeup smears af. Thinks you're pretty when you cry bc it's too good
most certainly into piss. giving and receiving.
Collars, leashes, that type of restraint. Doesn't want to bind your hands or your legs because he likes it when you fight him and leave your mark. You can chain him up, though.
Looooooves marking you and when you mark him. Biting, scratching, coming on each other, all of it. He needs to leave his mark on you!!!!!
ABSOLUETLY INTO PRIMAL PLAY!!! Loves the thrill of the hunt!!!! And when you fight him!!!! def into the push/pull of your dynamic and wants the chase/fight almost as bad as he wants what comes after.
LOVES edging, both giving and receiving.
Praise/degradation combos are some of his favorites, giving and receiving!!!!!
Wants to be used/owned by you, so please, please, oh please, use him. In any way you want.
BREEDING!!!!! He can't help it. It's part of the wolf thing, probably. Loves seeing his come leak out of you. Loves even more to fuck it back in and feel the way you pulse around him.
Most def loves the size difference between you two. Loves seeing you struggle to take his knot. Will tease you about it being "too big" and he loves when you prove him wrong!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Possibly into piss because he's a nasty, dirty dog and wants to claim you/be claimed by you
Valko's are assumptions and will likely need an update when he comes back to us, but for now....for now these are My Thoughts.
Caleb perving on you when you are with Rafayel because he can't have you himself, and Rafayel knows it. He likes knowing your brother is listening from the other side of the door as he sinks inside you.
Eventually, he even enjoys testing him to his face: telling him things no normal brother should want to hear from their sister's boyfriend. He tells him how sweet you taste; how messy you kiss him, unpracticed and desperate; how it feels when he teases your drippy entrance so long you start suckling at his tip, desperate to take him inside.
And Caleb listens. He listens and listens, knowing he shouldn't, until one day, he stands at the end of the bed and watches Rafayel's delicate fingers exploring your twitchy pussy directly in front of him, for him.
"Isn't she pretty..." Rafayel purrs in his seductive siren tones. "So, so soft. Come closer and look... it's okay just to look..."
❕cw: pseudo-incest, cunnilingus, impact play, fingering, mentions of p in v sex, creampie
⭑.ᐟ
“i’m too selfish for it. it’s caleb who’s greedy.” his deep voice carries in the room like a choir in a church.
he’s met with slow blinks and soft moans as he stuffs a finger into her gooey hole. he had fucked her, filled her, and then filled her some more.
“i barely know how to control myself with you.” he adds, swirling his digit around inside her.
the tug of his evol licks at her thighs, prying her more and more open. a wad of spit comes down onto her labia, using his thumb to spread and flick her clit with it. her whole body shudders like a camera.
“ge…”
“how’re you still so damn tight? even after all of that… just need to live with my cock buried inside of you, hm?” his tone is bitter but playful enough to get her to whine in retort.
i want that. i want you to lock me up in here, forever tied down to your cock.
she doesn’t actually have to say it, though. sibling intuition tells him everything just by the way her face twitches. that she’s just as much of a sick fuck as he is. his tongue dips between her folds, scooping and feeding himself his own semen. her thighs instinctively close from the overstimulation, making him groan into her. she’s going to cum again, just like this, with his finger hooking and lazily caressing around her walls.
she’s just too easy for him and he plans to exploit her every single time.
“it’s not enough,” he growls into her folds and eats her like a starving man “it’s not even close.”
when his face lifts from her mound, his finger slips out to use the same hand to smack her cunt. crying out in bliss, her toes curl as her calves hook around his broad back.
“tell me this is my pussy.”
“m’yours, caleb. always have been. fuck me again, i need… i need— hgnh!“ another smack.
it’s just as much of a reward as it is a punishment (he’s always been known to spoil her, created the brat inside of her atom by atom).
“i know what you need, baby. big brother will always take care of you. now be a good girl and cum on my mouth.”
Seven months ago, you married Sylus Qin — not out of affection, or the slow, mutual ease that sometimes grows between two people who choose each other, but because the world around you had been rearranged into a bargain. You had become, in the blunt accounting of men who traded lives like currency, a price paid to keep a predator from finishing what he had started. The memory of that evening still lived in your chest like a bruise, impossible to ignore.
The deal was struck in a room that smelled faintly of expensive tobacco and concealed fear. Your father sat across from Sylus, his fingers trembling just enough to betray him, though his voice never wavered. He spoke of shares and land deeds, of businesses sprawled across the N109 zone, of percentages and transfers as if he were discussing inventory rather than offering his daughter as collateral.
“Seventy percent,” your father said, forcing a smile that never reached his eyes. “And my daughter.”
You stood behind him, silent.
Sylus had been prepared to kill him that night. You learned that much later. The weapon had already been chosen, the exit routes planned, the consequences weighed and dismissed. Your father knew it too. That knowledge sat heavy in the room, unspoken but understood.
Marriage was not a proposal.
It was a plea.
You did not scream. You did not cry. You only felt something inside you go still, like an animal realizing escape was no longer possible. You had been taught that acquiescence was safer than defiance. Still, the way he offered you like an asset, without hesitation or remorse, made your stomach turn.
Your father presided over the proceedings as if he were conducting the transfer of land deeds rather than the joining of two lives.
You had never heard Sylus’s name before that moment. Never crossed paths with Onychinus. Never knew what kind of man could make your father beg so shamelessly. Yet here you were, being traded for survival as though you were an object that had always belonged to him.
But perhaps the cruelty should not have surprised you.
Your father had always found comfort in control. Watching you shrink had pleased him more than watching you succeed ever could. Any spark of independence was corrected swiftly — sometimes with words, sometimes with hands, sometimes by turning your own mother into the instrument of punishment.
Your mother was quiet. Always quiet.
She moved through the house like a mannequin posed in different rooms, her expressions carefully neutral, her voice obedient. When your father ordered her to discipline you, she did so without hesitation. When he insulted you, she stood beside him. When you cried, she looked away.
Love had never lived in that house. Only structure. Only silence.
You had tried to leave.
God, how many times had you tried?
You ran once in the early hours of dawn, barefoot and desperate, heart pounding with the thrill of almost-freedom. You were caught before the city limits, dragged back by men who smelled of sweat and loyalty, your wrists bruised where they held you too tightly. Another time, you planned to run away with the money you hid for months, folded carefully into books and drawers, only for it to be discovered and confiscated by your father with a quiet, mocking laugh.
Each attempt ended the same way.
Each time, your world grew smaller.
By the time the wedding date was announced, resistance felt like a luxury you could no longer afford. Survival demanded compliance. And so, with your voice steady and your soul hollowed out, you agreed.
The wedding took place in a hall far too grand for the emotion it held. White flowers lined the aisle in excessive abundance, their fragrance cloying rather than comforting. Crystal chandeliers cast light that glittered off polished floors and gold accents, all of it carefully curated to look like a celebration of a politician’s daughter getting married.
It felt more like an execution.
Your father walked you down the aisle, his hand firm around your arm, his grip a reminder rather than support. Your dress fit like armor — white lace with geometric embroidery that matched the symmetry of your life now, perfect on the surface, empty beneath. A veil obscured the world into softness until it lifted, and you found yourself walking toward a man you had never seen, toward a future that had been negotiated across a table where you were not even supposed to be present.
Guests murmured softly as you passed, their eyes lingering with curiosity rather than joy. They did not know you. They only knew the power this union represented.
Halfway down the aisle, you dared to look up.
That was the first time you saw Sylus.
He stood at the altar with his hands folded behind his back, tall and immovable, dressed in a phantom black that seemed to swallow all the light around him, hair falling silver against his collar. His expression was unreadable, carved from something harder than indifference. When his gaze met yours, it did not soften.
Crimson eyes assessed you with the precision of a man evaluating risk.
You swallowed and looked away, heart racing for reasons you couldn’t yet name.
Why did the gods make this devil of a man handsome?
When you reached him, your father placed your hand into Sylus’s without ceremony. There was no warmth in the gesture, no blessing whispered, only relief. Relief that the man standing beside you would live another day.
The priest’s voice petered out into a background murmur, the quartet’s bowing now the only thing that connected you to the present. The vows passed in a blur, words about partnership and devotion ringing hollow in your ears. When Sylus slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was firm, impersonal. When it was your turn, your hands trembled just slightly as you did the same.
Silver closed around your finger.
A bond sealed not by love, but by desperation.
As the officiant declared you married, applause filled the hall. Your father smiled then — wide and triumphant. Beside him, your mother’s expression was a carefully neutral one, trained for occasions where sentiment could be misconstrued as weakness.
You looked at them both and felt a strange, fragile thing take root in your chest.
Hope.
Just the faint belief that perhaps this new life, however uncertain, might hurt less than the one you were leaving behind.
Perhaps a man who had nearly killed your father might be kinder than the parents who never protected you.
You did not know yet how wrong that hope would prove to be.
In the earliest days of your marriage, Sylus was rarely there.
Not at night. Not in the mornings. Not even on the day that was supposed to mark the beginning of something — your wedding night. You had been led to a room vast enough to echo, dressed in silk that felt unfamiliar against your skin, only to realize hours later that you were alone.
Strangely enough, you did not mourn that absence. If anything, it felt like mercy. You had spent your entire life shrinking under someone else’s gaze — your father’s watchful cruelty, your mother’s hollow compliance — and the thought of another man entering your space, measuring you, claiming you, was unbearable. Solitude, at least, did not demand anything from you.
Onychinus was enormous.
It unfolded around you in polished corridors and high ceilings, in rooms that seemed to exist solely to display wealth rather than serve any real purpose. Marble floors gleamed beneath your feet, glass panels reflected your image back at you from angles you weren’t used to seeing. Artifacts rested in alcoves behind reinforced glass, objects you had only ever read about in forbidden books or heard whispered among the elite. Some things did not even look purchasable, as though they had been taken rather than bought.
It felt less like a home and more like a monument.
In the beginning, you were careful.
You watched where you sat, unsure which chairs were ornamental and which were meant to be used. You listened to the sound of your own footsteps, worried they might be too loud. Even eating felt like an act that required permission, your posture stiff, your movements restrained, as though someone might appear suddenly to correct you.
But no one did.
Sylus remained a shadow at best. When he was present at all, he was locked away in his study or gone before you ever knew he had returned.
With the passing days, your shoulders loosened. You stopped flinching at every distant sound. You wandered further into the base, discovering balconies, quiet sitting rooms, and corners where time seemed to slow. Privacy, something you had never known, settled around you like a fragile blanket.
You embroidered in silence, your fingers moving on instinct as thread bloomed into patterns beneath your hands. For a while, peace felt possible.
Then, inevitably, the quiet grew teeth.
Loneliness crept in when you least expected it, slipping between the hours like a persistent ache. There were days when you did not hear another human voice at all. Meals arrived without comment. Doors opened and closed without acknowledgment. The silence no longer felt protective, it felt hollow. It echoed.
The first presence you truly met was not another person.
It was a crow.
At first, you thought he was a pet — an unusual one, perhaps, but Onychinus was filled with things that defied expectation. He watched you with glowing eyes that followed your movements too precisely, head tilting with uncanny awareness. It wasn’t until later that you realized he was mechanical, every movement governed by something far more complex than instinct.
“Hello,” you had said softly, crouching a careful distance away. “Well, aren’t you a strange little thing?”
He had cawed in response, the sound oddly expressive.
You learned of his name when Sylus had once called for the crow while he thought you were sleeping. Mephisto, Sylus’ little creation.
You began to spend time together. You embroidered quietly in the afternoons, sitting by the windows where wind blew gently, threading designs onto whatever fabric you could find. Flowers at first. Then patterns you remembered from childhood, imperfect but earnest.
You spoke to him as if he were alive, because in your solitude, the distinction hardly mattered. You told him about the designs you stitched, about the way the silence here felt different from the silence back home. Gradually, without realizing it, your words grew heavier.
You told him about your father.
About how he locked you inside when you cried too loudly, when you disobeyed, when he simply felt like reminding you of your place. You admitted your fear of the dark, how it pressed against your chest until you could not breathe.
You spoke of your mother standing outside those doors, keys clenched in her hand, never once opening them to check if you were alive. Love, you said softly one evening, was a word that never belonged to you.
Mephisto listened.
Sometimes he answered only with low, mechanical caws. Sometimes he hopped closer, pecking your fingers when tears blurred your vision, grounding you in the sting of something real. On worse days, he settled against your chest, cool metal a strange but steady comfort.
You laughed weakly at yourself for finding solace in a crow, but you were grateful all the same. A friend was a friend, no matter how unlikely.
“I’ve made a friend,” you told him once, smiling faintly. “That’s new for me.”
You didn’t know then that every word you spoke was being recorded, catalogued for a certain someone to listen to later.
You only knew that you felt heard.
Sylus, when you did see him, was a fleeting specter. Sometimes he came home stained with blood or grime, his presence sharp and fleeting as he strode towards his own room. You never asked where he had been. You didn’t want to know. The answers felt heavy, dangerous, and unnecessary.
There were others too — two young men you occasionally caught watching you from corners or doorways. They vanished the moment you noticed them, quick as ghosts. One afternoon, you finally cornered them near the training area.
They froze.
They wore crow-themed uniforms, masks obscuring their faces, posture stiff with uncertainty. After a moment of awkward silence, they introduced themselves.
“Luke,” one introduced quickly.
“Kieran,” the other added, nodding.
They explained they worked for Sylus, words tumbling over each other as if afraid they might offend you. Then, just as suddenly, they disappeared again, leaving you staring after them in mild disbelief.
It took time — and persistence — for them to stop avoiding you. You learned they were twins, inseparable, bound by loyalty and curiosity in equal measure. They were shy around you, not out of disdain but reverence, unsure how to act around their boss’s wife. Once you broke the ice, joking lightly and offering them tea, their guardedness melted.
Luke was expressive, dramatic, always talking with his hands. Kieran was quieter, steadier, offering dry commentary when least expected but always laughable. They became familiar presences, offering company, conversation, and a listening ear when the house felt too empty.
You didn’t tell them everything.
Some wounds felt too raw to expose, and some fears too deeply ingrained. Still, you joked with them, teased Sylus’s perpetual absence, rolled your eyes dramatically at his nonexistent husbandly duties. One night, emboldened by wine and misplaced courage, you even complained loudly about how he had not spoken a single word to you since the wedding.
“You know,” you slurred one night after too much wine, “I’m fairly certain I married a ghost.”
They laughed nervously, exchanging glances.
You never noticed the way Mephisto watched from above.
You never expected Sylus to hear any of it.
So when you walked into the main hall one bright morning and saw him seated there — relaxed, unguarded, undeniably present — you thought you were imagining things.
You blinked, rubbing your eyes.
He was still there.
Sylus looked up at you then, crimson gaze meeting yours. And for the first time since you’d known him, the corner of his lips curved upward — not into something sharp or dismissive, but into a smile.
It was small. Genuine.
And because it was directed at you, it sent your heart racing in a way that startled you with its intensity.
You did not know yet how complicated, how painful, how consuming your life with Sylus would become. You only knew that the air felt different, charged with possibility.
Standing there in the glow of the morning light, with his eyes on you at last, you had the foolish, fragile thought that perhaps — just perhaps — this was the beginning of something beautiful.
Exactly what it says. It’s been done before. It’ll be done again. I always love seeing people’s takes on this, so here are mine. Obviously MDNI, this is explicit. Also obviously ooc, and just for funsies.
Caleb & Xavier
They would make it a competition. Everything would be a fight for dominance. Every touch will be matched, every orgasm, every kiss. They keep score. No one is pulling out.
You aren’t walking out of that bedroom until all three of you are raw and sore. Even then, you probably aren’t moving much because you came so many times you forgot your own name & you’re probably a lil dehydrated. Not that you’re complaining…
Wild jealous fucking. Both of these men are STRONG and will use that to their advantage. Pray for your pelvis, bestie. It’s probably gonna be bruised by the time these two are done with you.
Two sets of big pretty puppy eyes asking you who did better. You have to give an answer. When you insist they both did fucking amazing, you’re a fucking mess, they take it as an excuse for a “rematch”
Xavier & Rafayel.
They would both be so pouty about it, but make no mistake, this is still a fucking competition. Rafayel keeps trying to steal your attention away from Xavier, guiding your face to his, talking you through it, calling you beautiful. He’s doing everything he can to be the center of your attention. It might’ve worked, if Xavier wasn’t pounding you so hard. Xavier has you by your hair. Deep strokes. I can see a little bit of degradation/taunting happening, too.
You aren’t leaving until the sheets are soaked and even then, Rafayel is going to try and get you in the bath just to make you come again. And again, until you’re begging him to stop. Xavier then makes it his personal mission to make you scream on the kitchen counter. Both these men fuck like rabbits, and I doubt any of us could truly keep up without marathon conditioning.
The snuggliest cuddle puddle known to man happens afterwards. You’re sandwiched between both of them, and they’re both wrapped around you so you can’t move. Not that you would, because moving hurts muscles you didn’t realize could hurt.
Xavier will offer to cook breakfast, and will look absolutely hurt when you deny him to save your kitchen. Rafayel offers to buy breakfast from the bakery nearby. Xavier crashes out, and the only way to fix it is by giving him head. Then Rafayel is like “no far” and suddenly breakfast is forgotten bc you’re not leaving bed just yet.
Rafayel & Sylus
Obviously my bias but tbh this would be insane.
Aka Switchy Brat Heaven. Sylus would start out in control, and honestly I don’t think he’d touch either of you at first. Raf would start by eating you out and I could see Sylus holding his head there for a while, until he commanded that you come and then, you’re lost. Then Sylus throws Raf out of the way, and eats out like he’s trying to devour you. This combination involves so much oral bc they’re both obsessed with it and oh so hungry. This one is mostly diabolical because there’s nothing these two won’t do for you. Any kink. Any scene. Anything you want. They’ll give it to you. You can put these men in any position and they’ll go happily
Jealousy was a big thing in the last few, but honestly I don’t think it’d be as bad here. Any time Rafayel would get pouty, I could see Sylus calling it out and finding some way to shut him up for you both. Sylus knows exactly what you want, so he’s giving it to you, and he won’t let a little insecurity ruin it. You take charge at some point, praising both of your good boys as they fuck you stupid, because if you can talk, their job isn’t done. This isn’t as much of a competition, it’s teamwork to ruin you. They both talk you through it with praise and filthy words, and by the time they’re done with you? You’re utterly ruined.
You aren’t getting out of bed until your brain is mush and the sheets are soaked. Then you’re all in the shower while the sheets are changed and breakfast is ordered. Sylus would probably wash your hair, while Rafayel took over washing the rest of you. He ended up giving by you more head out of pure happenstance. Also, all three of you are biters, so there are marks all over your neck, your chest, your thighs, and Sylus adds another when you get close again with Raf between your legs.
When you finally slip into bed, both you and Raf are crushed by sleepy Sylus, and though Rafayel would complain, he also wouldn’t move. You’d probably wake up to Sylus eating you out while Rafayel has your arms pinned. Congratulations, bestie, I hope you don’t have plans for the next three days because you aren’t going anywhere!
Sylus & Zayne
Aka you’re in danger. Both of them have brat tamer tendencies, and if you main these two you probably are a little bit of a brat. These two will edge you until you’re crying. It’s methodical. It borders on torture. You have to be the best toy for them. These two can play your body like a violin, and they know exactly where to touch to make you scream. How does it feel coming six times before either of them are inside you? Zayne would make sure you drank water, at least.
Very little jealousy. Both these men are too controlled to let it get in the way of the task at hand; absolutely ruining you. I do think there are some dry remarks between them, though. And they both would use that slightly condescending Dom Voice on you. Tbh you’re bent over someone’s knee getting spanked, too, probably for coming when you shouldn’t have. Also when they do finally give you their cocks? Pray for your pelvis. They aren’t holding back.
Your soul leaves your body at one point and I think you go so deep into subspace your mind is blissfully empty. There isn’t a single thought behind those eyes. You come to snuggled between them. These two are aftercare *kings* Zayne had otc pain meds and water for you, and Sylus has food ordered and gives you a gentle massage. Which is good, you need both.
If you try your hand at another prank, or to tease them, or generally act like the menace you probably are in the aftermath, Sylus will grab your wrists and Zayne will sigh something about how apparently a brat didn’t learn their lesson the first time.
Zayne & Caleb:
This is a classic for a reason. Zayne is all calm on the surface, but I do think he gets a little competitive here. You’re definitely getting edged, and there’s a whole “good top bad top” thing going on, but as intense as Caleb is, he’s the good top. In this dynamic, Zayne is the bad top. And you are going to be so stretched out you might get a lil DP in the same hole.
Jealousy makes a comeback. Zayne isn’t proud of it, but Caleb I think always brought this side of him out. Caleb’s fucking is fueled by his jealousy, and each trust is absolutely forcing the air out of your lungs in choked wheezes.
None of you are getting out of bed until you’re all raw, breathless, and so overstimulated it hurts. Again, forever the aftercare king, Zayne would make sure you drank water. Caleb would lay wrapped around you like you were his blanket, his grounding force, and then this man is going to cook for you bc of course he is.
No matter what happens I do think it eventually devolves into another set of excuses leading to a “rematch” at some point.
Other Combinations
Caleb & Rafayel: this would be very similar to Rafayel and Xavier, I think, only somehow more intense. Pray for your pelvis, it might break. This one would get toxic so fast as they both try and steal your attention from each other.
Rafayel & Zayne: Zayne will just Dom both you and Raf. He can handle two mouthy brats. You’ll survive. Probably. Also temperature play would absolutely be a thing.
Xavier & Zayne: this would play out very similarly to Zayne & Caleb, I think. However I think instead of making it a competition, they’re being methodical about it. You don’t know what day it is when you’re finally done.
Sylus & Caleb: this is probably the most diabolical combination bc Sylus would play into Caleb’s jealousy. The toxicity would be unmatched and while you mentioned they shouldn’t use their evols, they do. You’re pinned 30 different ways to Sunday, and at some point you probably will come so hard you pass out. Someone is breaking something. Probably the bed, maybe your pelvis. This is going on for days.
The dragon in the mountains made a simple demand of your village: provide him with regular offerings and he will allow the pitiful thing to stand. Some villagers chose to leave and offer the dragon their souls, serving him. They believed he was a sacred protector. Others believed he was a vile monster, yet one they were powerless to fight against.
Over the centuries, the dragon has amassed everything he could possibly need or want from your village, and the elders feared he may turn his red eyes to the village in fury, so the elders convened and decided to try to give one last enticing offering for lasting peace:
You.
WARNINGS & CONTENT NOTES: dragon!Sylus, monsterfucking, Sylus is an Actual Fucking Dragon who can talk, knotting, double dickings, breeding, crying kink, fem reader, reader is a freak who signed up for this so all are consenting dw, reader is down bad and willing to get got by the dragon, don't save her, pwnp, extreme size difference, extremely big cocks, belly bulge, cumflation, biting/marking, almost all the way through, this was written for the ovulation demons bc I need to be tied to a tree when I ovulate and need to get ruined by dragon!Sylus, unedited, you get this raw, just like Sylus!
The other priestesses had prepared you for weeks for this day, and each day they asked if you were certain. Each day as you sat upon the wooden phallus meant to stretch your body wide enough to take the dragon, you said yes. The answer had been yes from the beginning. It was why you dedicated yourself to the Dragon Temple to begin with. You'd always yearned to serve the dragon, and as his mate, you would serve the greatest purpose to him of all.
Many thanked you for your sacrifice, but none truly understood how little of a sacrifice it actually was for you. You had little in the village. You were an orphan raised by the church across town. They feared the dragon, saying he was a bad omen of the end times. But you looked upon his enormous black wings as he soared above and you felt like part of you was destined to soar the clouds alongside him.
You prepared perfectly. Recited every draconic prayer. Stretched nightly. Tracked your cycles and the moon to set the offering on the most auspicious day for him. The day of the offering, you bathed but used unscented soaps and only clean, boiled water so nothing masked your natural scent or disturbed his sensitive nose. The High Priestess chained your hands in front of you, her eyes heavy with un shed tears. Yet, you only smiled as your hands fell gently in front of you. The gossamer robes you wore hid very little, the dark fabric sewn in such a way to mimic the look of dragon scales, and thus, marking you as his.
You belonged to Sylus.
His name was so sacred, and so feared, you never muttered it aloud, but you thought it often over the last several weeks. Thought about how you would moan it as he made you his mate. You barely contained the shiver that ran down your spine.
Your fellow priestesses sang hymns as they led you out past the village boundaries and deeper into the forest, up the mountain until you arrived at the offering ledge. The trees blocked the view from below, but from here, the village sprawled out below, curls of smoke drifting from the blacksmith, the baker, and several homes.
The High Priestess blew the horn as the others wrapped your chain around the only standing tree on the ledge. You closed your eyes as your sisters bid farewell to you for the last time. The dragon's distant roar echoed across the valley, and then the High Priestess left, too, wishing you luck and strength on your new journey.
Alone, your forehead rested against the trunk of the tree. You steadied your breathing. In. Out. In. Out. At peak fertility in your cycle, every part of your body hummed with energy, waiting. In preparation to become the dragon's offering, you stopped taking lovers months ago, and the need had built to an unyielding point. Even though you had stretched, you never came. Only the dragon could satisfy you.
Wetness dripped down your thighs, but you remained silent, despite the whines building in your throat. A mortal could not make demands of a dragon. It would be sinful. Though certainly, a woman could make a demand of her mate, no?
The rough bark of the tree bit into your forehead, your plush chest, and your arms, scraping against your skin. The wait dragged on for what felt like hours, every minute punctuated by the loud, endless beat of your heart in your ears.
You sensed his presence within your soul long before any others picked up on him. Above you, circling you like prey, waiting. Observing. When he landed, the rush of air blew your thin skirt up over your waist and sent your hair fluttering around your face. The ground beneath your feet trembled as Sylus landed, the heavy rumble so intense every bone in your body shook.
"What a sweet little offering." Sylus' hot breath rushed over your back, his enormous face settling so close to your core. "Are you here to offer me your soul, sweetie? Or has your village sent you here to feed my endless hunger?"
You trembled, but not in fear. You looked back over your shoulder, keeping your eyes downcast in respect. "Neither, Great One. I am here of my free will, to offer myself as your mate on behalf of my village."
"I see," he said, his voice low and rumbling.
"Though, if you would prefer my soul, that can be yours as well," you offered.
He laughed, the sound rich and booming against your ears. "How generous of you."
Your cheeks heated at the mocking tone of his voice. You were eager, no doubt, but how could you not be after preparing for him for months? "Anything you want from me is yours."
"Anything?" he asked.
"Anything."
"Look at me," he commanded.
You drew your gaze from the red gem at the center of his chest, up his long black-scaled neck, to his sharp draconic face. Long, shining black horns twisted backward on the top of his head, making his long, sharp snout seem even longer, somehow. Sharp fangs dotted his open maw as he huffed several breaths, almost as if he were sniffing you. You finally gathered the courage to look into his eyes. Ruby red and gleaming, your heart raced and you couldn't look away.
Every dirty thought that had crossed your mind since you discovered this possibility came to the forefront of your thoughts. All of your yearning for this dragon that you had only seen from a distance. Your dedication to the church who worshiped him in the valley below, and the true elation that overwhelmed you when you discovered that you would actually be the one chosen for this sacred rite.
Then came the dreams you had of him. His tongue. His cock. You'd studied the texts, you knew that dragons often took human mates and what came of such pairings, and so, you prepared yourself by studying firsthand accounts, often dreaming of them with yourself in the position of the human, and the dragon before you fucking into you. How full you would be of his come, and how when taking a new mate, dragons didn't stop until it took. Memories of how you prepared, dilating your body over the last several months to be able to accommodate him flashed through your mind last, as well as the building frustration of the last few weeks and how you found no release.
Sylus tilted his head. "Your appetite for pleasure is…voracious."
"Yes. Dragons are greedy creatures, and to serve one must also have something they desire greatly. Are you truly so surprised I would desire you?"
"You're bold to offer yourself to me like this. I made no requests for a mate."
"And yet, here I am."
"Here. You. Are."
Silence stretched between you both for several minutes. Not tense, just there, as he took you in. He leaned down, his massive head hovering over your body. Gods, his head was almost the length of your torso. How massive were his cocks? At the thought, more slick arousal dripped down your thighs. He sniffed above you, and his nose dragged down your spine, inhaling you through the thin fabric of your robes. His nose inched farther and farther back, eventually finding the source between your thighs. He growled, and the sound reverberated through your body, trembling your bones.
He nosed your robe, and the garment all but melted off your body, baring you to him. His long, thick, forked tongue slipped between your thighs, lapping at your drenched pussy. It was almost the same thickness as your arm, and textured. He growled a second time, the sound deeper, richer as his tongue lapped against you a second time.
Your legs spread wider as you moaned, welcoming his advances. The chain holding you to the tree kept you upright as your legs trembled under his forceful licks. Sylus pushed the tip of his forked tongue inside you, and the appendage entered with a soft, wet, pop.
"Sylus!" you moaned.
The amused huff that came from him brushed over your already heated skin in a rush of warmth as he pushed his tongue deeper. Your head hung between your arms and your eyes fell closed as you clung to the tree, the only thing tethering you to the moment. Your head spun as the hot dragon tongue filled you, stretched you. You clenched around it, and your knees buckled
His maw opened wide around your pelvis, taking your lower body into his mouth. His jaw closed just enough for his sharp fangs to graze your skin, scraping your skin and bleeding into his mouth. Clutched in his maw with his tongue fucking your pussy, all the need that had built up in you over the last several months burst in a flurry of light and heat and pleasure. You came with a loud cry of his name, your entire body trembling. as you gushed your release directly into his mouth.
The low, hungry growl that pulled from deep within Sylus' chest shook you to the core, and you groaned, the burn of overstimulation hitting your frayed nerves, but he didn't stop licking you. If anything, his tongue seemed to nestle in deeper within you, pushing against your cervix as he lightly held you still with his fangs, keeping you perfectly in place as he worked his tongue in and out of you in long, powerful thrusts.
Each fresh burst of your wetness pulled another growl from his chest, and the more he growled, the more you came. His long, textured tongue hit every single place within you all at once, the texture scraping against your walls with a powerful drag that pulled shuddering breaths out of your lungs. Your mind emptied the longer you stayed tied to that tree, getting tongue fucked by the dragon.
When he finally released you, your legs trembled. Your thighs were so slick from your come, blood, and Sylus' saliva there was no telling which was which. Sylus left you chained right where you were, but he widened your stance. Massive, powerful claws gripped the tree high in the branches as he settled above you. His other hand wrapped around your body holding you steady. His claws held you easily, wrapping all the way around you. Two burning hot, dripping cocks pressed at the entrances of your holes, the massive heads pulsing against you, but not going inside.
"I accept you as my offering, as my mate," he said.
You moaned something that sounded grateful and Sylus chuckled.
"Not so fast, sweetie. You might not thank me when I have to fit my cocks inside you. Are you certain you can take them?"
"Yes!" you moaned. "I can take it. Please!"
"Oh that's a pretty sound. Beg for it. Beg for my cocks."
"Please, Sylus, please give me your cocks, please!" you whined. "I have practiced daily to take them, I know I can. Please give them to me, please, please, please!"
"I might break your pretty little human body in the process," he warned. "are you certain you can take it?"
The tease in his voice sent your stomach into flips and further emptied your mind. You nodded as you squeezed the tree as tightly as you could in your grasp. "Yes! I'm certain! Please, Sylus! Please!"
"What a sweet little offering, giving herself to me so eagerly," he praised. "What a good girl."
His long tongue, still slick with your juices and blood lapped over your neck, to your face. Your mouth opened as your head fell back, shuddering as his long tongue dragged over your skin. The forked tongue slipped inside your mouth. Hot and slippery, the thick appendage tangled around yours, then slid down your throat, pushing in deeper. You gagged around it, but he didn't let up, pushing more of it into your waiting mouth.
The saliva would help your body stretch to accommodate his massive size. You moaned around his tongue, accepting it deeper. His massive maw opened over your head as he fucked his tongue down your throat. You gagged, choking on the appendage, welcoming the spit he fed you. Your body hummed with power, magic resonating through your body as you shuddered. Accepting the magic, you bit down on the appendage. Hard. The burning, sharp taste of blood filled your mouth, and a powerful, thunderous growl rumbled across the valley.
Two thick cocks, both immense and throbbing, nudged at your holes. To become Sylus' mate, you had to take both. At the same time. Your insides clenched and pulsed, the power of dragon magic stretching your body enough to take him. You'd prepared for this, you knew the magic would allow it to work, yet feeling the thick, hot, scaled cock rub against your stomach, dizziness overtook you.
The head of his cock was at least the width of your upper arm and it widened the further down it got, near the width of your thigh around his knots. And there were two of them. Two cocks meant to fit inside your holes. The deep red skin of his cock peaked out in between smooth plates of black scales. With a more pointed, tapered head and deep ridges, you could only imagine what the real thing would feel like inside of you. The practice dildos were cold and lifeless, and Sylus was burning hot, throbbing, and vividly alive.
His cocks split over your body, one rubbing between your ass and over your back, the other rutted against your stomach, the head reaching between your breasts and hitting your chin. Searing lubricant seeped from the tips of his cocks, drenching you in the thin, sticky slip. You couldn't help but moan at the feel of him. Sylus' cocks would soon fill you. Completely. Further giving in to the sensations, your body relaxed, offering no resistance to his tongue fucking your mouth, nor his cocks rutting against your soft skin.
Finally, he pulled his tongue from your throat, a low growl rumbling from him and through you. "Don't hold back those pretty little sounds, sweetie. Let the entire village hear how good I make you feel. How lucky you are to be mine."
"I won't hold back," you promised.
Huffing a noise of amusement, Sylus nuzzled the back of your head with the tip of his snout. His cocks drew back then pressed to your entrance. Slick lubricant soaked your folds and puckered hole as he rutted the heads of his cocks against you. You whimpered beneath him, clutching the chains, the tree, anything within reach.
"Then I won't either."
With a firm press of his body, the heads of both cocks pressed inside you. The stretch stole your breath away. You couldn't scream. The tapered tips nudged in past your entrances, stretching you open and pushing deep. A choked sound left you as both heads fully slipped in. Each throb lifted your feet off the ground and forced you to slide a little farther down on the enormous cocks. He held there, letting that hot, sticky lubricant coat your insides and dribble out around your stretched opening before inching in deeper.
Every slow serpentine roll of the enormous dragon's body pressed more of his cocks into you, until the tip of his cock pressed your cervix, and something deep and mind-numbing within your ass. He couldn't go any farther. You cried out, a loud, wheezing sob, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so. fucking. full. You glanced between your thighs, and your head spun.
You had taken almost nothing. So much cock remained, yet he rutted against your cervix, with no where else to go. You cried out with each deep thrust, your holes hopelessly clenching around the intruding shafts. He clutched you in his clawed grip, and with a simple flick of his wrist, he pulled you down his length.
A scream tore through your throat, echoing out through the mountains and into the valley below. Something inside you popped, gave way, and a surge of magic rushed to the surface as the power of dragon magic remade you. The pressure built, tightening the coil at the base of your spine, then shattered as you came all over his massive cocks.
"That's it, sweetie. Accept my magic. Be my perfect little mate and let me mold you into my perfect toy," Sylus growled above you. "Look how prettily you cry for me."
"Sylus!" you screamed as your body clamped down hard, still riding the aftershocks of your release.
"Relax. Let me in," he cooed. "Just like that."
Your head lolled forward, and he sank further inside. Nothing had ever filled you this much. You felt him everywhere. Every throb of his cocks in perfect time with your thundering heartbeat, jolting inside you and lifting your feet off the ground. You looked down again and moaned. You saw him deep in your belly, filling you all the way up. The head of his cock inside your pussy hit just below your ribcage. It pulsed there, just below your bottom rib, and you witnessed the movement from the outside. Your stomach bulged along with the rest of your front half, sagging toward the ground as your dragon stretched you. And you still had more to go.
With his magic in you now, there was much less resistance. Your body clung to him as he rutted into you, and every drag of his cocks brought you more pleasure. Your ass was just as stuffed as your poor, battered cunt, not a single part of you untouched by your dragon. Slowly he fed you more of his cocks, until the heavy, bulbous knots jutted at your stretched holes. Slick, pulsing, and enormous, even feeling them rut against you, you doubted they could fit, that they would ever fit.
Sweat coated your entire body and you twitched. Hyper-sensitive to every movement. You gagged on every moan, feeling immense pressure at the base of your throat. He growled above you, and the sensation rumbled your bones. Stuffed full of his cock with his knots kissing your holes, you couldn't help but come around him again, screaming his name loud enough to overcome the church bells sounding in the valley below.
"That's it, keep coming for me." Sylus held you tightly in his claws, and then with one, firm thrust that punched every breath of air out of your lungs and thought from your mind, both knots popped inside you
You wailed. Screeched. Broke apart. Flames danced behind your eyes, white-hot and blinding. Full wasn't a strong enough word. Ruined. You were ruined. And you wanted nothing less. Your legs fully gave out and you went lax in Sylus' hold, trembling and sobbing from pure sensational bliss as he continued to rut inside you. He dragged you up and down his shaft, tugging on your poor plugged holes before ramming his knots in as far as they would go. He growled above you, hot breath against your spine, followed by a long, slow lick of his tongue. Pleasure bordered on pain. Every touch, every sensation was too much but perfect, and you couldn't stop yourself from gushing over him, but knotted, your pussy could only drool around the knot in a slow trickle.
Sylus leaned down, opening his mouth. Your neck and shoulders fit easily into his maw, and he held you there, curled over you, holding you tight, as he used your body for his pleasure.
"Please, Sylus, make me your mate. Please come inside me, please. I need it, please, please please!" you begged, your words a sobbed half-babble. "Come inside me, please, please come inside me!"
"Smart little thing, learning to beg for what you want like that," he snarled. "If that is what you desire, sweetie, then take it. Take all my come. Don't you dare spill a single drop."
With all his draconic strength, Sylus pulled you down on his cocks, getting his knots in deep, and he came. A torrent of come so powerful it sloshed around inside you, hitting your walls, and slipping down into your belly in thick, hot sheets. You couldn't stop coming with him, your body pulsing and trembling as endless orgasms rolled through you, one after the other. His come was so hot it burned, yet you couldn't help but love the fire, the heat, because it was his. Your dragon's. Your mate's.
Your belly rounded further, bulging almost to the ground with how much come he pumped directly inside you. Growls loud enough to take down mountains shook the ground under you, the sound one of a dragon claiming their mate. Anyone within several hundred miles would know that he had claimed you, and that only made you shudder more around him.
The wave finally ebbed, and you melted in his hold. His other claws made quick work of the simple chains holding you to the tree and delicately sliced them off your wrists. He lapped softly at the raw skin, then tucked your arms against your side in his grip, the touch achingly gentle for a creature so large.
"My mate," he hummed, his nose nuzzling the back of your head. "Perfect. You did perfect for me."
You hummed contentedly against his grip, eyes closed. He licked away your tears, and you giggled softly. His knots slowly deflated and he tenderly eased out of you with a wet pop. The deluge of come that followed drenched the ground in a waterfall of slick, sticky, creamy come, slipping down the slight slope to the far edge, around the altar where other offerings typically awaited him. He put you upright, not letting you go, put letting more come pour out of your battered holes. The waterfall eventually fell into a trickle, the bulge of your stomach still prominent, though not as severe. He lifted you to his face, and lapped up the mess staining your thighs in three luxurious laps of his tongue.
Satisfied, he clutched you close to his chest, unfurled his powerful wings, then took to the skies. You giggled as the ground vanished beneath your feet, and rested your head against his warm chest.
The flight to his cave didn't take long. Opulent wealth glimmered from within. He set you down gently, and you took several steps inside, gasping at the shimmering jewels, golden coins, and fine clothes. Not to mention the preserved and fresh food from other villages surrounding the mountain range.
You turned to face him, but in the spot where you expected to see your massive dragon, you instead saw a massive….man? The twisted black horns were the same, the eyes, too, as was the gem in his chest. The scales mirrored the ones on the dragon you had within you moments ago, but was this really the same being?
Your dragon was a stunning creature, but the man-dragon before you was beautiful. So handsome by human standards the church would have called it a sin. And yet, he was yours. Your mate. Your dragon. Your Sylus.
"Sylus?" you asked.
"Very good, sweetie," he chuckled. "Now that I have a mate, I can take on your form." He looked down at his body and shrugged. "More or less. It should make future matings easier on you."
You giggled as you ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your tip-toes to kiss him. "And if I don't want easy?"
"Greedy girl," he chuckled. "If that's what you want, then I will give you your every desire."
I wrote this one with my coochie and I have nothing to say for myself
Description: You and the LIs see each other naked pre-dating. (Some are accidental some aren’t SORRY!) Pt. 1 (they see you naked on accident) & Pt. 2 (you see them naked on accident)
WC: 1.3k
SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! I’ve lowkey had it finished BUT I HATE IT WHOOPS. Thank you sm @happyshark2222 for the Pt. 3 suggestion! APPRECIATE YOU MWAH!!! I’M SORRY IN ADVANCE I FEEL LIKE THIS ONE DOESN’T HIT FORGIVE ME!!!
- Blueberry જ⁀➴ ৻ꪆ (Masterlist)
Xavier (I really wanted to apply this to Zayne but it just didn’t make sense :( …and it REALLY fits Xav) THE BEACH/SKINNY DIPPING/PRANK scene from the movie What If? (w/ Daniel Radcliffe, one of my fav romcoms of all time fr. GO WATCH IT!) (THIS ALSO isn’t really “accidental” but IDC!!! SUCH a damn good scene.) In short, the hunters would be having a lil gathering/trip (THINK PRECIOUS BONFIRE!!!) things are good and cute UNTIL some idiots suggest skinny dipping. Xav’s like oh please, how silly nah. BUT you’re like FUCK IT I’m doing it BYEEE! Boy is tripping over his feet to get naked and join. It’s dark, everyone is spread out, so by the time you’re in the water, it’s too hard to see anything. GOTTA leave those clothes on the shore though to stay dry, ya know. SO, when you two get out, you avoid eye contact OR taking a peak. You’re both staring up at the stars, and you just find yourself saying, “I’ll look if you look.” His brain explodes but he stays CALM about it, “Okay.” Tilting your heads down from stargazing, you slowly make eye contact, pausing before letting your eyes wander further. There’s nothing beyond the silence except small breaths/gasps. When you look back at each other, you both blush and laugh, his cUTE lil laugh awh. You’d turn, looking for your clothes but ACK! They’re gone because your jerkoff coworkers who know you like each other stole and made off with them LMAO.
(I am not doing this justice but just go fucking watch this amazing movie I’m SERIOUS. Especially if you like friends to lovers. SHIT IS PEAK!!!) My original thought for Xav was idk how tf him and Xav!MC seeing each other mutually naked doesn’t equal just fucking on the spot. LIKE??? They would. Maybe they have beach/lake sex when they realize their clothes are missing LMAO. (The reason I wanted to give this to Zayne is bc in the movie they get PISSED at the people who took their clothes/fight/have to share a sleeping bag over night and just AKSHAJSK the feelings denial STILL after everything feels so early Zayne.)
Rafayel Again, FALLING OVER AND DYING. Okay okay okay I think I have it. Attending a gallery with him??? For some bodyguard/hunter business??? You get ready at his house maybe??? You think he’s GONE??? HE’S NOT. Teehee he gets you a pretty dress??? HIS BIG MF HOUSE. Perhaps he thinks you’re in a DIFFERENT bathroom. He strolls right in, completely naked and you both scREAM lmao. “Why are you naked!?” “Why are you naked, cutie?” “BECAUSE I JUST SHOWERED!!??” “Wait—why are you NOT using the bathroom in your room???” “I like the tub in here, duh.” “YOU COULD’VE KNOCKED FIRST???” “It’s my house, cutie. Plus, I didn’t think you were in here.” “Out!” “Cutie—” “OUT!!!”
Zayne Okay so like a semi Medical Rescue situation. NOT THE CARD ITSELF…ADJACENT ok ok. Hunters / Med Team getting suck somewhere on a mission, maybe you’re both injured and sharing whatever space is available given the fucked situation / for safety. (AGAIN sorry not completely accidental like Xav’s OOPS.) CLOTHES ARE WET/RIPPED/BLOODY/STAINED IDK…you both have to change. Polite pookie, “You first, I’ll…turn around.” Grimacing in the corner from his injuries (I need him to breath in my ear rn say syke) he hears you winCE while undressing and that makes him cock his head back, peering at you from the corner of his eye to make sure you’re okay. His eyes widen then soften looking at your back like mmm (my back enjoyer king stop it) until his eyes fall and he’s like GULP ASS (AWOGA) and he immediately looks away. Eventually, “Okay…I’m finished, go ahead.” THEN REPEAT THE PROCESS, hearing him make a pained sound makes you peer over your shoulder and the first thing oH MY LORD his neck hIS SHOULDERS HIS BACK GAAAHHH…the scars on his arms :( lil low back divots/dimples (YUM) thEN OOP HIS ASS (which ayo I’m gonna need everyone to STOP calling my king FLAT I know he has those sexy Spider-Man intense divots on the sides of his ass shut up I’M GONNA BITE IT) his legs thEN finishing the process/trying to turn/change his hips rotate and yOU’RE LIKE OH GOD I’M ABOUT TO SEE DICK so your eyes snap away. YEAH LISTEN I REALIZE this doesn’t really count BUT :((( I feel like it really fits my angsty ice prince of being timid/reserved/intimate/WHILE STILL full of longing that they bOTH LOOK OKAY IDK LEAVE ME ALONE 😩
Sylus Such a prick about it ASFDJFKSK!!! Fuck me, god damn. (OKAY, I WAS STRUGGLING BUT BAM, I GOT IT.) Knowing he’s not home, you selfishly sneak into his bedroom, his shower is WAY better than the others. Once he’s back, desperate for a nice hot shower, he’s already stripping but when he walks up to the bathroom and hears the water he’s like ??? (Bitch this better not be one of my sons I s2g.) Opening the door, he’s PLEASANTLY surprised to see your silhouette. I feel like he’d just cross his arms and wait for you to get out. When you turn and see him through the glass, you SCREAM. “Sylus!” “Now, why is a stray kitten in my shower, hm?” “I-I—” You’re still soapy like OH MY GOD HE’S NAKED I’M NAKED WHAT THE FUCK!!! “S-Sylus! I’m sorry, but fuck! Turn around, my god!” He’d roll his eyes and turn around SLOWLY. When you get out, he’s already holding a towel out toward you while facing away. “…Thanks.” Unabashed, he turns back around, “Can you—y-you—move! So I can leave!” He’d smirk and turn baRELY enough for you to squeeze by. As you’re slipping by, he leans in, “Don’t do that again. …Not without asking first, at least.” You’re trying your damndest to not RUN OUT the rest of the way screaming. LMAOOO. (MC the strongest solider I’m inviting him into the shower IMMEDIATELY.)
Caleb Going to EXPLODE. For a second time. Evaporate into thin air. Trying to NOT suggest hey let’s just throw aside all care and engage in reckless abandon. No? Just me? Cool, I’ll be blowing up right now. LIKE. Has to hit himself. IS THIS REALITY??? (I’M DOING IT I’M DOING IT FUCK IT CALEB GETS THE SCENE FROM THE PROPOSAL—KINDA!) Neither of you think anyone is home, say you’ve got headphones in or something so this actually makes sense (i.e., not able to hear the shower running), he’s walking OUT of the bathroom (NAKED AND WET HOLD ME BACK!!!) and you’re walking INTO the bathroom. He DOES NOT see you coming as he’s exiting and you SLAM straight into each other. “Pips! What the—” His hands are gripped onto your shoulders from the slam. Comically slowly, both processing, your heads tip down to look at each other. “Oh my GOD!” You slam your hands into his chest, pushing him back and shOVING yourself into the bathroom, shutting that shit and LOCKING IT. In the midst, “Wait! I’m sor—” but then he’s like “WHY ARE YOU HOME???” You’re freaking out on the other side, “WHY ARE YOU HOME???” “I ASKED YOU FIRST!” “UGH!” Silly and cute I feel like he’d lean against the door with his back (heavily debating throwing himself out the window) and you’d do the same like !!!!!!!!?????? 😩😩😩 WHAT THE HELL!!!!!!! But also…like…WHY HE KINDA!!!!!!!
Valko SUPER CUTIE!!!!! Maybe a gym??? Accidental locker room situation??? (Y’ALL I’M FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE I DON’T WANT EACH ONE TO BE THE BATHROOM 😩) Feels so bad immediately, doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable and is instantly looking for something to cover you with (a comically small towel maybe LOL) (while trying not to look this SWEETIE BABY) but that means he’s getting closer to you NAKED and you’re like “W-wait!” AND HE’S LIKE OH GOD I’M SORRY!!! Covers himself with it instead. Accidentally looks down at your body (YA SMELL SO GOOD LOOK SO GOOD HE’S LOSING HIS SANITY) but then is like FUCK FUCK OMG I’M SORRY!!!!! Actual big puppy I feel like he’d BLURT out, “You’re so pretty…” You can’t help but be like thanks???!!! you’re—AAHHHHH fucking naked and huge and SEXY I gotta go LMAO.
I’M SORRY FISHIE AND WOLFIE ARE SHORTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE!!! 😩
Description: You walk in on all the LIs naked by accident / pre-dating. (Here's Pt. 1 where they walk in on you!)
WC: 1k
Y'ALL WHY DID THE FIRST PART DO SO WELL SO QUICK I'M CRYING LAUGHING PLS 😭 Made this because of the lovely @vx3l1's suggestion! Thank you!!! 🫶 Enjoy, lol!
- Blueberry જ⁀➴ ৻ꪆ (Masterlist)
Xavier This is hilarious to me because I feel like it’d happen in dead silence. Similar to Sy (I wrote this out of order ok ok) he’s also very unashamed of his body. You’d walk in and he’d turn around just casual asf like, “Hm?” You’d look at his dick, back at him, his dick, back at him again, and just “I—” but turn on your heel and leave LMAO. He’d honestly just shrug and get back to changing. After a second he’d be like, “WAIT. Oh god…did that make me look like an asshole?” Two seconds later with a subtle brow raise, “Hm…did she like what she saw?” Meanwhile you’re just like FUCK ME he has a cute ass and a nice dick??? Someone kill me. LOL. Xavier’s MC is pretty chill to me but this is progressively making you lose your chill over time!!! He’d be fighting a smile each time you look over at him rapidly blinking at work the next few days.
Rafayel OKAY hilarious I feel like he’d shout overly dramatically, “Ah!!!” Cover immediately, but then be like...wait? I’m...h o t. I want her to see my dick mhm mhm and just instantly uncover. “Rafayel!” “What’s the matter, cutie?” “Y-you! Why are you naked!?” “Why’d you walk in on me naked, hm?” “I didn’t know you were naked!!!” “Well, what do you think?” “OH MY GOD!” then you leave immediately, face HOT. LOL. He’d tease you ENDLESSLY about it my god. It’d be painful. “I saw you blushing, cutie.” “I did NOT.” “You definitely did.” LIKE REEEE he won’t let it go, secretly trying to orchestrate another “accident” so this happens again LMAO. He’d be evil just standing too close the next few days to watch you SQUIRM.
Zayne ALOOF, Mr. Calm Cool & Collected would be relatively nonchalant about it and overall very comfortable with his body. “Zayne—Oh my god—” He’d give you such a deadpan look while you just stare at his dick LMAO. He’d sigh and obviously pinch the bridge of his nose LOL. When you UH stare too long he’d slowly cover himself with a flat hand, “This is hardly appropriate.” You’d RUN tf out of there omg, “I’m—I’m sorry!” The next few weeks you straight up avoid him and when you can’t avoid him any longer you’re just like dear god don’t look at me, avoiding his eye contact as much as possible LOL. When you’re not looking, he has a tiny smile on his lips internally like TEEHEE she definitely liked what she saw, duly noted. Being him, he does NOT bring it up EVER but his eyes tell a DIFFERENT story I’ll tell you what!!! Now, he’s really curious what you look like naked but he’ll never say it. (MC built different I’m dropping to my knees.)
Sylus Douche of the bunch about it, but in SUCH a hot way damn. In the Zone, you’d walk into his room like you own the place, ready to ask him something, “Sylus did you—” You wouldn’t even be looking at him until he cleared his throat. When he DOES, seeing no shirt, you think he’s probably in a towel, but when your eyes fall internally you’re like OH. MY. GOD. AH!!! But whoops can’t look away because um…HOLY SHIT. He’d cock his head to the side and tilt down, waiting for you to meet his eyes. “It’s not going to change the more you stare at it, kitten.” AAHHH!!! You’re running out of there HOT on your heels because WTF!!! He’s hung and felt absolutely zero shame bare in front of you. Your cheeks are BURNING and when you cross the twins path they’re like “Everything okay??” You’re just like, “YEP! MHM!!! Everything is f i n e.” The rest of the day Sy CANNOT wipe the devious grin he wears ALL DAY knowing you’re beyond flustered. He can’t stop smiling privately either because he’s just like ha! She can’t stop thinking about my dick, nice. LMAO!!! Such an asshat.
Caleb ALSO A JERK. Hot. “Are you ready yet—oh my god, Caleb!” Instantly would cover himself with both hands, “Pips! Don’t you knock!?” You’re just staring at his hands LMAO, “S-stop staring!” You’d internally be like oh man oh man OH MAN I SAW IT!!! I FINALLY SAW IT I’M GONNA DIE!!! He’d be quick to notice you blushing when you look back up at him. “Unless you like what you see, then—” “Caleb! Fucking—oh my god, put your hands back!” You’d slap your hand over your eyes. He’d laugh and put his hands back like a good boy mhm mhm but deFINITELY wants you to keep looking. You’d crack your fingers open, squinting as hard as you can while still able to see to check if he’s covered himself again. “You could just leave, ya know.” “Shut up!” You’d find the nearest article of clothing and throw it at him, “Put some clothes on! What’s wrong with you!” “You walked in on me! And I’m getting scolded!?” During this whole conversation/event he at least gets half mast LMAO. (MAYBE MORE TEEHEE) (Having the power to make his dick hard just by looking at it is SO bust worthy jfc.)
Valko Like I’ve BEEN saying about him…HUNG HUNG HUNG!!!!! You’d straight up go WIDE EYED like oh MY FUCKING GOD WHAT!!! He’s tall and huge so yeah…bUT IT DOESN’T MATTER YOU’RE LIKE OH MY GOD??? When making eye contact with you I feel he’d go wide eyed too but also??? Is very comfortable with himself so doesn’t cover right away out of a lack of that instinct. “You—!” “Shit—s-sorry!” THEN he’d cover himself with his hands but it also doesn’t matter because you’re like DEAR LORD TITS!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!!! You’d straight up just stutter and back out of the room slowly before rUNNing away omg, he’d be SOOO cute, “Wait—!” then quieter, “Oh, god,” louder again, “I’M SO SORRY!!!” I love him pls I feel like he’s so abashed and cute pre-dating. He’d definitely bring it up MULTIPLE times to keep apologizing (even tho you walked in on him??? 😭😭😭) and each time you’re like !!!??? “It’s—! It’s o-okay, I’m sorry…” INTERNALLY LIKE SHUT UP LET IT GO I CAN’T GET YOUR DICK AND GIANT PECS OUT OF MY MIND STOPPP!!!!! Teehee you’re both blushing hard every time you have this conversation!!! (I need him back rn...)
sylus x cat owner reader whose senior cat is an enigma to him. he spoils you, so of course he'll also spoil your entitled old kitty, but he can't quite figure out what she wants.
he buys her the nicest treats. she begs for ham from the lunchmeat drawer of the fridge instead.
he buys her the flashiest toys. she bats around cotton swabs and tin foil balls instead.
he buys her the softest cat bed. she likes to sleep on whatever clothes are laying on the floor instead.
he buys- and assembles!- the best cat tree on the market, only for her to be fascinated by its box instead.
sylus is stumped- until he's at your place when a new pair of shoes he ordered for you arrives, and you stop to play with the bubble wrap instead of going straight for the shoes, and he finally realizes where your cat learned it from.
A Protocore sends you and Sylus three years into the future, where you end up crammed in a closet learning things you were never meant to know.🩷🩷
Caleb's part here Xavier's part here
CW: Smut. P in V. Oral. 🔞MDNI🔞
You were not thinking about it. You were not staring at your ceiling thinking about the N109 Zone or the man who ran it. That was not what was happening. What was happening was that you were resting. Quietly. In your own apartment, which you had every right to be in, doing absolutely nothing that involved Sylus in any way whatsoever.
Work had filled most of your time this week. Back to back missions, three cases that bled into each other, a Thursday briefing that ate the entire day. The Association had kept you moving and moving was good. Moving meant you weren't sitting still long enough to think about things you should not be thinking about.
The problem was tonight there was nothing to move toward.
You'd slowed down. Today's mission had seen to that —a clean operation until it wasn't, until you'd caught the edge of something you'd moved a second too late to avoid and ended up limping through the debrief trying to look unbothered. The Association medic had looked at your leg, told you to rest it, and now you were on your couch. Leg up. Thinking.
You'd worked with Sylus enough times to understand how your arrangement functioned, he had access to things the Association didn't and in exchange you'd give him information he found useful. You showed up. He had what you needed. You left. Repeat.
That part made sense.
What didn't was the rest of it. The part where two weeks of silence felt different now. He was the most wanted name on the Association's list and you were a Deepspace Hunter. The math on that was simple.
So no, you did not miss Sylus.
Your leg throbbed. You shifted your weight and stared at the ceiling again, trying to have an internal conversation about professional conduct and the importance of clear boundaries and then your phone lit up.
You grabbed it so fast you nearly put your elbow through the side table.
Sylus: I heard your mission went sideways. How's the leg?
You: How did you...you know what. Never mind.
Sylus: Mephisto was nearby.
You: You sent your bird to check on me?
Sylus: Mephisto goes where he likes.
You: 🙄🙄
Sylus: He said you were limping.
You: Tell Mephisto to mind his own business.
Sylus: He'll be devastated.
You: Good.
Sylus: I have something that might interest you. Have you ever seen a white Protocore?
You: White Protocores don't exist. Whatever you have is a fake.
Sylus: The seller pulled it from an anomalous Wanderer outside the N109 zone.
You sat with that for a moment.
Sylus: Come see it yourself. You'll want to.
The color alone was impossible by every known framework for protocore classification. Which meant either the seller was running an extremely convincing con, or something had come out of that wanderer that nobody had a category for yet.
Your feet were already on the floor.
You: Don't let anyone touch it. Give me 20 min.
Sylus: No need to rush, kitten. Look out your window.
You crossed the room in four steps and pulled the curtain back an inch.
Black car at the curb. No-parking sign directly above it, ignored completely. Sylus leaned against the driver's side door looking up at exactly the moment you looked down.
He raised his phone.
Sylus: Five minutes. Or I decide the leg is worse than you're letting on and leave.
You let the curtain fall.
"Not a chance," you said, to nobody.
You changed fast —jeans, jacket, hair up, sidearm checked —and ran down the stairs in a time your leg was going to remind you about tomorrow. The night air outside hit you cool and sharp.
Sylus hadn't moved from the car. He looked at you coming through the door, down the steps toward him and said nothing until you were close enough to hear.
"You ran down the stairs?"
"I want to see that Protocore."
"Of course." His mouth curved and there it was, the look that sat underneath the smirk, the one you'd filed away and kept finding again. "That's the only reason."
"It is"
"Then why are you still standing here instead of getting in the car."
You pulled the passenger door open yourself before he could do it, which seemed to amuse him. The interior smelled like expensive leather and him.
He slid in beside you, started the engine— the sound of it vibrating through the seat— and pulled away from the curb without looking at the road for the first two seconds because he was still looking at you.
"My people investigated as much as they could." He shifted gears, smooth and unhurried. "Which is why I need someone who knows what a forgery looks like at that level."
"But you also have people for that"
"I have people for a lot of things." He glanced over. Red eyes catching the streetlight for just a second. "None of them are you."
You looked out the window " Is that a compliment?"
"I didn't say it was."
The N109 Zone came up around you, neon and dark in equal measure, a place that operated on entirely different rules than Linkon City. You'd been here more times than your Association file strictly reflected. You knew the streets. You knew the hierarchy. You knew which doors opened for which names. All thanks to the man sitting in the driver's seat.
You had no idea what a white Protocore was. You had no idea what tonight was going to become but you had a feeling you were about to find out.
His office, you knew this place better than your own.
The reinforced doors. The security overrides, which ones were decoys and which ones actually mattered. The hidden safes, three of them, one behind a painting ugly enough to be forgettable on purpose. You'd learned all of it slowly, standing close enough and quiet enough that he forgot you were paying attention.
The White Protocore sat inside a glass tube at the center of his desk, and you hadn't moved in two minutes.
It looked like the others at first. Same crystalline structure, same geometry. But every other Protocore carried color, blue, gold, pink, red, green and purple. This one just a faint pulse, soft milky light spilling across the dark wood. Strange and uncategorizable.
Sylus wasn't looking at the protocore, he was watching you. His eyes were tracing the curve of your jaw, the focus on your expression. In his world of cutthroat deals and rare power, you were his white protocore.
The back of your neck went warm but you kept your eyes on the protocore.
"Can I touch it?"
A low sound from his chest. Not quite a laugh. "I don't recall ever saying no to you, sweetie."
His fingers worked the glass tube open and lifted the protocore into his palm.
You reached for it.
Your fingers brushed his skin and the protocore sat between your hands for a single second and then —
No warning. Just white light swallowing the desk and the dark walls. Then the wind hit, not from outside but from inside the protocore, like a vacuum pulling in with a force that emptied your lungs before you could inhale. The sound of it was scary, like space tearing apart. The air collapsed into that small white light in your hands, the floor dropped away and you were falling without falling.
The first thing that came back was pressure.
Arms locked across your chest and shoulders, tight enough your ribs couldn't move. Something solid at your back. You tried to breathe. Couldn't. Tried again.
"Sy" Barely a whisper. "Can't— brea—"
His arms dropped instantly.
He was on his feet before you inhaled, one fluid motion, hand going to his gun, eyes sweeping the room. No targets. His hand dropped, but his shoulders stayed coiled, still reading the space.
You sat up. Pulled air in slowly until your chest stopped aching.
"Where are we?"
He didn't answer. Still looking.
You looked too.
Dark wood, heavy draping, expensive things chosen for use as much as looks. It felt like his place at first glance.
In the corner was a record player, vinyl turning silently, needle down, producing nothing. Beside it a bookshelf climbed straight to the ceiling, a ladder running the whole length on a track.
On the low table in front of the couch sat two glasses of wine. One half empty. Whoever had been drinking had stepped away expecting to come right back.
You stood slowly.
Sylus had crossed to the far side of the room. His head was angled down at something on the shelf.
You crossed after him, boots loud on the floor.
"Sylus."
He didn't turn.
You came up beside him, followed his eyeline, and stopped.
A photograph. You in your Hunter uniform with a different insignia of a rank you didn't hold yet, holding a trophy. Your smile in the photo was wide open and unguarded, a version of happy you didn't wear on your face very often.
There was a small engraved plaque at the bottom of the frame.
Hunter of the Year — November 2051.
You picked up a magazine beside it.
Your face on the cover. Same uniform, same trophy, same smile. Hunter of the Year in bold letters across the top. Small print in the corner, neat and impossible.
November 2051.
You set it down carefully.
Behind you, Sylus had already moved to the mahogany desk near the windows. Papers shifted. Folders opened and closed. His hands stayed busy and his face gave nothing.
"Sylus." You kept your voice steady. "Look at me."
He didn't.
You crossed to the desk and placedd your hand flat over the document he was holding.
"Three years," he was staring at nothing in particular, whatever was running behind his eyes not making it to his face.
You looked at the half empty glass. The record player still turning in silence. A coat hanging by the door.
"Sylus."
"I see it."
"That's your coat."
"This is one of my safehouses"
"Since when do you keep pictures of the Association Hunters? Last I checked you called us glorified errand runners."
A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth "I've got a taste for beautiful art, sweetie, and maybe I like having a permanent reminder of my favorite headache."
"I'm not your—"
"Someone's coming." his eyes sharpened, hand closing around your wrist.
"Who—"
"This way." He was already pulling you toward a closet.
He yanked the door open expecting to see his weapons.
There were no rifles or guns, just stacked piles of the same magazine you saw earlier, floor to ceiling, your face on every cover, hundreds of them.
"Do you also collect magazines?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice down as he shoved you into the tiny space and squeezed in after you, pulling the door shut. "This is a lot of me for one closet"
"If you keep talking you're going to get us both caught."
You bit down on a laugh and then it died in your throat completely.
The door clicked open and Sylus stepped into the room.
You gasped, turning on instinct to check whether he had somehow warped himself out there with his Evol, but he hadn't moved an inch.
Future Sylus's hair was a mess, like he'd run his hands over it more than once, and a bit longer than you were used to. His shirt was wrinkled, streaked faintly with mud, stretched tight across shoulders that looked broader than the ones currently pressed beside you in the dark. There was more color in his face too, like time had put some weather on him. He paced the length of the room like a caged animal, fists clenching and releasing at his sides. He stopped mid stride, head turning like he'd caught a sound in the room, inside Sylus's hand shot out, closing around your wrist as one finger came up to his lips, a silent order to stay quiet.
Then the door opened again, and future you walked in.
She looked pissed. Shirt torn at the shoulder, soot and dirt ground into the fabric, but her eyes were lit up with anger.
She was you, there was no doubt about that, but she was different. There was more color to her face too and her body was softer in some places, sturdier in others.
"You had no right, Sylus!" She slammed the door behind her "I can still fight! I had that under control!"
"You almost got killed" Sylus didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Whatever was in his tone was cold enough to make the room feel smaller.
"That's a fucking lie and you know it!" She crossed the space between them fast, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I'm not some damsel for you to decide when I fight and when I don't!"
Beside you Sylus dipped his head, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Different year. Same feisty kitten." His breath felt warm against your neck.
"Shut up, Sylus. Shut up" you hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. He huffed out a quiet laugh like you'd done him a favor.
Outside, the fight kept climbing.
"You think you can pull me off a fight and take me wherever you want?" her voice bounced off the ceiling. "I'm a Hunter, Sylus. I'm not joining Onychinus. Not now, not ever, no matter how many times you bring it up."
"You've made that perfectly clear."
"It's my job, Sy"
"Not anymore, it isn't."
"You don't get to make that call for me!"
He didn't answer with words. He started walking her back instead, one slow step for every one she gave up without notice, until her spine hit the ladder bolted to the bookshelf.
She was out of room. He planted a hand on either side of her head against the wooden rungs, boxing her in.
"Are you sure about that, sweetie?" Not a question so much as a challenge.
"We don't even know ye— get out of my space!"
"Make me."
Their faces were a breath apart now, close enough that the argument had stopped sounding like an argument. Through the door you felt the air on the other side change, something thick and charged, like the silence that comes right before either a fight or something worse. Your face went hot just watching it, the line between the two of them hating each other and wanting each other collapsing.
"I hate you"
"Good," he murmured so close to her lips. "You can hate me all you want, Mrs. Qin. You're still wearing my ring."
He closed the distance, hand curling around the back of her neck, and kissed her like it was the only thing he had left to say.
Beside you Sylus went completely still.
Future you made a sound against his lips that started as surprise and turned into a moan, her hands coming up to grip his shirt before she dropped them and grabbed him instead.
You turned to look at Sylus, his eyes dropped to yours and a slow smile moved across his mouth and your stomach went with it.
His shirt hit the floor first, hers followed.
Future Sylus lifted her off the floor and settled her onto a rung of the ladder. She grabbed the rung above her head to steady herself and he stepped back just far enough to look at her, taking his time with it while she sat there catching her breath.
Then he reached for her boots.
He pulled the first one off, fingers working the laces without looking down, eyes on her face the whole time. The second followed. He set his hands on her knees and dragged them up her thighs and she made a small sound before he'd even done anything.
His mouth found her collarbone. Moved down. The thin lace of her bra was still on and he put his lips over it anyway, tongue pressing through the fabric against her nipple, and her head went back against the ladder. He bit down through the fabric, and the sound she made was immediate.
You pressed your hand to your mouth.
He did it again on the other side, slower, and her knuckles went white on the rung above her while her hips moved forward looking for something that wasn't there yet.
He kissed down her sternum. The soft skin below her ribs. His mouth dragged across her stomach and she was already breathing in pieces by the time his hands moved to her pants. He worked them down her legs and off, then dropped to his knees.
You made a small sound against your hand.
He was now on his knees between her thighs, hands finding the backs of them, hooking her legs one at a time over his shoulders. The muscles in his arms and neck shifted with the motion and he settled her weight there easily, like he'd done it before. Because in three years he had. Many times. You could tell by how she exhaled when her legs landed on his shoulders— relief. Her whole body recognizing what was coming.
He looked up at her.
Hands spread across her inner thighs, holding them open, red eyes on her face, waiting.
She looked down at him.
Her chest was moving fast. Her lip caught between her teeth. She held his gaze for one long second and then, quietly, barely enough to hear—
"Please."
His fingers found her thong and pulled it to the side.
One hand went to his hair, pulling him in, the other stayed above her head. Her nipples were hard against the wet lace.
Every sound came through clearly. His mouth on her wet pussy. Her breathing. Your face burned. Other things burned. You pressed your thighs together and it didn't help because the sounds didn't stop.
You turned to look at him again.
His right eye burned red in the dark closet. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that wasn't steady.
"Sy—"
"Don't stop." Future you's voice came through the door, breathless. "Fuck, Sy...just like that."
Your face went hotter and you faced forward again.
Sylus exhaled against your hair. His hand was still on your wrist. Neither of you had moved it.
He made a sound against her and the sounds that followed were louder and wetter.
Your fingers found the front of his jacket and held on.
"Is this affecting you?" he asked, right against your ear.
"Shut up."
Then her voice again, completely gone, nothing held back. "Yes — baby, my clit, suck on it — fuck yes—"
His hand tightened on your wrist. Hard.
"Sylus." Your voice came out dry. Broken in the middle. Not what you'd intended at all.
"I know," he said.
Future you screamed his name. The closet pressed in from all sides.
"We need to leave"
"Yes," he agreed, but neither of you moved.
Her thighs locked around his shoulders and shook. He stayed until the last tremor left her. Then he stood, chest glistening, and his hands dropped to the button of his trousers.
Popped it open. Pushed the fabric down his thighs.
The outline of his cock through the fabric of his underwear made your throat close. The tip already wet, a dark circle spreading through the cotton, and his fingers found the waistband—
A large hand came down over your eyes.
"Hey—" You grabbed his wrist. His fingers didn't move.
"If you want a show," his voice low at your ear, "you only have to ask."
"Move your hand." You twisted your head. His palm stayed exactly where it was.
Dark behind it.
Then the sounds hit again.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Skin against skin. Her voice breaking between each impact, the sounds coming in waves that your brain immediately started filling in visuals for and that was so much worse than if he'd just let you look.
"You're burning up," he said against your ear, not in concern but in pure mockery.
Your thighs pressed together hard. "I swear to god—"
His fingers spread open.
She was still on the ladder. Legs locked around his waist, both of them flushed, sweat catching the light. He had one hand on her hair, holding her close to his face, their mouths almost touching, breathing the same air while his hips rolled forward in deep slow drives that shook her whole body. He was saying something to her, too low to carry, but whatever it was kept fracturing her expression every time he said it.
Then his voice came through clearly.
"Look at me." Steady, even over everything else. "Tell me who you belong to."
Her tongue dragged across his upper lip. "Yours—" Her head dropped back. "Ah— yours, Sy, I'm yours—"
Your underwear felt damp and your clit was pulsing with a persistence you were doing your very best to ignore.
"Do you really think," Sylus whispered against your temple, "it takes us three whole years to get here?"
"I don't—"
Future Sylus pulled back, his tongue dragged slow up her throat while she panted against his shoulder. "You taste different today."
"Because you're—" she gasped, "—you're driving me insane—"
"That's not it." He pushed forward, one deep thrust that tore a cry out of her "You shouldn't be taking field hits right now." A beat. "Not when you're carrying my child."
The closet went cold.
Your jaw dropped. Hers did too.
Pregnant.
The argument. Him yanking her off the mission. All of it clicked into place at once. She was carrying his baby. In three years, you'd be carrying his kid.
Your knees went out from under you.
Your foot caught on something hard as you stumbled back. A stack of magazines toppled with the movement, and everything blurred, sound, vision, all of it going soft at the edges.
"—watch—"
Crimson light cracked through the dark. Sylus's Evol flared, and every falling magazine froze mid air.
The energy didn't stay contained. It rolled out through the closet door and everything on the other side went dead silent.
The sounds stopped. All of them. What replaced the noise had weight to it.
Sylus's eyes were locked on the door. Jaw tight. Not a muscle moving.
"Pathetic," future Sylus said, clear, not a trace of what he'd been doing thirty seconds earlier, "a top tier Hunter and the leader of Onychinus, hiding like toddlers playing hide and seek."
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
"Sylus?" Future you, breathless, confused. "Who are you talking—"
"I know you're in there." He sounded almost bored. "You're both breathing like horny teenagers."
Beside you, Sylus exhaled through his nose and reached out to push the door open. "I could say the same"
He stepped out first, glanced down at his sleeve, and flicked off a piece of lint that probably wasn't there. Then he reached back, hooked an arm around your waist, and pulled you out with him. You stumbled onto the polished floor, face burning hot enough to set the room on fire.
Future Sylus had future you pulled against him, her bra strap slipping off one shoulder, hair a wreck, and she was staring between the two of you with her mouth hanging open.
"Is that—" Her eyes went from you to the Sylus standing next to you and back again. "Are we— are they—"
Sylus looked at his future self. Future Sylus looked right back.
Three seconds of silence passed between them, and somehow it felt like an entire conversation.
"You look good," Sylus said.
"And you are interrupting," future Sylus said, arm tightening around future you.
You stopped watching the two of them and scanned the room instead.
There. The White Protocore, sitting beside the wine bottle, pulsing soft in the low light.
You moved before anyone could stop you, crossed the room, and closed your hand around it.
Sylus was right behind you. His hand landed over yours, the stone was caught between your palms again, warm and humming under your skin. He tossed one last glance over his shoulder at his future self and smirked.
White swallowed everything. The floor vanished, and then thud.
The familiar light of his office in the N109 Zone.
You were flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, just breathing.
The Protocore rolled out of your hand and knocked against the leg of his desk before it dissolved into dust.
Sylus sat up, forearm braced on a raised knee, and looked down at you, smirk already back in place. His gaze dropped to your mouth, your throat, the way your chest was still heaving.
"So," he said, leaning over you with one hand braced on the floor beside your head. "A baby."
You threw an arm over your face. "I will shoot you again."
"I'm just thinking ahead." His fingers found a strand of your hair "Sounds like we've got a lot of work to do in the next three years, Miss hunter."
A Protocore throws you and Xavier two years into the future. You end up on his balcony. Your future selves end up against the glass door 😏.
CW: Smut. Jealousy. P in V 🔞MDNI🔞
Huge thanks to @stardustsirens for helping me with this series! 🧡🧡🧡
Caleb's part here. Sylus part here
"Please tell me that's the last one"
The air reeked of burned grass and dead wanderers. You let out a long breath and let your shoulders drop as the last Wanderer dissolved into light that flickered once and went dark.
A few paces away, Xavier had a few hair strands stuck to his forehead and a thin sheen of sweat at his throat, and that was the extent of the damage. Meanwhile you looked like you'd been dragged behind a truck.
"Perimeter's clear," he said, quiet, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He crossed the debris toward you, boots crunching over glass and rubble. "You're bleeding, though."
You looked down. A chunk of crystal debris had opened a gash along your calf and you hadn't even noticed.
"Huh. Didn't feel that happen."
"Let me look at it." He dropped to one knee, taking a bandage roll out of your hands before you'd even fully pulled it from your pouch.
His hands were warm. Warmer than it made sense, given the cold. When he folded the torn fabric of your pants back to get at the wound, his fingers grazed bare skin and something jumped straight up your spine. You bit down on the inside of your cheek so you wouldn't make a sound about it.
This was the problem with Xavier. Some days he fell asleep against your shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. Other days he kept a careful distance between you and answered everything in a polite, unreadable tone, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.
"Does that hurt?" his thumb pressed against the unbroken skin just above it — the touch was not necessary to wrap the bandage.
"A little," you said, watching the top of his head, how the moonlight caught the color of his hair. "Xavier. Can I ask you something?"
His hands didn't stop moving, but his shoulders went still. "Yeah."
"Why do you do this?" You asked flatly, too tired to dress it up. "Sometimes I think we’re... I don't know, really close. And then other times, you look at me like I'm just another Hunter from the Association. It's confusing."
He finished tying off the gauze, stood up and finally looked at you "I just think about things. More than I probably should."
He reached out to help you up, hands closing firm around your forearms.
"Think about what?"
You went to test your weight on the bandaged leg and the ground chose that second to be uneven. You pitched forward, right into him, your chest hitting his. His hands slid from your arms to your waist to catch you.
Neither of you moved.
You could feel his heart going fast under his uniform, which didn't match the calm on his face at all. His eyes dropped to your mouth, came back up.This is happening, you thought, a little dizzy with it. He's actually going to—.
His grip on your waist tightened. Something cracked open behind his eyes, just for a second "You shouldn't stand this close to me"
"Xavier—"
He stepped back before you could get anything else out.
Crunch. Something snapped under his boot.
A white protocore.
He picked it and it suddenly went off with light, a white light expanding outward faster than you could track. The air got sucked straight out of your lungs. Your ears popped hard enough to hurt, and then the ruins, the sky, and everything else was sucked into a roar of wind that yanked you forward like the world had grabbed you by the throat.
You hit something solid and warm.
"Oof — sorry —"
A grunt came from underneath you. You blinked against sudden dark, hands slapping down flat against Xavier's chest. You were sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, face mashed against his neck.
"Oh my god." You scrambled back so fast you scraped your palms on the floor. "Sorry — are you okay?"
Xavier sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hair falling into his eyes. "Fine. Are you hurt?"
"No, I— " You stopped. Looked around. "Wait."
You weren't standing in the ruins anymore. You were standing on a balcony with black wrought iron railing and a view of city streets that looked oddly familiar.
"Is this our building?" You turned in a slow circle, "Xavier, did you just teleport us home?"
"I didn't teleport us anywhere."
"You definitely did something..."
"I didn't" He was already moving past you toward the railing, scanning it like it might answer a question you hadn't asked yet.
"Okay, well, something got us here," you said, following him. "So if it wasn't you, what was it?"
He didn't answer right away. He crouched by one of the plants, fingers brushing the soil. Damp. Recently turned. "I don't have an explanation for this."
"When did you get so many plants?."
He moved to a small table near, where two mugs sat, both used, one rimmed faintly with lipstick.
"This is kind of freaking me out."
You spotted a newspaper folded beside the mugs and reached for it before he could stop you.
The date on the header didn't make sense. You read it twice.
"Xavier." You held it out to him, throat tight.
He took it, scanning it fast, and for the first time all night something like real alarm broke through his usual calm. "This is two years out."
"Two years." You said it slow, testing the weight of it. "Okay. We're just —somewhere else. Somewhere with your exact view, which is a really specific coincidence, but fine, sure, this is wrong, so so wrong—"
"Calm down."
"Xavier."
"What."
You pointed, wordless, toward the far corner of the balcony, where a lumpy, badly painted bird feeder hung crooked from its hook, one wing chipped clean off. You'd have known it anywhere.
"That's Fatso"s" you said.
Xavier followed your finger, and whatever he'd been telling himself died on his face.
You grabbed for your communicator on reflex. Dead screen. "No signal," you said, more to yourself than to him.
"Mine's the same. Clock's not even holding steady." He pocketed the device "We need to see what's inside. If someone's living here, we ask them what year it is."
"Oh yeah because that is a completely normal question to walk in and ask a stranger."
"Stay behind me," he reached for the handle on the sliding glass door, testing the weight of it without committing to opening it yet. Behind the curtain, something moved.
You froze. Your fingers found the sleeve of his uniform and held on.
A hand pressed flat against the glass from the other side of the curtain, fingers spread.
Xavier looked ready to run.
A second hand appeared beside it. Bigger. Scarred across the knuckles. Something in your chest went cold with recognition even before your brain caught up. The second hand moved to close over the first, fingers lacing through.
There were two people on the other side of that door. And from the way the curtain was moving, they were not just standing there.
"Xavier," you whispered, barely any air behind it at all.
He didn't answer. He didn't move his hand off the door either —just stood there frozen, staring at those hands through the glass like his whole nervous system had collapsed.
Then he moved. His hand closed around your shoulder and pulled, one smooth backward motion that tucked you both into a narrow space where the balcony wall met the building's outer brick. The spot was tight —barely enough room for two people to stand without touching —and the angle it gave you was merciless. The glass door sat directly in your line of sight, lit from inside.
You should have looked away immediately.
But you didn't.
The curtains moved a bit. Two bodies, pressed close. The woman's face was hidden, her head tipped back behind the line of the man's shoulder. His face was visible. Hair catching the light. That jaw.
Xavier
The anger came fast and hot and settled behind your sternum like coal. Months of warmth and then distance. Months of patience that felt like it was always just about to become something and never did —and here was the answer to all of it, pressed against a glass door in an apartment that was still his, two years from now, with someone else.
He was kissing her the way someone kisses when they've stopped being careful about it. Deep, his hands dragging her back against him, the movements of his lower body slow and unmistakable.
You looked away. Focused on a crack running through the middle of the wall beside you. Breathed through your nose.
Beside you, Xavier was still looking. His face was flushed.
"Is that—" His voice came out wrong.
"Yup," you said. The bitterness in it sharper than you'd intended. "That's you"
A sound came through the glass.
The impact of skin against the glass door followed immediately by a broken moan, the sound dragged your eyes back to the glass door against your will.
The curtain had been pulled aside all the way.
The view was now unobstructed.
The woman was pressed flat against the glass, her bare breasts against the cold pane, her hands finding the frame for something to hold onto. Her face was fully visible now.
The anger in your chest went out like a light.
It was your face.
Your shoulders, your hands, the sound of your own voice coming through the glass in pieces, breathless and nothing like anything you'd heard from yourself before. Your future self's cheek was pressed to the glass too, eyes half closed, lips parted around sounds that weren't words.
Future Xavier's teeth found her shoulder and bit down, not gently, leaving something that would be visible tomorrow. His hand came around the front of her, sliding between her thighs to line his beautiful cock against her entrance.
Then he drove forward.
The sound she made came through the glass loud and clear and a small involuntary noise started building in your own throat.
Xavier's palm came over your mouth.
Fast. Firm. His fingers sealing the sound in before it could escape. His hand was shaking.
The glass door shook with the next impact. And the next.
Xavier had his mouth at her ear saying something you couldn't hear through the glass but could read in the way her expression changed when he said it.
Xavier made half a sound against the back of your head and he immediately swallowed the other half.
You felt it anyway. Felt the way his arm tightened across your chest, felt the unsteady rhythm of his breathing where his chest pressed into your back.
You couldn't look away from his face —the future version of the face that was currently breathing against your temple— wearing an expression you'd never seen on him before.
"Xavier," you said, against his palm. Muffled.
His arm tightened.
"Xavier." Louder this time, enough that he could feel the shape of his name against his hand.
His mouth dropped to your ear "Don't move." The words came out rough "If they see us—"
Inside the apartment, your future self pressed her palm hard against her lips.
Future Xavier's hand closed around her wrist.
He pulled it down. He held her hand at her side and kept it there, and when she turned her face toward him he was already looking at her.
He wanted to hear her.
Below you a glass door scraped open.
One floor down, a man stepped out onto his balcony. Cigarette unlit between his fingers, head tilted slightly, listening to the night.
You pressed further into the shadow.
The rhythm inside the apartment changed. Not slower. The opposite. The glass shook in its frame and the sounds coming through it stopped being something that could be mistaken for anything else, and the man one floor down stopped trying to light his cigarette.
You looked at future Xavier's face.
His eyes were angled down and to the left.
He picked up the pace.
She tried again, her hand came up toward her mouth. Future Xavier caught her wrist without looking and his mouth moved against her ear again.
Whatever it was, she stopped trying to be quiet.
You thought about what you'd just watched him do. The escalation. The man on the balcony below. The reason your future self's hand kept getting pulled back down.
Was he jealous of that stranger?
Inside, her feet left the ground. Xavier had both arms around her, her arms caught under his, breast bouncing with every thrust.
You saw it first.
An unmistakable pressure beneath the surface of her stomach. Moving with every thrust. A belly bulge.
Your mouth went dry.
She was dripping. You could see it even through the glass —the inside of her thighs slick and glistening where his movements had worked everything down, coating her skin, catching the apartment light every time he pulled back. The glass had a faint fog to it from her breath, small clouds appearing and disappearing with each exhale.
The deep flush running from her chest to her throat made something in your lower stomach pull tight.
The Xavier beside you tracked every place her body responded to him, her hardened nipples, the way her toes curled against nothing, the flutter beneath her skin that mapped exactly where he was.
Crash
A flower pot.
It hit the floor and you both stopped breathing.
Inside the apartment, silence.
Immediate and total.
Through the glass you watched future Xavier's head come up. No panic in it. No confusion. Just a slow turn toward the sound, his eyes moving through the dark until they found the spot where the two of you were standing.
He couldn't see you. The angle was wrong, the shadow too deep.
He knew someone was there anyway.
His expression went cold and your future self said something against his chest. The curtain moved slowly across the glass from inside and the light behind it went out.
You had thirty seconds. Maybe less.
Xavier crouched beside you. The Protocore looked small against his palm, throwing a faint white pulse between his fingers for just a second.
The glass door began to slide open.
The air changed, the balcony, the broken pot, the man with his unlit cigarette, all of it collapsing into white noise and rushing dark.
You hit the ground hard. Your knees met broken stone, the air was knocked out of you on impact and you spent the first few seconds just existing on the ground.
Xavier landed beside you.
You pushed yourself up to sitting. "So..."
Xavier said nothing.
"That was weird."
Still nothing.
"We were—"
"I saw it" he opened his hand and noticed the Protocore was gone "I was standing right next to you."
"So we're both aware of what we watched."
"Yes."
"And we're not going to talk about it?"
He looked at you. "Are you going to be able to not talk about it?"
"Probably not."
He made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and didn't immediately let go.
"That man on the balcony," you said.
Xavier's jaw moved. "What about him."
"Future you saw him and then—"
"I know what he did." He dropped your hand. Turned to look at anything that wasn't your face. "You don't need to walk me through it."
"I'm just—" You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to smile, it felt inappropriate and also completely unavoidable "Was he showing off?"
"We're not talking about that."
"Xavier—"
"Not yet." He said it quietly. Just a line in the ground, clearly drawn. "Not tonight. There's—" He exhaled. "There's a lot I need to sit with before I talk about any of it."
You nodded. That felt fair.
You started walking, picking your way back through the rubble toward the gap in the wall where you'd come in, and Xavier fell into step beside you like he always did —slightly behind, slightly to your left, a position that meant he could see everything around you before you could.
The walk back was quiet. You were almost at the gap in the wall when he spoke.
"Can I ask you something."
"Go ahead."
He was quiet for a beat. Just long enough that you glanced over at him.
"Future me?" he said. "Or me?"
You stopped walking. "What?"
"You heard me. Who do you like more?
"Xavier, that's not—you are the same person—"
"Future me is two years ahead and has information I don't have and he was doing—" a small pause, "—things to you that I have not yet done. So. Future me or me?"
You stared at him.
He stared back.
"That is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me"
"Humor me."
"You"
Something in his face changed.
"Good," he said.
"But future you did have his—"
The not quite smile disappeared. "We're going home," he said, and turned toward the gap in the wall.
You followed him, and you were very glad he was walking ahead of you this time because the smile on your face was not something you were ready to explain.
