sylvieisoffline

[sylvieisoffline]

ugh, I honestly need more fics like this cuz it's always bdsm and allat but when are we really gonna show the discipline that comes with these themes (not to discredit other people's work btw!!)

you use your safe word for the first time —sylus

your breath hitched mid-thrust, the pleasure suddenly fogged with something sharp. not pain, exactly. just too much. too intense, too fast. your heartbeat stuttered in your chest.

“sylus—”

he didn’t slow.

“red.”

he froze. everything stopped. his body hovered above yours, tense and still, breath caught like he’d been shot. you watched his face change. eyes wide, locked onto yours, all that tightly coiled restraint snapping into full control. he pulled out slowly, carefully, as if afraid any movement might hurt you. his hands were already on your arms, grounding you.

“you used the word,” he said softly.

you nodded, still trembling. “i—yeah. i didn’t mean to ruin—”

“no.” his voice sharpened. not angry, but urgent. “you didn’t ruin anything.”

he sat back, pulling the blanket over your body in one smooth motion, then gathered you into his lap. you were still flushed, slick between your thighs, your body aching for comfort and confusion warring in your chest.

sylus didn’t speak for a moment. he only held you. his heartbeat thundered beneath your ear as he stroked your back, slow and steady. one hand found yours, lacing your fingers together, grounding you. the other ran through your hair gently, like he was trying to erase every trace of tension.

“i’m proud of you,” he whispered.

you blinked, still shaky. “proud?”

“you told me what you needed.” he kissed your temple. “that takes trust.”

you swallowed hard, burying your face in his neck. “i just… felt like i was floating. like i couldn’t catch my breath.”

his arms tightened. “then stopping was the only option.”

silence followed. warm. safe. not awkward at all. just him, breathing with you.

you pulled back after a minute, cheeks warm with embarrassment. “i didn’t mean to freak out. i just—my body didn’t match what i wanted.”

sylus brushed his thumb across your cheek, gently tipping your chin up. his eyes searched yours like he was scanning for microfractures. “i don’t care how far in we are. i don’t care how close you think we’re getting. if you say red, i stop. i’ll always stop.”

you nodded, eyes stinging with relief.

“do you want a shower?” he asked, quieter now. “or water? a snack?”

“just… stay with me.”

“always.”

he kissed your forehead, still wrapped around you, blanket tugged higher, his body warm against yours. he didn’t ask for explanations. he didn’t push. he held you and made sure you knew his love didn’t hinge on performance, only trust. and you trusted him more than anyone.

[sylvieisoffline]

Your slut is rarely home—

THIS TOOK ME OUT HARDER THAN IT SHOULD'VE HAHAHAHAHA

you finally suck on his nipples

caleb x fem!reader

summary: caleb's nipple piercings are finally healed, so it's your time to shine.

contains: nsfw, smut, oral sex (handjob), obvs you suck on them nipples, uniform kink, angst, 2.7k words

Slut. A derogatory term reclaimed by the Gen Z girlie pops at the turn of the 2020s to describe… Well, ‘slut’ really can describe anyone. But generally, slut refers to someone sexy, someone who is thinking about sex, or someone who has sex.

Slut. Two syllables: sl-ut. What else has two syllables? Ca-leb. Oh, would you look at that.

You’ve never met a sluttier man than the colonel of the Farspace Fleet. Whenever he’s in his mouth-watering uniform, he’s not safe from your wandering hands and sky-high libido. You know, it’s bad. You shouldn’t romanticise the love of your life in his killing suit, but why does that coat have to be fitting? And those white trousers so tight around his muscular thighs? Not to mention those gloves you would kill to have wrapped around your neck—

Moving forward, it’s been a year since the fateful day you found out that your puppy of a partner got his nipples pierced without you. Nothing has been the same since. Well.. alright, some things haven’t been the same since. Like the fact that you were banned from touching his tits for the first nine months after he got them done.

And guess what? Even though they were ‘technically healed’, Caleb still wouldn’t let you touch his nipples until three months later. He claimed it was for good measure, knowing how you’d pounce on him at the exact second your 12 months were up. He knows you well. A little too well. Maybe that’s why he went on a week-long mission the day before your sentence concluded.

But he should be back today. If he’s not? Then some CEO is gonna be added to your hit list.

You use the spare key Caleb gave you to unlock the door of his Skyhaven apartment. It’s a little musty and dark, so you brighten things up and open the windows to air his place out. Then, you pack your things away for your two-week stay.

It’s only 3pm. Caleb should be home around six. The temptation to scroll on your phone for the next three hours is awfully great. But you resist for the first two by busying yourself with wiping down his kitchen and bathroom. Your slut is rarely home, and you can tell with the layer of dust you pull off the surfaces that he hasn’t cleaned… like ever.

You plop down on his sofa and whip out your phone. In the notification centre is a text from your pookie bear. It reads:

be home around 7

sorry pipsqueak

You let out a loud groan, your head falling back as you gaze at his ceiling like it might offer you salvation. Unfortunately, Caleb’s ceiling enjoys your frustration as much as he does. Holding your phone up to your face, you text back:

you’re doing this on purpose

You log onto TikTok and start scrolling. Only ten minutes pass before you’re checking the message you sent to Caleb. You want to make sure it was actually delivered because he hasn’t responded yet, which is weird for your boyfriend. When the chat pops up, you see the dreaded grey text: Read 5:13pm.

Oh… This fucker DID NOT.

You start spamming his phone with texts like “just say you hate me already” and “you haven’t let me suck on your nipples for a year, and now this?” After every message, the read receipt comes up. Until the purple Do Not Disturb text appears, and now you’re forced to deliver your rage quietly. You don’t know whether to be livid or confused by the fact that he stops reading your messages.

Actually, you do.

To say the very least, you are positively fuming. Usually, you wouldn’t be so angry, but instead upset over his unusual behaviour. The rational part of your brain tells you that Caleb’s probably in a meeting and can’t have his girlfriend texting him wild messages about the 101 ways she’s going to make him pay for his naughtiness tonight. But the irrational part of your brain is screaming that your boyfriend is being shitty, and so you should be shitty in return.

You even cleaned his damn apartment, and now look what he’s done! Why did you even bother? The world turns red as your eyes lock on a nearby vase. You’re a hair's breadth from snatching it and shattering it on the hard floor, but think twice when you realise how angry alcoholic dad that will make you look.

Glaring at the fine china, you huff and plonk down on the couch. You pick up your phone. Still utter silence… And he still hasn’t read your messages. Back to TikTok it is.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

You don’t even look up from the cat video you’re watching as the front door swings open. Those heavy boots alone tell you everything you need to know. Caleb’s back in his himbo suit, exhausted from a long day as the Fleet’s colonel.

Seeing the top of your head peeking over the couch, Caleb sighs, “Pipsqueak. I’m sorry. I was in a meeting.” Called it. Your hands slap your thighs, your phone in your lap, as he rounds the couch.

Ffuuuuuuckkk. Your lady boner is touching the roof as he whips off his hat and throws it on the lounge. That uniform clings to every sharp line and delectable curve of your boyfriend in the most sinful of ways. You would have busted a nut if not for your thin self-control.

A very sweaty puppy sits next to you, his violet eyes all round and gooey—full of love now that his owner has returned. You shift so that your back faces him with your arms crossed beneath your chest, and release a clipped hmph! at his audacity.

“Come on, honey. I said I was sorry. The higher-ups kept looking at me. I had no choice but to go on DND,” he explains, his voice dampened with longing and tiredness. You roll your eyes, the past two hours of overthinking transforming the situation into something it wasn’t.

His actions feel like a brutal attack on your… fascination with his nipples. Maybe he’s weirded out by how fucking much you like them, which has only been intensified by the stainless steel barbells running straight through them.

You counter, “Why did you leave me on the read in the first place, huh? In a meeting?”

“Yeah, I was—”

“Well, that doesn’t explain why you went on a week-long mission just when my ban gets lifted. Like, do you hate me or something? Do you think I’m just some weird freak? Hasn’t this past year been torturous for you, too?” You spit out in rapid succession, pivoting around so you can argue with him face-to-face. The first thing you notice is the darkness rimming his eyes. Your heart pangs. Caleb reaches out and grabs your hand in your moment of weakness.

His brows are drawn together as he sighs, “Pips, you know it’s not like that, so please don’t say those things. I had no choice—”

“You keep saying you didn’t have a choice, but clearly you did,” you snap. He shakes his head, his grip on your hand tightening as he processes your heated words. You glare at him like an injured snake, venom dripping from your fangs, while your boyfriend avoids your narrowed-to-slits eyes.

The clock on the wall ticks, seconds elapsing as you wait for him to… to what? Admit he’s hurt you? Apologise? He’s already done that. Your baby boy just came home from a week of barking out commands and one-eye open sleep, and what do you do? Make this sanctuary you’ve created together into a garden full of thorns. But as you should, right?

In a moment of clarity, you realise how your bottled-up emotions started leaking through the cap. He hasn’t done anything wrong. But it’s the accumulation of little things that make you feel wronged.

After an eternity of near silence, Caleb meets your gaze once more. In your eyes, he sees anger framed by regret and confusion.

He murmurs, “Okay.” You squeal as he suddenly releases your hand and latches onto your wrist before pulling you onto his lap. Your arms instinctively wrap around his broad shoulders. He grabs your waist and holds you tight to him, his heart beating steadily against yours. His nose nuzzles the crook of your neck, and his breath is warm against your skin.

Caleb presses a tender kiss to the skin there while you squeeze his shoulders. Pulling back, he gazes up at you with gentle understanding, and his thumbs swipe back and forth over your waist soothingly.

He says quietly, “You’re mad. I get it. But I’ve missed you, yeah? And I know you’ve missed me, too. So if you wanna yell about how shit of a boyfriend I am, then go ahead. You can take your anger out on me.” Your breath hitches, any semblance of a reply melting on your tongue like warm butter. Rich and full, colonising your tastebuds. But your throat is oddly dry. Slowly, you shake your head while keeping your eyes on him.

Caleb moves his large hand to your arm and rubs it lovingly as he teases, “Where did all of your confidence go? I’m giving you the perfect opportunity to be upset with me, so go on and tell me you hate me.”

“Shut up.” The words come out sad and small rather than powerful. A weight lingers in the air. Neither of you dares break the quiet that has befallen his apartment. Instead, your hands glide down his chest, fingers brushing the golden chains and lapels as you go straight for the fastenings.

With his veiny hands on your hips, Caleb asks playfully, “Don’t you want to loosen my tie first, honey?” You shake your head while undoing the snap fasteners.

“Loosen it later,” you mumble as you come to the waist belt. Sliding it off, you drop his belt on the couch cushions and tear the remaining snaps apart. Your hands roam over his shirt, and you make quick work of his tie and the buttons. Meanwhile, your boyfriend simply thumbs your hips and watches you cockily.

Your thighs clench, a throbbing below your waistband becoming more uncomfortable as Caleb’s decolletagé is revealed beneath the dewy lights. You bite your lip at the sight and run your finger along his collarbones. He sucks in a breath at the feeling, betraying how he’s just as touched starved as you are.

Leaning forward, you whisper against his clammy brow, “Almost like you wanted to piss me off.”

Caleb firmly squeezes your hips while he chuckles breathily, “I’ll admit, I thought about it.”

“So you went on that mission just to—”

“I thought about it, honey. I didn’t mean to hurt you, m’kay?” He clarifies. You huff a little, your lips pouty as your fingers ghost his sternum. Caleb tips his head back and kisses your cheek reassuringly. Then his lips shift to the corner of your mouth before finally landing on your lips. It’s a brief kiss, but you both sigh nonetheless.

Separating, you murmur, “Can you help me with the rest?” His light laugh acts as the soundtrack to your erratically thumping heart and blood rushing up to your cheeks. Caleb groans lightly as he rips his shirt open down to his navel. His pecs peak through the grey and black fabric, and you could swoon as he gazes up at you expectantly.

Closing the distance between you two, you capture his lips in another kiss. However, this one is imbued with a year-long hunger. Satiation burns on the tips of your intertwining tongues, and spit spills down your lips as your palms slide down his glorious chest. Hesitant, yet excited fingertips flutter over his pecs, dipping lower until they feel hot metal.

Caleb moans into your mouth as you gently pinch at his pink nipples, the erogenous sound sending slick drooling out of your cunt. His meaty arms encircle your hips and grind you against his growing erection, eliciting sweet mewls hushed by his ravenous mouth.

The colonel can’t get enough of you as he pulls off your lips with a wet smooch and drizzles sloppy kisses down your neck. You pinch his nipples harder as he palms your ass, making him yelp into your ear.

“Been waiting forever for this, baby. You’re so cruel,” you breathe out.

His chuckle morphs into a whine midway as he says, “I wanted to be sure.” You kiss the side of his head while your hands slip lower and feel up his abs momentarily.

“You need to wash your hair,” you tell your boyfriend as your fingers latch onto his pierced nipples once more.

He offers tiredly, “I know, I know. Wash it for me?” You hum in agreement while becoming increasingly aware of how soaked your panties are growing. Since he was returning tonight, you wore his favourite: this lavender, lacy pair with a bow on the waistband. But now, the delicate lace is likely ruined by your arousal.

“Fuck! Careful, pips!” Caleb hisses as your fingertips pull on his stiff nipples. You giggle softly and shimmy back.

Planting your feet on the ground, you get up from your partner’s lap. Your hands clutch his knees and spread them apart as you get down between his legs. He groans at the sight of you, who’s eagerly working at his pants with that cute smile on your lips.

He instructs you to take off his boots while he pulls down his pants. Teamwork makes the dream work, and soon, Caleb’s white trousers are pooling at his ankles, your hands are jerking off his fat cock, and you’re staring up at him with the biggest, prettiest eyes as you suck on one of his nipples.

“F-fuck, pips! I’ve missed you so much. Thought about you every day when I was on that mission—hah. Couldn’t stop thinking about you all day…” Caleb babbles, his long fingers brushing away the hair from your face as more pre-cum leaks onto your fingers. Your tongue rolls around his nipple, flicking over his barbell before you take it into your hot mouth.

His yap flows in one ear and out the other, incoherent over the pulsing in your lounge shorts. You press your thighs together, more slick gushing out as your hands twist around his length. A strangled moan interrupts Caleb’s rambling, intensifying the heat crawling across your skin tenfold.

“Doin’ so good, baby—Fuck! That’s my pretty girl,” he whines. His hand rests on the back of your head and holds you protectively as you lick a stripe across his chest and begin pleasuring his other nipple. You start pumping him faster and tighter, the shallow breaths he heaves spurring you on.

Your teeth graze his hard peak, causing his hips to buck and more moans and praise to spill from his swollen lips. Of course, you love how damn sexy Caleb’s nipples are now that they’re pierced. But the fact that they’re even more sensitive now makes the past year of abstinence all worth it.

Your spit dribbles down his abs as you pull on his nipple with your mouth. He cries out from the sensation, the cold and ruthless colonel reduced to a whimpering, pathetic mess beneath you. Exactly where he belongs.

Soon enough, your boyfriend is cumming all over your tank top and exposed cleavage. Some of his thick spend gets in your hair and even on your neck as you release his reddened nipple from the gates of your lips. He’s mumbling as you plop down on his knee, something about how good you are to him.

With a sweet smile, you kiss his sweaty temple and push back his greasy locks with one hand. Your other hand rubs his shoulders, and you glimpse down at his still twitching cock while he calms down.

“Gotta clean you up, pips,” Caleb rasps out.

“Mhmm,” you hum as you kiss his cheekbone and jaw affectionately. He grasps you securely against his chest, this grounding feeling settling in as he returns to Earth.

Within a few minutes, Caleb’s wiping you up with a few tissues before throwing them carelessly on the floor. He’s much too preoccupied with lying you down and settling between your thighs, excited to return the favour until sunrise.

2k special masterlist // regular masterlist

taglist - @heartyluv, @plzdonutpercieveme, @starryeyed-apple, @juniebugg, @terriblesoup

[sylvieisoffline]

oh my god?!

Waterworks

Synopsis: The story in which Zayne wants to be the one and only to make you squirt.

Warnings: Overstimulation, crying, squirting, Brat taming, soft!dom.

When the subject was brought up, it was said in a fleeing joke you mentioned over dessert one night.

“Squirting isn’t even real, I swear porn actress’ just piss themselves.”

Zayne ignored the vulgar comment with an arched brow.

That’s how he became engrossed in the mere thought of making you squirt.

He had done his research as a man of science. He knew it was entirely possible.

You didn’t think much of it when he had you guzzling water. He hid it under the excuse that you were dehydrated. He was a doctor and your lover, so again, you chugged the water without a second thought.

Sex with Zayne was reverent. He worshipped you with not only words, but the way he handled your body like the finest piece of art. His fingers parted the folds of your flower, middle digit rolling your clit against the pad of his finger.

“I wish to try something. Will you humor me?” He whispered against your collarbone. Experimenting in your sex-life was common so you nodded breathlessly. “I need a verbal respond, My Dear.”

“Y-yes-“

Zayne smirked and nipped at your neck. “Good girl.”

Two fingers slid into your aching hole. Zayne knew he had brought you to the cusp of his mission many times, but a mental hold stopped you from obtaining the orgasm he wanted to pull from your very essence.

Your moan slipped from your lips and your back bowed beautifully under him. But Zayne pressed the heel of his palm against your lower belly, effectively pinning you against the mattress. “Z-Zayne?”

He hushed you, nuzzling your abdomen. “Do you trust me?”

The phrase seemed crazy to you. Of course you trusted him. Every time he was wrist deep in your chest cavity, you trusted him. “Of course.”

“Then let me work.”

His thumb pressed firmly against your clit as he dragged his finger in a curved motion in and out of your gummy walls. That stubborn hand on your stomach stopped you from squirming around despite the growing pit in your stomach.

“Legs up, hold them for me.” His voice was cool and calculating. Your peeled open your eyes with a wild pant of confusion.

“W-“

“Are you going to argue with me? Or allow me to make you feel good?” His eyes narrowed behind the glasses slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose. You swallowed the lump in your throat and hooked your hands under your knees. “Good, further back.”

When you lifted your legs the pressure-

“I-I can’t-“

“You can, and you will.” The pressure in your abdomen intensified. His pace quickened, each adult pull out of his fingers sent a slick sound into the air. Zayne watched you with the corner of his mouth twisting up into a smile.

“Look at you, so pretty.” He praises, despite the lewd noises he’s making between your thighs. The heel of his palm plaps against your twitching clit. He’s gazing between your legs as if just examining another patient in need of his healing. “Pretty, Pretty Girl. You’re dripping down my wrist. Don’t hold back.”

Your head is thrown back into the pillows. The hold on your legs is slipping, a thin sheen of sweat on your thighs. “Zayne-feels like-“

Zayne chuckles and leans over your drilling cunt. A trickle of spit lands on your clit and your eyes go into the back of your skull.

“You won’t urinate. You can do it, let go for me.”

He presses down on your tummy as he hooks his fingers over and over against the spot that makes you see stars. “P-please I can’t-I don’t wanna-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” He reprimands you in a cold voice that sends a chill up your spine. “Bare down-there we go. Let it go Darling.”

And you do.

Oh you do.

The first gush is barely noticeable amoungst the wetness on his hand. But the second and third gush from you right as he pulls his fingers out, just to press them back into your sopping hole. The bedsheets are stained with wetness.

You’re crying, a different type of Waterworks.

Zayne gently eases his fingers from you, grabbing the nearby towel to clean his digits off as he kneels by your head. “Shh, I’m so proud of you. Doesn’t that feel better?”

You drop your trembling thighs, lower lip quaking as you try to breathe through your tears of pleasure.

“I-I made a mess…” you hiccup. Zayne nuzzles your cheek and pats your dripping folds.

“I know. Let’s make another one, hm?”

[sylvieisoffline]

SUCH A GOOD MEAL ACK—

Mountin’ Mutts

Synopsis: Canine Hybrid!Caleb gets too rambunctious when in Rut. So Feline!Reader buys him a contraption to keep him under control!

Warning: Omegaverse, Hybrids, Knotting, Drooling, Muzzles, Smut, Sort of Mean!Caleb but MC is into it.

You’d grounded your mate from touching you. You still bore scarred marks from the last time Caleb was in rut.

He has been pining all night but he kept himself from dry humping your lower back. When he noticed you moving away, he whined into your neck.

His hand was resting on your waist and you can sense the tremble on it as he tried to control himself. He was doing his best to control the beast inside him because he really doesn’t want to hurt his mate. But the way he is panted into your neck, you could feel his body heat seep into your bones.

“Please,” he begged.

“No, Cal. You know why. C’mon, I said you can hold me but no more.” You huffed and tried squirming away. The summer night was already hot enough and the AC wasn’t doing much for his own overheated flesh.

He lets out a low, frustrated whimper at your refusal. His hands tightened around you, refusing to let you go even just for a moment.

His chest rumbled against your back as he spoke, his voice a hoarse disappointment. “Just let me…” he started, but his words trailed off, leaving them hanging, unspoken, charged with unexpressed desire.

You can truly sense how much he yearns for physical intimacy with you, how it's almost a physical ache within him.

The next morning is even worse, you have to peel yourself from him to fix breakfast, your ears on constant rotation to catch the noise of when he woke up.

You stand in the midst of the kitchen, fixing a shit ton of protein for him. Your ears twitch at the sound of him pulling himself from the bed. He’s standing in the doorway nearly too big. All muscle, over 200 pounds of pure strength wrapped in untamed desires.

“G’mornin’…” you murmured over your shoulder.

Caleb says nothing, but you can feel the floor quake under each step.

He wraps his arms around you from behind; his body pressed against you, the heat of him against your back a heady reminder of his state.

He knows he shouldn't push, but the desire is too strong to resist. He whispers in your ear, his voice low, “Just let me...please, pretty kitty. I need you…”

You sigh, fully prepared to push him off. But his hips twitch against your lower back, straining length stretching the fabric and…wet? Why was it-?

Oh. My. God.

“Caleb Xia, did you just cum on my back?!”

Caleb is groaning, whining, and still humping your back as the cum seeps through his boxers. “I’ll be good-s’ good! Please please please-

“Off.” The command is sharp, your tail between you rigid. He whines like you just kicked him but peels himself away,

You banish him to his at-home gym, tell him to work out his frustrations while you finish breakfast and head to the store.

He sulks at first, not wanting to leave your side, but after a few more stern words and narrowed feline eyes, he begrudgingly makes his way to the gym.

He works out intensely, trying to burn off the frustrations he feels. As he trains, his body glistens with sweat, his muscles flexing, his rut making him stronger than usual, his testosterone overbearing at this point.

You on the other hand, visit the tiny corner shop you and Caleb have visited a few times. It caters to Hybrids like yourself, owned by a Hybrid couple FOR people just like you.

The Bear Hybrid, husband of the owner, with his imposing tall build and lopsided grin, greets you with a hearty laugh. "Ah, if it isn't my favorite cat! What brings you here today?" His eyes sparkle with warmth, and there's a subtle hint of admiration behind his words.

The corner shop is a familiar haven for Hybrids like you, and the bear's genuine welcome always puts you at ease.

You grumble and pull your shirt off your shoulder just a bit so you can show off the vicious bite marks Caleb left during his last Rut. “Caleb is…a lot more bitey during his Ruts. I’m just looking for something that can help him. Got anything that’ll stop him from treating me like a chew toy?”

The Bear Hybrid lets out a hearty laugh at the sight of Caleb's bite marks on you. "That boy of yours sure does have a strong bite! Well, I might just have something that can help. Hold on, let me check in the back."

He disappears into the back of the shop, rummaging through various potions and remedies. A moment later, he returns with a metal contraption, he lays it on the counter with a soft clink.

A muzzle.

“It’s designed to prevent unnecessary biting during…uh, certain activities,” the Bear Hybrid explains casually, as though he was discussing the weather or last night's game.

He pushes it towards you. “It’ll prevent him from hurting you during his rut, but still allow you both to be close. Just don’t tell him it was my idea.” he adds with a wink.

You nervously walk back to the apartment with the paper bag in hand. Caleb is absolutely going to hate this, but he might hate remaining untouched during his Rut even more.

You slowly push open the door to hear whines, groans and the smell of raw Alpha in the air.

As you step into the apartment, you’re immediately hit with the raw, untamed scent of his rut. It hangs heavy in the air, an undeniable presence. His groans echo in the stillness, a symphony of suppressed desire. The smell alone is enough to stir something within you, a primal urge you've been trying to push down.

You hear him before you see him. He's lying on the ground, his body glistening with sweat from his workout.

But in his hands, is your crumpled used underwear, his salvia and…other fluids clinging to it.

When he notices you, he looks up, his eyes dark. There's no denying the wild hunger in them, a direct result of his rut. He tosses the underwear aside, his voice hoarse. "You're back. Please, pretty girl..."

When you pull out the muzzle, Caleb looks betrayed in a way. His tail tucks between his legs but there is a firm look in your eyes. “It’s the only way Caleb. Please?”

Caleb’s lip pulls back in a snarl and for a second, you think he might deny it. But then he steps closer and dips his head. You quickly slide it over his mouth, the leather straps rattling as you secure it fully.

“Good boy, how does that feel?” You take a step back and he gives his head a few firm shakes.

“It’s fine…I guess.” He huffs, jerking his head around. His massive body is tense like a coiled trap. Your lips curl up and you hold his cheek between your hands, hushing his angered huffs.

“Shhh, you’re doing well. Now-“ You step forward so your fingers press against his raging boner tenting his shorts. You nearly have to catch him in your arms when his knees buckle. He tries to press his face into his favorite place, the crook of your neck, but the metal bars keep him from your flesh.

“Can’t fuckin’ taste you.” He whines through clenched teeth. You giggle, just a light noise to thread your fingers with him.

You guide him to the safety of the bedroom. His scent bounces off the walls now fully surrounding you. “Stay.” You order, pointing in-front of you to the corner of the room. Caleb feels like his entire body nearly vibrate as you began to strip off your clothing. Your furry tail sprung up as you slide down your panties and shorts.

“Kitty-“

“Hush, enjoy the show.”

You soon stand bare before him, allowing his eyes to trail over each scar from the bites his fangs have left. He whines, heart aching. Another time he would kiss every bite as apology. But right now-

He wanted to give you more.

You crawl into the plush bed, enveloped in both of your scents. Your knees hit the bed and you press your chest to the soft comforter. You reach back, fingers grasping your cheeks before pulling them apart, exposing your holes like you were offering yourself on a silver platter.

When you look over your shoulder, Caleb’s shorts and tank top were tossed aside like trash. He’s panting, tongue out and all, drool seeping through the metal bars.

“C’mere.”

The command is so sudden it startles Caleb. But luckily he’s quick on his feet.

He’s bounding towards you like his life depended on it. He drops to his knees first, as if he’s ready to worship the most precious deity.

Caleb presses the end of his muzzle up against your dripping folds. He growls when the metal prevents him from tasting your sweet nectar that dribbled mere inches away.

He lets out a frustrated growl, the muzzle digging into your sensitive flesh as he tries to push past it to reach your center. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he attempts to force his way in despite the barrier. "Nngh... Fuck this thing..."

You mewl and arch as the cool bars rub your most sensitive flesh. He knows theirs no use, but he’s too far gone now.

Drooling tongue gets so, so close to your aching folds but falls too short. That’s when you notice them.

The thick tears welled up in those pretty violet eyes. He’s so desperate. You’ve been edging him for the past two days, refusing to let him have you because of a few (in his opinion) stupid marks.

How else was he supposed to let the other males know you had a big, scary looking dog at home who stretched your pussy so good you saw stars?

He lets out a frustrated groan, his claws digging into the sheets as he fights the urge to rip the muzzle off. Instead, he starts rubbing his snout vigorously against your clit through the metal grille, trying to stimulate you indirectly. His tail thrashes angrily behind him. "Please…”

Your body acts accordingly, slick beginning to drip down your thighs in response. “G-good boy.”

The praise sends a shiver down his spine. He redoubles his efforts, the snout of the muzzle rubbing faster and harder against your clit. His own arousal is obvious, his cock throbbing and leaking against your thigh where it's trapped between your bodies. “M’ Good, s’ good for ya.”

He’s a mess, leaking down your leg, the end of the muzzle now covered in your slick and his saliva. You take a shuddering breath and reach back to grab his arm. “U-up! Mount!”

At your command, he immediately scrambles up to mount you. His large, muscular frame overshadows you as his wet cock slides across your sticky mound.

The muzzle makes his breathing heavy and loud, but he can't help the muffled whine that escapes him as he slowly pushes forward, his angry cockhead stretching you open inch by inch.

It never gets easier taking such a beefy part of the canine Hybrid. His chin rests on your shoulder as he bullies inch by inch inside, stretching out the gummy walls that try to suck him in forever.

His slick thighs try to find purchase against your body but it fails the first couple of times. He begins pleading with you to loosen up, begging you not to choke him out.

His pleas grow more desperate as he tries to thrust deeper but keeps slipping out because of your stubborn hold. His nails carefully scratch at your sides, trying to coax your muscles to relax. "Nngh! Please... Open more...I’ll be so good to ya…”

Slowly but surely your natural slick drips around his girth and he can finally bottom out. He swears he might cum, might blackout right then and there.

The cold of the metal makes tiny indentions on your shoulder as he begins a desperate pace. There isn’t really a rhyme or reason to his thrust, the initial few pumps have your head reeling.

“Feel so good kitty-mmn fuck, fuck you feel so gooood~!” He’s a man deprived now. He grabs your hips to lift you ever so gently off the bed before pounding your guts like they owe you money. Your claws tear at the sheets when you try to find something to keep you grounded.

Caleb’s head is thrown back, the muzzle doing its job. But it can’t stop the flinging drool that drips from his dirty mouth. Pieces of saliva collect on the space between your shoulder blades when he curls himself around your arch.

“Pussy feels so good! C-can’t believe you tried keepin’ her from me.” He’s snarls.

He can feel the base of his cock starting to swell. His jaw snaps inside of the muzzle that pressed right against your swollen heat gland. His instincts are bitter, wanting nothing more than to make you bleed for making him wait so long.

Your ears pivot at the sound of his snarl and he catches the sight in his peripheral. One clawed hand encircles your tail, giving a light pull that sends a hiss from your throat.

“Think you’re so much better than this big dumb dog? All high and mighty, not lettin’ me mark ya? Afraid I’ll scare away those prissy fuckin’ cat suitors I see watchin’ ya?”

“F-fuckin’ mutt! So big, n cock is so big! D-don’t even think about how much it hurts!” You hiss out, ears flattened despite your tail folded against your spine as your body takes him over and over, tears of pleasure and frustration spilling down your cheeks.

Caleb’s eyes roll back at the way your walls spasm around his throbbing cock. “Yeahhhh, yeah you love this mutt’s big cock. Want me to give you all the fucking pups huh? Say it.”

His hand grasps your jaw, angling your head back and- “Fuck! Fuck yeah, want your pups. Pleasepleaseple-“

Caleb’s jaws flex, his snarl overpowering your moans. You barely comprehend the sound of tearing leather before his teeth fasten around your shoulder. His knot pops in and he balances on his haunches as he pumps load after load.

“FUCK! Fuck Caleb, ow-“

He gives his head a warning whip, daring you to try to push him away. Your cries die down to whimpers as you come down from your own high, a frothy mix dribbling down your inner thighs.

Blood trickles down your shoulder and onto the once clean bedsheets. You know you should hiss, should scratch and claw at him. But when the remains of the broken muzzle falls beside you on the bed-

“Oh f-“

~

Caleb has you sprawled out on the bed like a used white. He hasn’t stopped apologizing while he’s cleaned the wounds he’s left and the cum leaking out of your well used entrance.

You don’t have the strength to fight him off when he decides his tongue is the best cleaning tool for your pussy.

“Mm sorry Kitty. I’ll take care of you.”

Caleb crawls next to you but not before grabbing the broken muzzle and tossing it across the room like an unloved toy. “But if you ever put a muzzle on me again, I’ll fuck you through the wall.”

Was that a threat? Or was he flirting?

Knowing Caleb? Probably both.

[sylvieisoffline]

THIS FUCKING TRANSITION GAVE ME CHILLS 😭

—can we also please talk about how good Xavier looks with his long hair? I'm so glad they're not half-assing the hair (even though we've seen how Raf's turned out good also) because I would've flipped the tables if they just attached some long strands to their og hairstyles like from Catch-22 🫠.

THIS ALSO CONFIRMS THAT THIS BATCH OF MYTHS WILL HAVE LONG HAIRED LIs + their MCs dying on them 🥹

Not a Xavier Main but I will pull for his myth because:

a) my greed knows no bounds and I love all of them equally and;

b) I want to at least get 1 card so I can read his myth on my own

MAY ALL XAVIER GIRLIES' ODDS BE EVER IN THEIR FAVOR ⚔️

[sylvieisoffline]

“It’s alright, sweetie” he said, voice low and steady, almost soothing. He looked into your eyes as if daring you to doubt him. “Whatever happens, I’ll take full responsibility.”

FIRST TIME I ENCOUNTERED A FIC THAT HAS THESE LINES WHERE THE LI IS BLATANTLY SAYING THEY'LL TAKE RESPONSIBILITY (bc they opt out of using protection) oh my god umi, your brain????

At Your Service Pt. 2

⟡ Word Count: 17.8k words

⟡ Tags: boss!Sylus x housekeeper!reader, fem reader, corruption kink, possessiveness, dubcon, mentions of baby trapping, breeding, unprotected sex, fingering, bullying, teasing, nicknames like kitten, sweetie, good girl

⟡ Summary: You return to work for Sylus, tension simmering beneath the surface after that night. Determined to save enough to finally escape your shitty apartment, you try to lay low and keep your distance. But it’s clear Sylus has no intention of letting you slip away from him that easily…

"No...I honestly just want a fresh start. Somewhere that I’m not dragged down by my past. Somewhere I can breathe. I just want to save enough to get a car and never come back." Sylus’s breath caught, just for a second. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't. The very thought of you leaving clawed at something deep and primal inside him, burrowing into a place so dark and unrelenting that it almost scared him. He’d do everything in his power to keep you here. Anything. Buy you an entire mansion just a few blocks from his penthouse. One with many, many rooms. He could stock it with everything you liked. Make sure you never had to lift a finger again. Shower you with more money than you could spend in a lifetime. Change your world completely. Strip away every obstacle, every excuse, until there was simply no reason left for you to leave. Until staying was the only option that made sense. He could also... His gaze drifted downward, settling on your belly. The thought came out of nowhere, reckless and wild, but it rooted itself in his mind like a seed cracking through dry soil.

twt/x | ao3

Read Part 1 here!

⟡ AN: I can't believe a dream I had is this popular with you guys!! Thank you so much for the support and this time Im kissing the brick before I throw it xDD. If you did not make it onto the taglist its because I could not find an age in your bio. Pt.3 is going to be the final part so if you wanna be tagged for that one be sure to add ur age to ur bio and fill out my form!

Enjoy my lovelies!! (づ> v <)づ♡

@leiaglamela @shia247 @hyphensei @hummingbirdoooo @beaconsxd @zoezhive @syluslover1 @mmeerraa @webmvie @calebsbabyapple @mysterios-hoe @ymrai @sinstae @sylvieisoffline @blcknebula @wooasecret @chososlvrr @deathlycrow @joshazraelian @mcdepressed290 @sylusqt @harbingers-lullaby @dummiebunny @rachelaishi @dilf-destroyer-04 @rjreins @thelittlebutton @rie-star @blcknebula @zoezhive @theplaid-wearingmoose @chaotictsumu @ni3rdem1se @certainduckanchor @suicidollz @shi-thats-kiera @marliisastarfrfr @ikesimpleton @chososlvrr @seventeen-x @maiznamai @sabage101 @xanhnax @uchihabucketlist @rubylescent @joshazraelian @teary-eyed-egg @writteninlunarlight-years @sylusgirlie7

You’re jolted awake by a sharp pounding at the door.

Your heart rockets into your throat as you jolt upright, sweat dampening the back of your neck. The air in your apartment feels too thin, like you woke up underwater. The pounding comes again, harder this time.

You throw the blanket off, legs tangling as you stumble to your feet. The apartment is steeped in shadows, lit only by the flickering orange hue of a broken streetlight bleeding in through the blinds. You squint at the red digital numbers glowing on your nightstand.

9:02 PM. Too late for anything good.

You hesitate at the door, instincts screaming. Slowly, you inch toward the peephole.

Robert? Your landlord?

Even distorted through the fish-eye lens, his face is unmistakable. Pale, puffy, jowls hanging like melted wax. His greasy comb-over clings to his scalp like seaweed after a storm. He’s too close to the door, breathing heavily. Your skin prickles.

You exhale sharply and unlock the bolt, cracking the door an inch. "Hey, Robert…it’s kinda late. What’s going on?"

He flashes that familiar grin, wide and crooked. Teeth too white for a man who smells like sour sweat and mildew. His eyes are predatory, scanning you, then trying to peer past you into the dim apartment.

"Just checking in on my favorite tenant," he says, voice syrupy and smug. He leans ever so slightly to the side, neck craning like he might spot something worth noting inside.

You shift, planting yourself squarely in the doorway to block his view. His grin falters, his lips twitching with barely restrained annoyance.

"And?" Your tone is soft, clipped. You keep your expression neutral, even as every nerve screams.

He cracks his knuckles slowly, theatrically. One finger at a time. "Noticed you paid your rent on time for once. That’s…new. You working again?"

Your gut twists. This isn’t a courtesy call. He smells something has changed with you financially and he wants in.

You summon a tight smile, masking the tension in your jaw. You can’t let him know. Can’t let him sense what’s shifted beneath your feet.

"Something like that," you reply.

But your thoughts betray you.

Sylus.

His name slips through your head like smoke. His voice, low and lethal, curling in your memory. The press of his palm on your leg. The weight of his eyes. The sound of hushed panting and moaning.

You feel the pull of that world, even here. Especially here. The divide between who you were and who you’ve become is thinning.

"Just a taste."

And now you're tasting the consequences...

Robert’s gaze crawls over your face, your posture, your silence. His stare settles like oil on your skin. You fight the urge to shrink back.

You tighten your grip on the door’s edge. Suddenly, it feels too thin. The lock too fragile. The apartment behind you too exposed.

He doesn’t look away. "Well, that’s good," he says eventually, his voice coated in something too slick to be kindness. "Glad to see you’re finally getting your life together."

Every word drips condescension. He’s testing boundaries. Measuring you.

"Thanks," you say flatly. "Was there anything else, Robert?"

His smile slinks back, oily and smug. "Nah. Just being neighborly. Sleep tight."

He turns with a casual saunter, the kind that screams entitlement. Like this building (and everyone in it) belongs to him. You watch until he disappears around the corner, then shut the door and throw the lock with a loud click. You hold it there, fingers clenched around the knob.

The silence that follows is heavier than before.

The apartment feels colder. Like something had entered just by knocking.

You slide your back against the door and sink to the floor. Your heart still hasn’t slowed.

You just needed to hold out a little longer.

Several more months and you could finally claw your way out of this godforsaken place. The weight that had pressed on your chest for years, the debt that had dragged behind you like chains through mud, was finally gone. You’d wiped it out faster than you ever imagined possible. It almost didn’t feel real. Now, each day brought you closer to something you hadn’t dared to want before: choice. Escape. Your own car. Your own space.

Freedom was starting to feel tangible. You could already picture it. The hum of the engine under your hands, the wind roaring in your ears, the city blurring in the rearview mirror until it was just lights and ghosts behind you.

But you weren’t there yet.

The penthouse still loomed, pristine and cavernous, its silence thick with unspoken things. You walked its halls like a shadow, no longer a person but a role: the help. A pair of hands. A closed mouth.

Your throat tightened every time you heard footsteps echo behind you, every time you thought you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

Sylus.

You’d been avoiding him. You dodged his presence with the precision of someone threading a minefield. Kept your head down, eyes averted. Only spoke when directly addressed, and even then, your answers were clipped and careful. You moved through the penthouse with mechanical efficiency, making no noise, leaving no trace. Cleaning everything twice, sometimes three times, just to keep your hands busy.

And he hadn’t called you out. Hadn’t stopped you. But he noticed. You knew he did.

You could feel it when he watched you.

Not overtly. But every once in a while, you’d glance up and find his eyes already on you—sharp, inscrutable. Watching like he was trying to read something you didn’t know you were showing. He never said anything in those moments.

And then, like mist pulling back into the shadows, he’d vanish into his office, or behind one of the penthouses endless doors. It was like he evaporated into the building itself, leaving you shaken without knowing exactly why.

Neither of you had said a single word about that night. Not once. The silence had become its own language—a heavy, persistent presence that followed you through the halls, coiling tighter with every passing day. It hovered in the spaces between eye contact, in the abrupt way conversations ended, in the way your skin prickled when he walked past without a sound.

It hurt.

It sat between you like an exposed nerve, raw and throbbing, impossible to ignore but too dangerous to touch. Because what could you possibly say? What words existed for something that never should’ve happened, yet keeps replaying behind your eyes like a fever dream?

Thanks for the best orgasm of my life? As if it hadn’t cracked something wide open inside you. As if it hadn’t scattered what little sense of emotional distance you’d ever managed to maintain.

Why did you kiss me like you meant it? And then ignore me like it was nothing? As if that wasn’t the most dangerous question of all.

You told yourself it was better this way. Simpler. That pretending it never happened was the safest choice. He had used you. Plain and simple. The faster you got your work done, the sooner you could leave work. The sooner your heart would stop clenching when he walked into your view. It didn't matter why he ignored you, you tried to tell yourself. You got the money. He got what he wanted.

It had been almost a month since then. But your hands still trembled sometimes when you scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen.

And your dreams were full of things you couldn’t name.

But it didn't matter.

You were just his housekeeper after all.

Annoyed that you’d missed your last precious thirty minutes of sleep, you lay in bed, the weight of exhaustion still dragging at your limbs. The cheap ceiling fan clicked softly above you, spinning in lazy circles, offering no comfort.

With a sigh, you reached for the sleek phone on your nightstand, the one Sylus had bought you. The screen glowed to life, flooding your tired eyes with blue light. You tapped through a few notifications out of habit, thumb idly scrolling through the interface.

You still didn’t have Wi-Fi. Not that it mattered. When you tried to register for a plan, you learned that the phone’s data was already covered. Sylus was paying for it. Just one of the many many things still tying you to him in a way.

You remembered standing in the corner of the shop, phone pressed to your ear, frozen as the employee explained it to you like it was no big deal. But it was. It was huge.

Eventually, you’d managed to thank him.

He hadn’t said much. Just raised an eyebrow, then nodded once. “You’re welcome,” he’d said, like he’d held the door for you instead of dropping another tether around your ankle.

You still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him why he’d done it. Why he kept giving you things. Why he made you feel indebted in ways you couldn’t name.

But maybe it was safer not to ask. Safer to just accept the strange blessings as they came and not look too closely at the possible strings attached.

You scrolled through Moments forums, skimming posts you barely absorbed, trying to keep your thoughts from circling back to him. Trying to stay numb. Just until it was time.

Then your alarm buzzed quietly.

Work.

The word hit you like a stone dropping in your stomach. Your thumb paused mid-scroll. The moment stretched thin, heavy with the realization.

It was time to go back to the penthouse.

Back to him.

You dressed quickly, moving on autopilot, your limbs still heavy with sleep and your thoughts fuzzy from being ripped out of rest. You had the routine down to muscle memory now—shirt, pants, tie your hair back, brush your teeth—but this night felt especially brittle, like your nerves were strung too tight beneath your skin.

Something was off.

You paused in the middle of the room, disoriented for a second. Then it hit you.

Where the hell was your other shoe?

You spun in a frantic circle, eyes scanning the cluttered apartment. It wasn’t by the front door where you usually kicked them off. Not by the dresser. Not under the rickety table with the chipped coffee mug still sitting from two days ago.

Your pulse picked up. Every wasted second screamed louder in your skull. You look everywhere, it could possibly be. Nightstand, closet, even behind the fridge at one point.

You finally dropped to your knees and flung the edge of your blanket aside, peering under the bed. There it was. Wedged against the wall, half-hidden in shadows like it had intentionally rolled out of reach just to spite you.

You cursed, grabbing for it, fingers scraping against dust bunnies and god knows what else. Finally, you snatched it out and yanked it on with shaking hands, nearly falling over in the process.

You were late.

Not just late, dangerously late.

You should’ve left ages ago. You should’ve been halfway to the penthouse already. The realization hit you like a wave of nausea. Your stomach turned over itself as you threw your bag over your shoulder and bolted for the door, slamming it behind you without even checking to make sure it locked. Who cared? You didn’t own anything worth stealing.

The street felt longer than usual as you sprinted down it, shoes slapping the ground in a clumsy rhythm. Outside, the street buzzed with low evening noise—cars honking, someone yelling from an alley, the faint buzz of signage flickering overhead. Your breath came in short bursts as you took off toward work, legs aching from the pace.

Halfway there, your phone pinged.

A single chime made you freeze mid-step. Nobody ever texted you. Nobody. Your fingers trembled as you fumbled the phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up your face with a cold glow in the dimness of the street.

Sylus: "Are you feeling unwell today? You’re late."

Your breath caught instantly. Your pulse went sharp and tight in your throat, like something invisible had gripped it. The world seemed to narrow down to just that glowing text.

Your stomach bottomed out. Cold dread settled in your chest, rooting there. You hadn’t even made it to the building yet and he’d already clocked your absence.

You stared at the screen like it might erase itself if you waited long enough. But it didn’t. It just sat there, pulsing silently.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Despite everything—the tension, the confusion, the mess of emotions you hadn’t dared name, he was still your boss. That fact never changed. You still worked for him. You were still expected to show up on time.

You inwardly cursed at yourself. Amazing. You picked a great day to get fired. You hurriedly texted back, fingers aching from the cold.

"I'll be there soon!"

The first time you both had ever exchanged even a single text, and it was because you were late.

Your heart pounded as you finally reached the building, lungs burning, legs shaking from the full sprint. You stumbled inside, barely managing not to trip over the threshold. The cool air in the lobby did little to soothe your anxiety. You made a beeline for the elevator, jabbing the call button with shaky fingers.

It felt like hours before the doors finally opened with a sluggish ding. You stepped inside and leaned back against the mirrored wall, catching your reflection in a quick, accidental glance—messy hair, eyes wide and frantic, collar askew, the faint outline of pillow creases still etched into your cheek. You looked exactly how you felt: unprepared and unraveling.

As the elevator ascended, your mind spiraled.

A million excuses ricocheted around in your skull, none of them sounding remotely believable. Would he even ask? Even care? You were probably just going to get fired on the spot if anything...

The elevator doors opened with a soft hiss and you darted out the second there was space. You barely took in the gleaming floors, the sharp scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air, or the perfect placement of furniture that never looked lived-in.

"Sylus! I’m here—ow!"

You slammed directly into something—or rather, someone. Solid. Warm. And unmistakably bare.

You stumbled back with a startled gasp, breath knocked from your lungs. You barely processed what had happened before a strong hand gripped your arm, halting your fall just in time. His grip was firm, fingers wrapping around your forearm like a cuff.

You froze, the world shrinking to the point of contact.

Slowly, like watching the sun crest over a horizon you didn't want to see, your gaze lifted.

Sylus stood in front of you, drenched in quiet power and still glistening from the shower. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, curling slightly at his temples. Droplets traced down his temples, along the sharp line of his jaw, before cascading down his bare chest in slow, deliberate drops. His skin was slightly flushed from the heat, muscles taut and glistening under the soft lighting.

A white towel hung low around his hips, clinging to him in a way that felt both intimate and reckless. One corner had begun to slip, revealing the deep indent of his hip bone, dangerously close to revealing more than you should see. The sight struck you like a slap.

Your breath hitched. A jolt of heat raced up your spine. Your heart, already overworked, began to race faster, pounding against your ribcage like it was trying to escape. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if the darkness would shield you from how exposed you felt.

"I-" you whispered, voice cracking at the edges. "I didn’t mean to—"

“Don’t. It’s alright,” Sylus sighed, cutting you off before you could stammer out a single excuse. He let go of your forearm, fingers unclenching with a deliberate slowness, and your hand moved on instinct, rubbing the spot where his touch lingered like a phantom. A flicker of warmth still radiated from your skin, chased quickly by the burn of embarrassment crawling up your neck and flooding your face.

Of all moments, why now? Why did he have to be half-naked right now? After weeks of getting used to him not touching or talking much to you, this was really making your head spin.

You really tried not to look. You focused on the wall behind him, the pattern of the tiles, anything but him. But it was too late. The image had already seared itself into your brain: beads of water sliding down his chest, tracing each defined line of muscle; his abs sharp under the overhead light; that towel, loose and far too low on his hips, somehow holding on by sheer, stubborn gravity. The sight flared in your memory like a brand, and you had to close your eyes for a second just to will the heat in your cheeks to fade.

“I lost track of time trying to find my shoe,” you said quickly. Your voice came out thinner than you intended, higher too. You cringed inwardly. “It won’t happen again.”

A beat of silence followed. It stretched across the space between you like a live wire. Your nerves went tight, your chest tight. You stared at the floor, silently begging the moment to pass, praying he’d say nothing more, that he’d just let you go and do your work like he always did.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, you felt his fingers, warm and steady, slide under your chin. The contact was unexpected, and it tilted your head up before you could think to resist. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he said. His voice was firm and deep, steady in a way that made you freeze. It carried the same quiet authority he always had.

Your eyes met his, and the air shifted, thickened. A pulse of tension beat between you, sharp and immediate. Something in your chest flipped hard, like a coin mid-toss, suspended in the air with no promise of how it would land. His red eyes didn’t just burn—they searched, pinned, unrelenting.

They seemed to see straight through you, past every shield you thought you had, digging into the parts you kept hidden even from yourself. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t move. It was like standing on the edge of something dangerous, and wanting to fall anyway.

It was almost the same way he looked at you that night.

"Much better," he said, giving a nod. There was a glint in his eyes, not quite amusement, but something close to it. "Besides, this isn't the first time you've seen me without a shirt. Why act this way now?"

Your throat tightened. You struggled to keep eye contact, it was like staring into the sun. You looked away, eyes flicking to the floor, then inadvertently back to the towel at his waist, and then back to him.

The damp fabric clung stubbornly to his hips, the water still glistening across his skin. It only made things worse. Every attempt to find neutral ground in your gaze failed. Your thoughts, once neatly compartmentalized, were now a scattered mess.

You searched for something to say, anything, but your mind was a blank slate. Words danced on the edge of your tongue and evaporated before they reached your lips.

You just wanted to get to work. Keep things simple. Stick to your job. That had been your rule from day one anyways. And yet here you were, cornered by the same intensity you’d spent so long trying to avoid.

"I...don't know," you murmured finally. The words felt hollow, but they were all you had. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. How could you admit to the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you like that?

The tension was sharp, almost visible. It hung in the space like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. You wondered if he felt it too, or if you were just imagining it, drowning in your own nerves and spiraling assumptions.

He was always hard to read, but in this moment, he was completely opaque.

He exhaled, long and slow, a sound that felt heavier than it should have. Not annoyed or angry. Just...something else. Like he had expected something more from you and was quietly disappointed.

Or were you imagining that too?

"I need you to dust the shelves in my office at some point, today" he said, tone shifting with mechanical precision. The emotion was gone from his voice, replaced with professional indifference.

"Glad you're feeling alright."

Detached. Business as usual. As if the last few moments hadn’t just happened.

He was already turning away, his back to you before you could think of a response. His steps were measured, echoing faintly against the hallway tiles.

"Office...?" you said, confused. The words slipped out, weak and uncertain, but you couldn’t stop them.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t turn around to address you. Just kept walking. The muscles in his shoulders stayed tense as he disappeared around the corner, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, holding the awkward silence he'd left behind.

You stood there for a moment longer, blinking as if that might help make sense of what just happened. Your thoughts swirled in a slow cyclone—disbelief, irritation, guilt. Was he in a bad mood? Had you missed something?

You hadn’t done anything wrong...or at least, you didn’t think you had. But with him, things were never clear. He wasn’t the kind to explain himself. You had to piece it together from fragments...his tone, his posture, the way he avoided or maintained eye contact.

And right now, you were working with very little.

Still, no use thinking about it now. You had work to do. He wanted you to do his office later? He'd given strict instructions before not to even look in the direction of the door. What was the sudden change?

You took a breath, squared your shoulders, and turned away from the hallway. The faint scent of clean linens lingered in the air, grounding you. No point in dwelling.

Just keep your head down. Do what he says. Get through the night and let the distance grow between you both once more.

Sylus had tried. Really, genuinely tried to give you your space.

That night after everything happened, he’d woken up with the weight of regret pressing heavy on his chest like a cinderblock. It wasn’t just guilt, but a twisting ache in his gut that told him he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He knew he had overstepped that night. Knew that his own hunger, his own selfish, overwhelming need had gotten the better of him. He hadn’t meant to blur the line between you. But in the moment, it had felt so natural. So easy. Like gravity itself had pulled you both together, and there was no use fighting it.

He had just needed to taste you, desperate for the memory of your skin against his tongue, the way your breath hitched when he found that spot that made you tremble. To feel you, every curve and tremor under his hands, to bury himself in your warmth until he forgot the rest of the world. And to hear you—God, the sounds you made, raw and unguarded, still echoed in his ears like a song he couldn’t stop replaying. It hadn’t just been lust. It had been craving in its purest form, need sharpened by weeks of restraint, of stolen glances and silent questions.

But the fallout had been nothing like he’d imagined.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t confront him. You just shut down. Shut him out, one careful wall at a time, until the warmth in your eyes had been replaced with something colder than anger. Indifference. Silence.

That cut deeper than any accusation.

He wasn’t clueless. He knew exactly what it must have looked like when you saw him with that other woman. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Less than twenty-four hours after he'd had his head between your thighs, he’d been spotted in the company of someone else. Laughing. Touching. It was reckless. It was cruel. And it made it seem like you meant nothing. Like it had just been physical for him.

But that wasn’t true. Not even close.

The truth was, that woman hadn’t been a choice made from desire. It had been strategic.

Her name was Lira. The daughter of Adan Marrin, once one of Sylus’s most valuable and elusive informants. Adan had held intel that could tip the balance in an ongoing hunt for a high-priority target: the location of a lost protocore, buried knowledge tied to dormant tech from the time the N109 Zone was a thriving tech hub. They’d had a deal. Adan would hand over the location in exchange for an undiscussed amount of money. But something had shifted. Cold feet, maybe. Or a better offer. Either way, the man had vanished. No trace, no message.

Sylus didn’t have time for ghosts.

So he’d sent Luke and Kieran to dig. Find a thread, any thread, and pull it. What they uncovered was gold. Adan had a daughter. Lira. Young, educated, social. And now, suddenly, appearing in elite circles, her face popping up in event photos, her name whispering through the right channels. It was too perfect.

Getting close to her wasn’t about desire. It was leverage. Sylus knew without question that Lira likely knew where her father was hiding. She had to. Adan wasn’t the kind of man to disappear without a failsafe, and family was always his weakness. If she knew anything about the location of the protocore or her father then time was running out. He had no doubt Adan had gotten cold feet, pulled back from the deal, and gone dark to protect whatever he’d found. But his daughter was his tether. His vulnerability. And Sylus was counting on that. If Adan was watching, he’d see exactly what Sylus was doing. He’d feel the message beneath every touch, every word. Come out, or watch what happens to the only person you still care about.

It was never supposed to mean anything beyond that.

He told himself it was just part of the job. That seducing her, earning her trust, manipulating her for information, was justified. And maybe it would’ve been, if it hadn’t collided headfirst with what happened between the two of you. If it hadn’t made him feel like a bastard when your eyes turned to glass the moment you saw them together.

You hadn’t known the context. Why would you? All you saw was him, lips close to another woman’s ear, hand resting on her thigh, laughing like nothing had changed. Like you had never happened. Like you didn’t still haunt every corner of his mind. And its not like he could tell you. Getting you directly involved with his life would put you at risk. He had to act cold to you in that moment not only for your own good, but for the sake of the operation he was doing.

When you stopped looking at him with that cautious but hopeful spark—when the nervous flicker in your lashes when he stepped close disappeared, when that tiny, bashful smile you used to give him faded—he realized just how much it cost him to play the part. You used to seem almost happy to see him, like each interaction was an unexpected gift.

Even in your shyness, there had been warmth. A subtle shift in your shoulders, the way you’d tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and pretend not to glance his way. It wasn’t much, but he noticed. And now, stripped of even that fragile softness, all he saw in your eyes was distance. That absence hit harder than any slap.

Now? All he got was clipped replies. Job-related updates. Your voice had turned flat, like you were reciting lines from a script. The way you moved through the halls, the way you avoided looking at him too long.

And that was what killed him most.

At first, he’d wondered if he had scared you. If maybe the intensity of that night had been too much, too fast. But you weren’t acting scared. You were more mechanical. Depressed. Like a machine set to autopilot.

It drove him insane. He’d tried to respect your distance. Tried to leave you alone. But the silence was unbearable, and your indifference gnawed at him.

So today, he broke the pattern.

He let the water run longer than it needed to, steam billowing around him as he leaned against the cool tile, trying to collect himself. He could’ve gotten dressed. Could’ve pretended like he didn’t care. But he did. He cared too much.

So he timed it. You had been a bit late today. So much so he felt the need to text you to see if you were still coming to work. He'd actually felt relieved when he received your frantic reply.

If you hadn't answered, he would've sent Mephisto directly to your door.

He finally heard your footsteps down the hallway, rushed and hurried, and stepped out just in time. Towel low on his hips. Droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

He wasn’t trying to seduce you. Not exactly. But he wanted a reaction. Anything to prove that you weren’t as numb to him as you pretended to be.

Because the truth was, he missed you.

Not just the closeness or the heat of your body, but you. That sweet little huff you'd do when flustered, or the way your mouth twitched when trying to suppress a laugh from a joke Luke or Kieran told. Your gaze always lingered a little too long, and then darted away like you’d been caught. He noticed every detail, every little expression you tried to hide.

When he saw your eyes flick to his chest, then lower, then away again. When he caught the flush creeping up your neck, the way you fought to keep your composure, he felt a flicker of relief.

You were so damn cute when flustered, it undid him. That soft heat in your cheeks, the way your eyes flicked away like you didn’t know what to do with the tension humming between you. It made his blood stir, made restraint feel like a punishment.

So when you looked away from him, it wasn’t acceptable. He'd gone too long without gazing into your eyes. He needed to see you—really see you. To meet your eyes again, to catch that vulnerable flicker in them that always made him feel something dangerously close to human.

He’d tilted your chin up, and there it was—God, that nervous, wide-eyed stare. It hit him like a drug. The way you blinked, lips parted like you might say something, or breathe too fast. He’d missed that.

In that moment, he wanted you more than he wanted clarity or control. He wanted to pull you in, crush your body to his, kiss you until you forgot how to stand. He wanted to carry you to his room, lay you out on his bed and rip off those clothes he'd bought you. To taste you again. Sink every inch of himself into your tight cunt, hear your voice unravel beneath him as he caged you with each and every thrust.

He imagined your hands clinging to his shoulders, your breath catching against his neck. Maybe you’d let out a few cute whines, maybe push him away a little. But you wouldn't be able to stop him. No, you'd just have to melt into it, accept everything he did to you.

Let him make you his.

And God help him, if you asked him to stop…he wasn’t sure he could.

He loosened his grip, dropped his gaze, and slipped back into indifference like a well-worn coat. Pretended you didn’t shake something in him just by standing there, looking the way you did—soft, flustered, unreachable.

But he still wanted you close.

The distance between you had become unbearable. The silence, the careful avoidance, the way you moved through the space like you weren’t really there, it was maddening. He needed something to pull you back in. A reason.

So he gave you one.

His office. Normally off-limits. No one entered that space unless allowed. It was his sanctuary, his command center. But today, he told you to clean it. No explanation. Just a command delivered with casual finality.

Because he wanted you there. Enclosed. Alone. With him.

He wanted to feel your presence again, to see how you fidgeted when he got too close, how your hands nervously adjusted the hem of your shirt when you felt his eyes on you. He wanted you where he could watch you until maybe, just maybe, that guarded wall in your gaze cracked again.

He wanted the charged air, the tension that buzzed like a wire between you. He wanted to strip away the calm and make you look at him again like you used to, even if it meant forcing the moment.

And you couldn’t say no.

Well…you could. You always could. But he knew you wouldn’t. He didn’t question the quiet control he held. He knew the way his words carried weight with you, how his presence shifted the air in a room. And he liked it, liked that it drew you near, even when you tried to pull away. You always came when he called. You always listened, even if you didn’t speak. There was power in that closeness, in the space you shared, and he welcomed it more than he’d admit aloud.

Because you were still under his roof. Still technically his employee.

Sylus’s phone buzzed on the table, slicing through the quiet like a blade.

He sighed before he even looked, tension already pinched between his brows. He didn’t need to check, he already knew. And sure enough, there she was. Lira. Her contact photo flashed up on the screen: a polished, over-filtered selfie with that same smug little pout she always wore like a mask. Posing as if the world existed to orbit her. His jaw clenched.

Still, he answered.

“Yes?” he said, masking the annoyance in his voice with a lacquered coat of charm. Casual. Affectionate. 

“Hi Sylusss” she cooed through the speaker, dragging his name out like she wanted it to drip honey into his ear. He could almost hear the practiced flutter of her lashes, could imagine the slow twirl of her finger through her hair. “One of your men won’t let me in the elevator…could you take care of that for me, please?”

He grit his teeth, slow and tight, molars grinding behind a smile that never reached his eyes.

“Of course, honey,” he said smoothly, injecting a false note of warmth into the words. The word honey burned on his tongue. “One moment.”

The moment he hung up, his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes narrowed, and his hand flew to the intercom with practiced force. He buzzed down to the first floor, each movement sharp and clipped, his tone now cold as steel.

“If she’s not upstairs in sixty seconds, I’m coming down there myself. And if I have to get involved, you’re not going to like how that ends.”

There was a pause, followed by a cascade of panicked affirmatives—scrambling voices, clattering static—but Sylus had already cut the line. He didn’t wait for a reply. He didn’t need one.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back as he leaned into the quiet again, though the calm didn’t return with it. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table as he stared ahead, calculating. Annoyance simmered beneath the surface of his skin, but it wasn’t just about Lira. It was everything. The delicate house of cards he was holding up was starting to shift, and the last thing he needed was her sauntering in like she owned the place.

And yet, that was exactly what she did.

He watched from his office, eyes locked on the security monitors as Lira stepped into the elevator. She was dressed to be noticed—tight skirt, designer heels, and a blouse that shimmered ever so slightly under the lighting.

Sylus didn’t blink. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting under his chin as the other tapped idly at the desk. He watched her movements with the same kind of detachment he used during an interrogation—every flick of her hair, every glance in the elevator mirror, all part of her performance.

On the other camera, you were busy fluffing and straightening the couch pillows, absorbed in the quiet rhythm of your task. You moved with care, lining them up perfectly, checking angles as if order could offer protection. Then the elevator dinged.

The sound broke the silence like a slap. You flinched, not visibly to most, but Sylus caught it. The slight stiffening of your shoulders, the pause in your hands. He narrowed his eyes.

"Oh...hello," you said softly, almost automatically. You didn’t look at her. You kept your focus on your hands, on the fabric beneath your fingers. But your voice carried tension. Thin and tight.

Lira smirked. A curl of satisfaction crept across her lips as she assessed you from head to toe. She didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch. Then, with surgical precision, she turned, brushed past the side table, and "accidentally" knocked over a vase.

It wobbled. Teetered. Crashed.

The sound echoed across the room. Ceramic shards fanned out across the floor.

Sylus exhaled slowly through his nose. He scoffed. The act was so forced it was practically comedy. What was she messing with you for? Did she see all women as innate competition, or did she just enjoy picking on the quiet ones, the ones too meek to push back? 

"Ah! I'm so sorry, dear," Lira chirped with practiced sweetness. Her voice hit a higher pitch, like she was speaking to a child. "Could you get that for me? Thanks!"

And then she walked away, like nothing had happened. Like you were meant to clean up after her by design.

You hesitated. Your hands hovered midair before dropping to your sides. You looked down at the broken vase, then turned your body, shoulders curling inward just slightly. A gesture of resignation. Of defeat.

Sylus saw your face shift—just enough to gut him. The way your lips pressed tight, the effort it took to hold back whatever was rising up inside. His fingers curled into a fist on his desk.

You didn’t deserve that. You weren’t built for games like this. And Lira knew it. He wanted to get up, to shut down all the bullshit. Put a bullet in Lira's head and be done with it. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

Just a little while longer. Just until she gave him what he needed.

Because Lira held a thread that could lead to everything, the location of the protocore, her father’s whereabouts, the buried intel that could turn the tide. If he moved too soon, she’d vanish. And so would the leverage.

As much as he wanted to protect you, to step in and make it stop, he couldn’t. Not without risking everything. If he compromised now, if he showed his hand too early, the entire operation could crumble. And the last thread of control he had over the situation would snap.

The door to his office burst open without warning.

"Sylus!! It’s been ages! Thanks for inviting me over, I’ve missed you," Lira sang, sweeping into the room like she owned it. She didn’t knock, of course. She never did. Her heels struck the marble with theatrical rhythm, her arms outstretched like the star of a show returning to the stage. She moved with practiced confidence, every exaggerated word, every unnecessary sway of her hips, designed to demand attention. Before he could utter a word, she dropped herself into his lap, legs folding delicately, her arm slinking around his shoulders like she belonged there.

Inwardly, Sylus recoiled. The contact made his skin crawl, but he kept his expression perfectly composed. Blank, smooth, unreadable.

He was a good actor. 

He offered her a smile—refined and charming—then lifted her manicured hand to his lips with just the right amount of flair.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all," he said, his tone cool and effortless. A lie wrapped in silk.

She giggled, shrill and artificial, the sound grating in his ears. Then, with the air of someone pulling a rabbit from a hat, she reached into her bra and drew out a cigarette. Her smile widened, daring, suggestive.

"Got a lighter? I dropped mine," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sylus didn’t hesitate. He opened the drawer in his desk and retrieved a sleek silver lighter. He flicked it open with a practiced gesture and held it out. Lira leaned in close, her perfume blooming around him—sweet and suffocating. The cigarette caught flame, and she inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed like she was savoring something far more intimate.

She exhaled slowly, deliberately, her lips forming a perfect circle as she blew the smoke upward. Then she turned to him, cocking her head with mock curiosity.

"That housekeeper out there is kinda cute, don't you think?"

Sylus’s smile tightened. He arched a brow. "Cute?"

Was this some kind of test? A jab? A trap?

Lira smirked, her voice curling with amusement. "Yeah. But in like...a kicked puppy kind of way. It kinda pisses me off."

Her tone was light, dismissive, but there was venom in it. Sylus recognized it immediately, the cruelty masked in humor, the subtle twist of power games she liked to play when she sensed a potential threat. She knew how to weaponize insecurity. And she enjoyed it.

His fingers flexed around the lighter. He said nothing.

But inside, his thoughts were anything but still.

He thought of you—how you startled slightly at the sound of the elevator earlier. How you had shrunk under Lira’s gaze. The way your eyes had dropped to the floor, your posture stiffening like you were bracing for something. That flicker of pain on your face when Lira had made you clean up the vase she'd so obviously knocked over.

And now this.

Admittedly she was right in some way. You did have that sorrowful look to you. But it only made you more endearing to him. Some people were just born weaker than others. At least in the ways the world chose to measure strength. That was reality. Not everyone had sharp elbows or loud voices. Some people simply endured. Survived. Carried their weight differently. But that wasn't a flaw for you. It drew him to you. You were strong in your own ways for enduring so much for so long.

He grit his teeth.

The only thing he hated more than kicking down the weak? People who actually did it. Enjoyed doing it. Who took pleasure in tearing down the already trembling.

He changed the subject, steering the conversation away from the direction she was clearly trying to take it.

"Have you heard from your father at all, Lira?" he asked smoothly, eyes watching her every move as she ground out the cigarette in a nearby crystal ashtray.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, her fingers brushing imaginary ash from her lap. "Yes and no," she said after a moment. "He sent me a package earlier this week. It’s been so hard without him." Her voice softened, face shifting just enough to appear genuinely pained. For a second, she almost looked like a daughter longing for connection.

Almost.

Sylus matched her expression with ease. He lowered his voice, injected it with practiced sympathy, even let his gaze drift away like the weight of the moment meant something to him.

"I know it can’t be easy. But at least he's shown he's still thinking of you."

The words sounded sincere, and maybe in a way they were. But only in the abstract. Sylus had no intention of getting pulled into her dramatics. Not when he knew exactly what she was capable of.

"Yeah, well..." she said, the softness vanishing almost instantly. A sly smile replaced it as she leaned in closer, her body pressing up against his. "I have one thing that could make me feel better..."

Sylus sighed inwardly, keeping his face neutral.

She was nothing like you.

Bold. Unapologetic. Blunt.

You didn’t toy with affection. You didn’t hint or tease to manipulate. You didn’t move in angles or read people like marks. Hell, he couldn't even imagine you taking the lead like this, not without a shaky breath or an unsure glance. But that was what made your presence so different, so disarming. So honest.

Not that he would mind this behavior from you.

But she wasn’t you.

"Not right now, Lira," he said, gently but firmly. He adjusted his posture, nudging her back just slightly. "We don’t even have much time to chat, I'm a very busy man. Would you like to accompany me for lunch while we still have time tonight?"

She let out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head back like this was the greatest inconvenience she’d ever endured. But the smile that followed was playful.

"Sure! There’s this new place in the city and—"

She launched into a list. Five-star restaurants, exclusive clubs, rooftops with imported wine lists and gold-plated menus that her father had brought her to. Every place she named came with a story she didn’t finish and a price tag she made sure to highlight. Sylus listened just enough to keep the rhythm of his responses timed. A nod here. A hum there. Convincing, if not engaged.

He offered her his arm, and she took it without hesitation. They walked together toward the elevator like a picture-perfect couple. Her heels clicked confidently beside him, her words still floating through the air as she spoke of truffle foam and panoramic skyline views.

But as they passed the kitchen, something shifted.

His eyes caught movement—subtle, small.

There you were, tucked quietly in a corner at the far end of the kitchen, knees drawn slightly in a chair, hunched over a modest sandwich. Headphones in. Eyes down. It was your lunchtime, too.

And you were alone. No twins in sight.

His steps slowed for the briefest moment. Just long enough to watch you lift your sandwich, take a small bite, and chew without ever looking up. You hadn’t seen him. You probably wouldn’t. You were clearly trying to disappear.

His chest tightened.

"Meet the twins by the car downstairs," he said, turning to Lira without looking at her. "I have to instruct my staff on a few things."

She blinked, surprised at the sudden shift, but smiled anyway. "Of course," she said, likely already imagining the next moment she’d be able to slip back onto his arm.

And then she was gone.

Leaving Sylus standing just outside the kitchen, gaze still locked on you, wondering what it was you were listening to—and why seeing you like that made everything else feel even heavier.

You had a bit of mayo sliding down the corner of your mouth. It was white, creamy, and clung to your skin in a way that made Sylus's thoughts turn far darker than he intended. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he shifted slightly, adjusting his stance. His pants suddenly felt a bit tighter. He cursed inwardly, pulling his gaze away just long enough to pretend he was in control of his own mind.

Wouldn't hurt to tease you a little before he left.

He tapped the edge of the table with a finger.

You jumped, startled, the sound snapping you out of your trance. You yanked out your headphones with fumbling fingers and blinked up at him, eyes wide and alert. Your lips parted like you were about to apologize and then hesitated.

"Oh! I was just about to finish lunch..." you said, gripping your sandwich a little tighter, like it could shield you. "The dishes are almost done though."

Your voice was soft. It wrapped around his chest and squeezed.

Without a word, Sylus reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded handkerchief. He stepped in closer, slow and unhurried, and leaned down to your level. He wiped the corner of your mouth with careful precision, thumb brushing your cheek in the process. The gesture wasn’t overtly intimate, but it was close.

You froze.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide with something between confusion and embarrassment. Heat surged to your face, the kind of flush that spread fast, burning under your skin. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Adorable.

He pocketed the handkerchief again, casually, like it was something valuable he didn’t want anyone else to see. He was invading your space today after weeks of respecting it, whether you liked it or not.

"I’ll be back in a little while," he said, his voice deeper now, a touch more gravel in it. "Don’t clean my office until I’m back. Understood?"

You nodded, stumbling through a shy, "Y-Yes, sir."

Then you stood from your chair too fast, trying to gather yourself. You adjusted your shirt, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and tried to fall back into the mechanical rhythm and blank face that had protected you all these weeks.

But Sylus saw through it.

The way your hand lingered a second too long on the back of the chair. The darting glance you gave him before quickly looking away. You were still flustered, still unraveling in real time from that one tiny touch.

God, if only he had the time.

He could spend hours watching the way you unraveled under his gaze. The way your breathing quickened when he leaned in, how your lips parted just slightly like you were already imagining what he might do. He’d start slow, fingers grazing exposed skin, letting you squirm, letting you tremble. He’d whisper filth into your ear, make you squeal in his ear from embarrassment. He’d tease you until your thighs clenched, until your breath came out in soft, needy gasps. Until your voice wasn’t just a whisper, but a moan, a plea, begging him to just take you.

But...

He had a role to play. A mission to finish. Lira still held pieces of the puzzle he needed, and as much as he hated it, that took priority.

So he turned without another word and walked away, each step slower, heavier.

And every inch of him aware of your lingering warmth behind him.

When he came back from an exhausting dinner with Lira, the first thing he did was instruct the twins to drop her off at her place. No lingering goodbyes. No forced intimacy. He needed the space, the silence, and more importantly, he needed to be alone with you.

It would be just the two of you now.

He loosened his tie as the elevator climbed, fatigue tugging at his shoulders. The conversation over dinner had been exhausting. Empty flattery, false laughter. He hadn’t meant a single word of it. But playing along had been necessary. That woman had frustrated him to no end, and he hadn't gotten any answers he was was seeking. Now, all he wanted was quiet.

The elevator doors slid open, and as he stepped into the hallway leading to his office, he came to a stop.

You were sitting there.

Right outside his office door, legs crossed neatly, cleaning supplies at your side. Your hands were folded in your lap, posture straight, head bowed slightly like you’d been waiting for a while.

You looked up at the sound of his approach. Blank-faced. Guarded.

"What are you doing on the floor of all places?" he asked, voice low.

"I finished everything...I wasn’t sure what to do since you weren’t back yet," you said quietly.

"Good girl", he thought, the words sliding through his mind. The sight of you sitting there so quietly, like a stray kitten waiting to be claimed, stirred something low and hungry in him. There was something painfully tender about how you obeyed without being asked, how you waited without complaint. It wasn’t just adorable. It was intoxicating. You didn’t even know how much power you gave him by being so willing, so pliant.

He extended a hand toward you, palm open and steady.

You took it without hesitation, your fingers slipping into his, light and tentative. The moment your soft fingers connected with his palm, he felt like electricity was coursing through him. He pulled you to your feet effortlessly, then turned and unlocked the door, gesturing for you to step inside with him.

The moment the door shut behind you, your eyes wandered—he noticed it right away. You took in the space with a quiet curiosity. The towering shelves, the dark wood, the precise arrangement of everything. Your gaze lingered on the finer things, the things you hadn’t been allowed to touch before. But still, you said nothing.

No questions. Just a respectful, efficient nod before you moved wordlessly toward the nearest shelf and got right to work.

Of course.

He watched you for a moment, jaw tightening. You were really going to play it that way, huh? Still trying to make yourself invisible. Still performing the perfect role, the silent, diligent housekeeper. Like if you stayed quiet enough, if you focused hard enough, you could disappear entirely.

He was sick of it.

Sick of the distance. Sick of pretending he didn’t see you. Didn’t notice you. That he hadn’t spent the entire ride back thinking of you instead of Lira.

Tonight, he decided, would be different.

He could already feel the nervous energy rolling off you as you moved through the space. You weren’t speaking, but your body said everything. The careful way you gripped the duster. The overly deliberate steps. The way your shoulders subtly tensed every time you turned your back to him, like you were aware of being watched and trying your hardest not to show it.

He leaned back in his chair behind the desk, a few papers laid out before him, though he wasn’t really reading them. His eyes kept drifting. You moved with focus, methodical as you positioned a stool near the back wall to reach the taller shelves. His gaze trailed lower, catching the curve of your calf, the way your clothing bunched slightly when you stretched.

You weren’t wearing a skirt this time.

Lately, you'd been dressing more conservatively—looser fabrics, longer hems, high collars. It was subtle at first, but he noticed. You’d wrapped yourself in layers, not out of modesty, but defense. Like armor. As if hiding from his gaze could make you feel safer.

He didn’t blame you.

He only had himself to blame for that change. It wasn’t like you had chosen these new clothes on your own, he’d bought them. Soft sweaters, pants, high-collared blouses, longer skirts, and thicker fabrics that suited the colder weather. Clothes meant to be to your liking. To make up for the tension he’d created.

They were still flattering, he made sure of that. He hadn’t picked anything shapeless or drab. But they created distance. Soft armor disguised as kindness. A buffer. And though some part of him respected the silence and the safety it offered you, another part of him—darker, more possessive—missed the way you used to let your guard slip around him.

A part of him was almost proud. Proud that you were adjusting, adapting. That you wore what he gave you. That you were learning how to manage the space between you and him, even if it meant hiding behind cotton and caution.

But it didn’t stop him from yearning.

As you bent down to clean the lower shelf, something small slipped from your pocket and hit the floor with a soft, solid thud.

Sylus’s gaze snapped to the object.

A small, worn pack of cigarettes.

His brows lifted slightly, and a grin pulled at the edge of his mouth. It was cracked and bent, probably stuffed in that jacket pocket without much thought. But it was the sight of it that struck him as out of character for you.

He lifted a hand, letting his Evol stir to life. Red mist slithered from his hand, slow and graceful like smoke on still air. It curled through the space, coiled gently around the cigarette pack, and lifted it clean off the floor. It hovered for a second, then glided into his open palm with perfect precision.

You hadn’t noticed. Too focused. Too wrapped in whatever careful, avoidant rhythm you'd forced yourself into.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked, his voice casual but edged with something more.

You turned sharply, clearly caught off guard.

His thumb flipped the top open with an audible snap. It was still full, mostly. Only one had been used.

Interesting.

He turned the pack slowly in his hand, eyes flicking up to meet yours. You stood frozen, not quite panicked, but uncertain. It was written in the set of your jaw, the way your hands hovered at your sides like you weren’t sure whether to defend yourself or apologize.

Finally, you squeezed your hands together and let out a quiet sigh, shoulders sagging as though you had been holding your breath. The tension in your posture gave you away, even before you spoke. You weren't relaxed. Sylus could see the effort it took for you to keep your voice even.

"Since yesterday. Now can you give them back, please?" you asked, carefully. Your voice tried for neutral, but he caught the edge of defensiveness curled beneath it. That mix of irritation and embarrassment, coiled tight and trembling behind your ribs, made you seem smaller somehow and more real. Vulnerability looked good on you, whether you meant to show it or not.

Sylus flipped the carton in the air with a slow, lazy flick of his wrist. The movement was practiced, deliberate. He caught it with ease, his eyes locked on you the whole time. The edge of a grin touched his lips. Amused. A hunter watching a kitten stumble closer to his trap.

"Come over and get them yourself," he said. He simply set the pack on the edge of the table, deliberate and slow, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. There was no need for show or emphasis. Just a quiet expectation that you'd do as told.

The change in your expression was immediate and unmistakable. Your eyes widened just a fraction—not enough for the average person to notice, but Sylus wasn’t the average person. That quick, silent flicker of uncertainty told him everything. The tension in your frame sharpened, your body caught between the instinct to obey and the desire to flee.

But you came.

You walked slowly, deliberately, like every step was a decision. The silence stretched between you, heavy and taut, as your shoes tapped softly against the floor. Your hands fidgeted at your sides. Your gaze stayed low, only darting to him when you thought he wouldn’t notice.

Closer.

Closer.

The air felt charged, and Sylus felt his pulse slow in response—anticipation thick in his blood. You were trying so hard to act unaffected, to keep your breathing steady. But he saw through it. The tension clung to you, wrapped around you like static.

You reached the table and paused. A single, breathless moment where you hovered. And then, with careful fingers, you reached for the pack.

He struck.

His hand closed over yours before you could even blink.

His grip was warm, unrelenting. Not rough, but not gentle either. Your body tensed instantly. The air left your lungs in a shallow gasp, and your eyes darted up to his. You didn’t speak. You didn’t pull away. You just froze, caught between fear and confusion.

Sylus leaned forward, just slightly, his presence folding in over yours. His thumb moved slowly across the back of your hand, dragging along your skin like he was committing it to memory. He could feel how cold your fingers were. How they trembled just the slightest amount beneath his touch.

"Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you now?" Sylus asked, his voice dipping lower, quieter than usual, like he didn’t want to scare you off. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, warm and steady, anchoring you in place with just enough pressure to remind you that he was there. He already had a good idea of what was bothering you, but hearing you say it aloud would make it real.

You grimaced, body tensing, and instinctively tried to pull away. It was a half-hearted movement, more of a reflex than a true effort to escape. Your body trembled, and your eyes flicked past him, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. "Nothing’s wrong...let go..." you mumbled, your voice thin and frayed. It wasn’t convincing. Not even close.

"We both know that’s not true, sweetie," he said, and the nickname came out too smoothly, too easily, like it had been waiting on his tongue. His grip tightened, just a bit. Not enough to hurt. But enough to remind you that you weren’t walking away from this.

You let out a breath and stopped resisting, your shoulders dropping as if the fight had drained out of you in one long exhale. You looked exhausted. Worn down. He could see it in your posture, the weight of whatever you were holding in dragging your whole frame downward. You’d stopped trying to tug your hand back. You knew it was pointless.

"Sylus, please...I have work to do," you said, your voice softer now, barely above a whisper. Your gaze dropped to the floor like it might swallow you whole if you wished hard enough.

He tilted his head, studying your face, every flicker of emotion, every twitch of resistance. His voice, when it came, was calm and certain. "Cleaning wasn’t the real reason I brought you in here," he said. "You know that, don’t you?"

He didn’t say it to shame you. He said it because it was the truth. One you’d been trying to ignore.

You shut your eyes and nodded slowly, like the weight of everything you’d been holding in was finally starting to crack. The tension in your shoulders dropped, your breath trembled. A silent surrender.

"Then speak," Sylus said, voice like velvet laced with command. Without waiting, red mist curled from his hand. It slithered through the air, elegant and alive, like it knew exactly what to do. Within seconds, it wrapped around your frame, lifting you off your feet with graceful precision. You let out a soft squeal, startled, unprepared. And then your body settled in his lap, the mist vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

You landed lightly, but the impact still registered. Not just physically, but emotionally. The shock hadn’t quite worn off, and neither had the awareness of where you were, perched squarely on his lap, knees on either side of him, the heat of his body radiating into yours.

He needed you close. Close enough to read every flicker in your expression, to hear every hitch in your breath. He couldn’t bear the distance anymore. Weeks of restraint had tested every ounce of his patience. But now—with your body pressed gently against his, your shaking frame exposed to him, he felt it. The unspoken truth in your trembling.

"Sylus..." you whispered, barely audible. There was nothing defensive in your voice now. Just softness. Fear and fragility. He heard it all.

He leaned in, breath brushing your ear, low and unwavering. "It’s alright, kitten. You can tell me."

His hands moved to your waist, resting there with a stillness that contrasted the storm between you. His fingers brushed over the fabric of your shirt, just barely, and then stayed—offering steadiness, not force. He didn’t push or pull. He simply held you in place, as if his touch alone could ground you enough to speak.

You stiffened at the contact, the air catching in your throat. Slowly, your eyes rose to meet his, wide and glassy. Your lips parted, trembling, and for a moment he thought you’d speak. He could see you searching, internally clawing through the mess of emotions for the words you’d tried to bury. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard, lashes fluttering with uncertainty.

He waited. Eyes locked on yours. Everything about him still, except the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was close. So close.

Then, finally, you exhaled a breath, shaky and reluctant. Like the truth weighed too much to carry any longer. "It’s...erm..."

You hesitated. The pause stretched, hanging thick in the air.

"My landlord," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable at first. Then skepticism flickered behind his eyes, subtle but undeniable. That was a piece of the puzzle, sure, but not the whole picture. He could feel the edges of something bigger pressing beneath your words.

But he didn’t interrupt.

Instead, he nodded once—slow, deliberate, encouraging. "Go on."

"He's been a piece of shit for the longest," you burst out, the words tumbling from your mouth with a bitterness that surprised even you. "He never fixes anything when it breaks. The plumbing, the heater—he just ignores my requests. I know he goes inside when I'm not there. I can tell things are moved. It's creepy."

Your face was flushed now, brows furrowed and lips tight with anger. Sylus watched you with sharp curiosity. He’d never seen you like this before—so openly furious, so unguarded. It was a stark contrast to your usual meekness, and it intrigued him.

"And now he's sniffing around because he's realized I’ve come into some money," you continued, voice tightening. You looked like you wanted to scream or cry, maybe both. "I’m sick of people trying to get something out of me. But I'm more sick of being too weak to stand up for myself."

Your voice cracked at the end, and you sniffled, quickly wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. The frustration, the helplessness—it spilled out of you.

"He’ll probably raise my rent now too, just get more money out of me."

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift much, but his eyes sharpened with intent.

"I can imagine most landlords around here like to drain every penny they can," he said, his tone even, measured. "Though, I’m not sure why you’re worried. I pay you well enough, don’t I? Any increase in rent shouldn’t be an issue."

"Yeah...you do," you admitted softly, your voice losing some of its earlier edge. There was a different tone in it now—tired, thoughtful. You let out a brief, shaky sigh. "It’s just...I’m honestly tired of feeling stuck. I’m hoping to move eventually. Out of that apartment. Out of the N109 Zone entirely, honestly. I mean, my mom did..."

You trailed off, your gaze shifting to the side again, not quite meeting his eyes. The air around you thickened, heavy with something unspoken. Saying it aloud made it real.

Sylus’s heart dropped.

Leave? The word rang in his head like an alarm bell. You couldn’t mean that. He could accept you wanting to leave that crumbling, decrepit apartment. That place was barely fit to be called an apartment. But leaving the entire city? Walking away from the N109 Zone, the best place he could keep a direct eye on you? That thought dug in deep. The idea of you vanishing and slipping away into a part of the world he had no direct access to struck him deeply.

He imagined the distance. Imagined you being somewhere he couldn’t monitor, couldn’t protect, couldn’t touch. Somewhere you could forget him. It wasn’t fear that clawed at him. It was the burn of potential loss, of losing something he hadn’t even fully had yet. Of having you slip through his fingers like smoke.

Of having no excuse to pull you back.

He didn’t show it. His expression stayed smooth, controlled, but his hands, still resting lightly at your waist, tightened just slightly. The motion was subtle, but deliberate. A silent tell. Just enough pressure to reveal the faintest flicker of tension running through him.

"Why not just find a nice place here?" he asked, his voice smooth and composed. "There are plenty of decent neighborhoods. You could have a place to yourself, close to work. I’d help you find something."

But you shook your head slowly, decisively, your lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet line. "No...I honestly just want a fresh start. Somewhere that I’m not dragged down by my past. Somewhere I can breathe. I just want to save enough to get a car and never come back."

Sylus’s breath caught, just for a second.

He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't. The very thought of you leaving clawed at something deep and primal inside him, burrowing into a place so dark and unrelenting that it almost scared him. Almost. It wasn’t just about wanting you close, it was the intolerable reality of you existing beyond his reach. That kind of distance felt like a death.

He’d do everything in his power to keep you here. Anything. Buy you an entire mansion just a few blocks from his penthouse. One with many, many rooms. He could stock it with everything you liked. Make sure you never had to lift a finger again. Shower you with more money than you could spend in a lifetime. Change your world completely. Strip away every obstacle, every excuse, until there was simply no reason left for you to leave. Until staying was the only option that made sense.

He could also...

His gaze drifted downward, settling on your belly. The thought came out of nowhere, reckless and wild, but it rooted itself in his mind like a seed cracking through dry soil. Get you pregnant. The ultimate claim. The deepest mark. Surely that would bind you to him. You, with a child inside you, his child. The image formed in his head so vividly it made his pulse spike. His sweet kitten, swollen with his baby, waiting delicately in one of his lavish homes, kept and treasured. Waiting for him when he came home. Dependent. His.

He'd have you right where he wanted you, pinned beneath him, your breath quickening as he loomed over you. He'd plunge his cock into you, for hours and hours, each thrust deliberate and deep, his body moving with a primal rhythm that would leave you breathless and begging.

He'd make love to you every chance he got, his hands roaming your flesh, claiming every inch of you, until you were leaking with his cum, your body marked and filled by him, his scent clinging to your skin. Afterward, he'd pull you close, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace, his heartbeat pounding against your chest. He'd kiss you deeply, sweaty bodies close, and cuddle you until your soft sleeping breaths filled the room.

It was irrational. He knew that. You hadn’t even known each other that long. But logic had long since left the room. The obsession had carved its own path, and he wasn’t about to fight it.

Maybe he’d do all of it. The mansion. The riches. And the child. Layer after layer of permanence, until there was no version of life where you weren’t tethered to him. Until the idea of leaving would feel like ripping your own heart out.

And then he heard you.

A soft, broken sound—sniffling, barely held in. He looked up just in time to see the tears sliding down your cheeks. They clung to your lashes, thick and glistening like fragile jewels. Your mouth trembled as you tried to hold yourself together.

"I-I just..." you choked out, your voice buckling under the weight of everything you'd kept inside. The sentence collapsed into a sob, deep and involuntary. It cracked through the quiet like thunder, shaking you from the inside out. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to silence it, but it was too late.

You looked so small. So heartbreakingly delicate. Your shoulders shook as you tried to breathe through it. Your eyes were wide and watery, darting up to meet his with a kind of desperation that made his chest ache.

Then you looked at him. Genuinely looked at him. For the first time in almost a month.

And Sylus felt his heart twist in his chest. You were so adorable when you cried, it physically hurt him.

Without hesitation, he pulled you against him, gathering you up like you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t. His arms wrapped around you and he cradled the back of your head with one hand while the other slid up your spine in a slow, steady motion. Like if he held you tight enough, you wouldn’t fall apart. Like his touch alone could stitch you back together.

He gently rocked you, not shushing your cries, not telling you to stop. He let you sob into his chest, let you soak the front of his shirt with your tears. His hand rubbed soothing, slow circles against your back, steady and grounding. Every sharp breath, every broken sound you made, he absorbed it silently, protectively, as if he could shoulder the weight for you if you’d let him. He stayed there, present and unwavering, letting you fall apart in his arms.

He hadn’t expected how much it would hurt to feel your body shake against his. He hadn’t expected the tightness in his chest, the surge of something sharp and helpless when your cries cracked into sobs. It shook him in places he hadn’t known were still alive.

But then, without warning, you pushed against him.

Your hands braced on his chest as you shoved yourself away, anger flashing like lightning in your tear-glossed eyes. "Why are you doing this? You don't even care!" you snapped, voice rising in raw, choked fury. The words struck hard, but it was the betrayal in your voice that landed the deepest cut. You tried to scramble out of his lap, your limbs stiff and clumsy, trembling with the last threads of adrenaline, but he caught you before you could slip away. His grip was firm but not harsh. He held you in place.

He wasn’t going to let you run from this. From him.

He wasn’t surprised by the accusation. But it still cut deeper than he expected. You didn’t know the things he was doing behind the scenes, the lengths he’d gone to for your safety. To keep you in the dark.

"That’s not true," he said quietly. His voice didn’t waver. There was no dramatic defense, just truth. "Admittedly, I’ve never comforted someone before, so I’m not the best at it."

Then his hands rose to your face, cupping your cheeks with deliberate care. His thumbs brushed over your damp skin, catching the last of your tears. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were locked onto yours with an intensity that made the air between you shift.

"But I do care," he said, his voice firmer now, low and clear. "And I want you to depend on me."

The way he said it wasn’t just about comfort. It was a confession. A possessive need masked in the language of protection. He didn’t want you to lean on anyone else. He didn’t want you to look to anyone else.

Your eyes narrowed, blinking through the fresh wave of tears, and you stared at him with bitter confusion. "Then why—"

You stopped. The rest of the sentence caught in your throat. You couldn’t say it. Couldn’t put to words the truth he already knew. The pain that had been festering inside you ever since that night he went to your apartment. The sight of him with her. The way it shattered whatever fragile hope you’d been building.

He saw the hesitation, the heartbreak, and knew he couldn’t explain it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because there was no way to make it make sense to someone like you. Not without exposing too much. Not without unraveling everything he was trying to accomplish. There were secrets still being played like pieces on a chessboard, and telling you the truth now would only hurt you more—or worse, drive you further away.

So instead, he leaned in.

He kissed you.

His mouth captured yours with a kind of hunger and certainty that left no room for doubt. It wasn’t rough. But it was possessive. Anchoring. A kiss meant to tell you everything words couldn’t. A kiss that demanded you feel it—believe it. His fingers slid from your face to the back of your neck, drawing you deeper into him, erasing the inches of distance you’d tried to reclaim.

He wanted you. Needed you. He'd been dreaming of doing this again since the first time he kissed you. And now he had you.

You tensed in his grasp at first, the sudden closeness rattling whatever defenses you had left. Your body went stiff, breath catching in your throat, but you didn’t push him away. Slowly you began to soften. Not entirely, not without friction, but enough. Your fingers gripped his shirt, clutching at him like something solid in an uncertain moment. Sylus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, deepening the kiss, pulling you in as though closeness alone might anchor you to him.

The sound of your mouths meeting and parting filled the air between you, mingling with the quiet cadence of your shared breath. He was hyper-aware of it—the temperature of your skin, the tremble in your limbs, the soft catches of your breath. You weren’t fully there yet, not surrendered, not convinced—but you weren’t pulling away either. There was desperation in his movements, a hunger under the surface. He kissed you like he needed to claim something that kept slipping through his fingers.

It felt like time stopped. Every second stretched long, blurred by want and restraint. But eventually, you pulled away. Your breath came in short, sharp bursts. Your lips were parted, kiss-bruised, your cheeks stained with heat. "C-Can’t breathe..." you said, voice small, colored with uncertainty.

Sylus growled low in his chest, a sound that rumbled with unspoken frustration and want. He stood abruptly, chair scraping back as he rose, and in one fluid motion, lifted you from his lap and set you gently onto his desk. His body closed in between your knees, his presence enveloping. You looked startled, but you didn’t move to stop him.

"You can't run from this," he said, voice weighted and rough. His hands rested firmly on your thighs, keeping you steady. His gaze dropped to your lips again. Then he kissed you, harder this time. Urgent. Messy. The control he usually wore like armor was starting to slip.

And still, you didn’t melt. You whimpered against him, fingers resting against his chest, not in surrender but in hesitation. Your body tensed again. Then you turned your face, breaking the kiss.

"Sylus...no," you whispered, barely audible. Your tone wasn't firm, but it wasn’t yielding either. Your eyes, wide and still glassy from earlier, searched his face. You looked on edge. Still unsure. Still scared. It hit him like a blow. "I'm dirty from cleaning earlier..."

His jaw clenched, but his hand moved slowly, deliberately to your chin. He tilted your face back to his, eyes locked onto yours. He could see everything in that look. The confusion. The pain. The hesitation. It made him ache.

"Sweetie," he murmured, voice low and rich, "I couldn’t care less about a little dirt. I want you. So tell me…how much longer are you going to pretend you don’t want this too?"

It was what he needed to believe. That somewhere in your confusion, you wanted this too. That your body’s stillness wasn’t rejection, but fear. That he still had a chance to show you what this could be.

He didn’t wait for an answer. Couldn’t. He kissed you again, slower this time, softer, more deliberate. His hand cradled the back of your neck, the other slipping to your lower back, urging you closer, anchoring you to him.

Finally, you fully relaxed in his grip. Sylus felt it—the shift in your body, the way your shoulders sank, the subtle easing of tension as your shaky hands clenched and unclenched against the front of his shirt. That tiny surrender made his pulse spike. You weren’t pushing him away anymore. You were letting him in.

Ah. You just needed him to slow down. He understood now. You were just a little overwhelmed.

He leaned forward, guiding your body gently until your back touched the cool surface of the desk. He followed, hovering above you, caging you in just enough to feel the heat radiating off your skin. His mouth trailed down from your lips to your neck, where he pressed a soft, lingering kiss. Then another. And another.

"Ah! Sylus...that tickles..." you gasped, your voice breaking into a half-whine, half-protest.

But he didn’t stop. The sound of your reaction was addictive. He grinned against your skin, kissing you again, slower this time, more teasing. He relished every flinch, every twist of your torso beneath him. His hands slid along your sides, fingers exploring the shape of you through the fabric as he pinned you gently beneath his weight. Just enough that you knew you weren’t going anywhere.

He left more kisses across your neck, trailing up to your jaw, savoring the soft sounds you made and the warmth of your breath as it hitched. This was what he wanted. What he missed. This closeness. This tension.

You, beneath him, slowly coming undone.

His hands, strong and sure, find the buttons of your pants, his fingers dancing over the fabric as he skillfully undoes them. The zipper glides down with a whisper, "You think I don't care," he breathes against your skin, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "But there's only one person I can't get out of my mind." You freeze, your body taut with anticipation as he tugs your pants down, exposing your legs to the cool air. His touch is electric as he lifts your shirt, inch by inch, revealing the lace of your bra. With a flick of his wrist, he undoes the clasp, the fabric falling away to leave your breasts bare, vulnerable to the chill and his hungry gaze.

He drinks in the sight of you panting beneath him, face flushed and breasts exposed, cool air causing your nipples to harden into tight, sensitive peaks. He leans down, his mouth finding your breast with skillful precision. His tongue circles your nipple, teasing and tasting, before he draws it into his mouth, sucking gently. You gasp, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. "Beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, appreciative growl that vibrates through you, heightening your arousal.

You whine in response, clutching him for dear life. Your breathless as he moves to the other, repeating the motions with the same delicious skill. He eventually gets off your nipple, a small string of saliva trailing from his mouth. He feels like he's dreaming.

"Sylus..."

He places a gentle finger against your lips, hushing you softly as he begins to unzip his own pants. The sound is a harsh rasp in the quiet room, a promise of what's to come. He wants no time for either of you to change your mind. This was happening. As much as he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't take it anymore. His cock, thick and hard with need, strains against the fabric, eager for release.

With a swift, decisive movement, he pushes his pants and boxers down, freeing himself. Your eyes widen in a mix of fear and shock as his large, throbbing erection springs free, standing big and ready. His tip is already leaking precum, dripping a bit down the side.

You squirmed slightly beneath him, breath hitching as his mouth ghosted over your skin. Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, panicked and unsure.

“W-Wait...we don’t have any condoms! We shou—”

Before you could finish, Sylus’s hand slid down, fingers hooking beneath the hem of your underwear with slow intent. His touch silenced you more effectively than words ever could.

“It’s alright, sweetie” he said, voice low and steady, almost soothing. He looked into your eyes as if daring you to doubt him. “Whatever happens, I’ll take full responsibility.”

He knew he shouldn’t. Every rational part of him was screaming at him to stop before he ruined you. Tied you to him in ways that couldn't be undone. But fuck, if it wasn’t hard to imagine a future with you. To see it so clearly: you in his arms, in his home, in his life permanently. The thought burrowed deep, dangerous and sweet. And it could all start now.

The urge wouldn’t go away. And if he didn’t act on it now, he knew it would only grow, gnawing at him until it consumed every ounce of patience he had left.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, confusion flooding your expression. You began to squirm harder beneath him, your voice barely holding itself together.

“W-Why...would you even say—”

But you didn’t get the rest out. Sylus pulled you closer, silencing you with the warmth of his touch and the certainty in his grip. He leaned down, capturing your lips again. This kiss was slower. Intimate. Your breaths tangled together, shaky and uneven, filling the quiet space around you with tension that could snap at any second.

His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek with surprising tenderness. “This will hurt,” he whispered, voice husky and deep. “Bite down on me if you need to.”

You thrash beneath him, your legs kicking as he tugs your underwear down, exposing the rest of your body to him. Your pussy is already wet, glistening with desire despite your protests. "Sylus! We should think about this…!" you whimper, your voice a mix of fear and longing. He silences you with a finger, pushing it deep inside you. You choke on a gasp as he curls it, finding your sweet spot with uncanny precision.

Like he already knows your body inside out.

"F-fuck!" you yell, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Tears well up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you struggle to form words. "I can't…I-" Your plea is cut short as he adds another finger, stretching you, filling you. You moan, a raw, primal sound that speaks of your body's betrayal, your mind's surrender.

"Yes you can. Just lay still." he whispers. He pulls his fingers out, glistening with your wetness, and brings them to his mouth, licking your essence off them with a satisfied smirk. He couldn't wait any longer. No amount of fingering would adequately prepare you for the real thing anyways, you'd simply have to endure it. He spreads your legs further apart, promising himself he'd be gentle and go slow.

His cock throbs, pulsing with anticipation as he positions himself at your entrance. You shiver beneath his intense gaze, your face streaked with tears, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your innocence is unraveling, just as he always imagined.

You let out a cry, a mix of pain and surprise, as he begins to slowly push inside, your body resisting his size. He lets out a groan himself. Your tightness wasn't making this easy. But god you already feel amazing just wrapped around his tip. With a gentle but firm grip, he takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He pulls out slowly, giving you a moment to adjust, before pushing back in by a meager inch. You arch your back off the desk, letting out another whine.

Finally. Finally, he'll-

Suddenly, your voice tore through the air like a whip crack, slicing clean through the haze of desire and tension.

"Stop! Stop! I can't take it! I won't let you use me again!!" you screamed, raw and shaking.

The words slammed into Sylus harder than any punch he'd ever taken. For the first time that night—hell, maybe in years—he froze completely. The depth of your anger crashed into him like a wave, knocking the wind from his lungs. You writhed out from under him, frantic and breathless, and in that half-second of his hesitation, you shoved yourself free. Your foot slipped against the edge of the desk, and you nearly tumbled, catching yourself only by the edge of a chair.

Sylus reached toward you without thinking. "Use you? Kitten, I'd never—"

But the universe refused to give either of you space to breathe. A knock came sharp and awkward against the door.

"Er, bossman? You busy? We’ve got intel on Adan, it’s important. Sorry to bother!" Luke’s voice rang out from the other side, his usual tone of confidence coated in hesitation.

Sylus’s eyes shut for a beat, jaw grinding with building irritation. Of all times. He exhaled a tight, sharp breath and turned back to you.

You were a mess of movement, struggling with your clothes, trying desperately to put yourself back together. Every gesture screamed panic, your hands trembled, your breath came in shallow gulps, your fingers caught uselessly in the fabric. You looked like you were about to fall apart before his eyes. He'd never seen such emotions from you.

And it gutted him. Why the sudden change? What had he done?

He took a step forward, trying to temper his voice. "Sweetie—"

"Move!" you shouted, voice cracking with emotion. Your eyes were red, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I won't be your toy that you just throw away after you get what you want. Ask your girlfriend or whatever!"

The last part burst out in a sob, barely coherent but laced with venom. It hit him like a second strike. He stared at you, stunned. Words lodged in his throat. He’d expected you to be upset, confused about Lira still, but not this.

You finished yanking your shirt back on and stumbled past him, shoving hard against his chest. He didn’t block you. Couldn’t. His arms fell to his sides uselessly. The echo of your accusation rang in his ears, louder than the knock, louder than the chaos of his own mind.

The door opened just as you reached it. You nearly crashed into Luke, who seemed stunned to see you in such a state. Hair wild, cheeks wet, eyes wild.

"Woah hey, are you alright?" he asked, reaching out instinctively.

But you were already gone, bolting down the hall, leaving a trail of shattered tension and broken pieces in your wake.

Sylus stood where he was, by the desk where the heat between you had once been. Now it was cold. Hollow. The silence around him felt deafening.

The taste of your kiss still lingered on his lips. Your tears still stained the fabric of his shirt. Your voice, your scream, looped through his head, stuck on repeat.

And just like that, you were gone.

And for the first time in a long time, Sylus didn’t have a plan. He just had a hole in his chest and the undeniable knowledge that he had hurt you.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d lost you for good.

You didn’t show up for work the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The world blurred together in a haze of misery and stillness. You barely moved. Curled in bed, the covers drawn over you like a cocoon that couldn't keep the pain out. Your body ached from doing nothing. Your stomach twisted from hunger, but the thought of food made you sick. It wasn’t just sadness, it was grief. Real, suffocating grief.

You cried until your throat was raw. Until your chest physically hurt from the weight of it all. It had felt so good, the way he touched you, the way he kissed you, those words he said like they meant something. For a moment, you let yourself believe in it. Let yourself fall. And then in the middle of it all, you remembered.

You remembered who Sylus was.

That woman. The way he treated you like nothing, until he wanted something. The illusion that maybe, just maybe, you were special. That you could be loved

But it wasn’t real. None of it.

And so you ran. You did the only thing you could to save yourself from further pain.

On the fourth day, your phone buzzed against the nightstand. The screen lit up in the dark room. You ignored it at first, until curiosity got the better of you. You reached for it with trembling fingers.

A single text.

Sylus: I'd like to apologize.

Four words. Simple. Empty. Too late.

And yet, your hand didn’t move to delete it. Another text followed soon after.

Sylus: Are you sore?

Yeah, you were. But he was probably pretending like he gave a shit to get you to come back. You ignored it.

On the evening of the fifth day, another message came in. Longer this time. Cold, almost—but trying not to be.

Sylus: Come back to work, and I’ll triple your pay. You’ll have a car in no time. I won’t touch you anymore.

You stared at the screen, heart twisting. The words didn’t sting. They numbed. A business offer, disguised as an apology. And then came the last line:

Sylus: If you don’t show up tomorrow, I’ll assume you’re done and leave you alone. You have my word.

Your stomach dropped. Because beneath the sterile tone and the bribe, you could feel the finality of it. A door closing. One he wouldn’t reopen if you didn’t walk through it yourself.

Shit. He had to have known there was no way you could refuse such an offer.

Another text. Your heart dropped.

Sylus: Please.

You weren’t sure why it only took that one, simple word to get you to march back into the elevator.

Maybe because it was just so unlike him. Sylus didn’t say “please.” He didn’t ask. He demanded. Expected. Took. That word didn’t fit the man you knew. It startled you more than any of his other messages ever could. Maybe that’s why you stared at the message for so long, rereading it, questioning if it was even real. Or maybe it was more practical than that. Maybe you were just desperate. Desperate for a car. Desperate for money. Desperate to regain some piece of control over your unraveling life. And if that meant showing up again, walking back into the lion’s den, then so be it. You’d survive it. You always did.

Your legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each as the elevator carried you upward. You clutched your phone tightly in your palm, your nails digging half-moons into the skin. The hum of the machinery felt louder than usual, amplifying your heartbeat. You didn’t know what you were expecting on the other side of those doors—an apology, confrontation, some cold version of indifference—but you still couldn’t stop your eyes from scanning the space the moment you stepped into the penthouse.

But he wasn’t there.

No greeting. No voice from down the hall calling your name. No sign that he’d even noticed you walked in. Just silence.

Until she appeared.

"Oh! Hi again!"

That voice.

The dark-haired woman rounded the corner with the ease of someone who knew the space intimately. She was dressed in a way that looked effortless but clearly wasn’t—every detail curated to remind you exactly who you weren’t. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, her smirk blooming like a bruise.

"Hi…" you said, barely above a whisper. Your throat tightened. Your shoulders tensed.

She smiled at you like a cat smiling at a bird with a broken wing.

"Sylus isn’t here right now. Don’t think he was expecting you," she said, her voice lilting with false sweetness.

She took a step closer, folding her arms, cocking her head slightly in mock curiosity. Her eyes glittered, not with kindness, but something colder.

"So tell me, what’s the deal? Where you been? Aren't you here like everyday?"

Her tone shifted on the last syllable, biting down on it with a sneer so casual it made your skin crawl. She wasn’t asking out of concern. She wasn’t even pretending that well.

You elected to ignore her. You didn’t have the energy to entertain whatever game she was trying to play. "Excuse me...I have work to do," you said flatly, voice quiet but firm. Your face was blank, emotionless. You were too tired, too hollow, too drained to deal with her bullshit.

You turned and walked away, resisting the urge to look back as you heard her scoff.

"I was talking to you, but okay," she called out in a sing-song, mocking tone.

You didn’t answer. Pretended not to hear her. Pretended she didn’t exist. You had a job to do. A reason to be here. Focus on that.

You walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of chemical cleaner, and dumped it into a mop bucket with a practiced motion. The sharp, acrid smell burned your nostrils, but you welcomed it. It grounded you. You set the bucket on the counter, dipped the scrubber into the mixture, and knelt down to start on the floor.

You get a slight feeling of deja vu.

As the bristles hit tile, your brain betrayed you. Your thoughts flooded with images—Sylus kissing you, touching you, his weight pressing you into the desk, the rasp of his voice whispering things you wanted so badly to believe. Lies. All of it.

Fucking bastard.

He said he cared. He said he wanted you to depend on him. He looked at you like you were the only person in the world, and then turned around and let her back in like you never meant anything at all.

You scrubbed harder, the brush rasping violently across the floor. Your muscles tensed, fury mixing with sadness until you didn’t know which was stronger. Your thoughts spiraled.

Why doesn’t he just—

A sharp splash slammed into your skull. A thunderous, burning wave of sour-smelling chemicals poured over your head and shoulders, soaking your shirt, your skin, stinging your eyes instantly. You cried out, the mixture dripping down your face and burning against your neck and scalp.

Pain bloomed fast. Your vision blurred with tears. You choked on the fumes.

“Oops!”

The voice sliced through the haze like glass. Syrupy. Mocking. Fake as hell. You could barely see her through the stinging blur of your eyes, the chemical burn leaving your vision swimming, distorted with pain and tears.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too focused on staying upright as you shoved yourself off the floor, your knees wobbling beneath you. You stumbled toward the sink, heart racing, lungs fighting for steady breaths. The ache in your skin was immediate and punishing, a thousand invisible needles dancing across your scalp and shoulders.

You twisted the faucet violently and thrust your head under the stream, the cold water hitting like a slap to the face. It coursed over your scalp, your forehead, streaming into your eyes as you gasped and blinked through the flood. Your hands trembled as they tried to direct the flow, to wash it all away. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. All you could do was try to survive the burn.

Behind you, her voice floated through the air like poison.

"I was just trying to get a snack. I must’ve bumped it. I’m so clumsy!"

It was sweet enough to rot teeth. The false innocence, the intentional cruelty beneath the singsong tone, it was a performance, and you were her favorite audience.

You heard the quiet, deliberate snicker follow her words. She wasn’t sorry. Not for a second.

And she didn’t move to help you. She didn’t ask if you were okay. She just stood there, watching. Enjoying the show.

But none of it mattered in that moment. Your world had narrowed to the cold sting of water and the burn beneath your skin. Your chest heaved with sobs, gasps breaking out between each cry as you tried to rid yourself of the pain. You could barely register your own voice over the sound of the running tap.

Thank god, thank every star in the sky, it was mostly water-based cleaner. It could’ve been worse. So much worse.

Eventually, after what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, the fire behind your eyes dulled. Your heartbeat began to slow. Your breath came easier. You blinked hard, again and again, until shapes came into focus. Your reflection in the metal of the faucet looked like something out of a nightmare. Red eyes. Wet cheeks. Skin blotchy and glistening.

You stood there, unmoving, gripping the counter so tightly your knuckles paled. Your eyes locked on the sink drain, watching the diluted chemical mix swirl and vanish. Your thoughts weren’t clear. They were static. Sharp flashes of memory, anger, humiliation.

And then you heard it.

A giggle.

Light. Delicate. Detached.

You turned your head slowly, your entire body stiff. Your eyes—still puffy, rimmed with tears—met hers.

She was a few feet away, arms casually crossed, her manicured fingers covering her mouth like she was trying to hold in a laugh and doing a terrible job of it. Her eyes glinted with satisfaction, her smile curling in a way that made your stomach churn.

Then came another giggle. Softer this time. But more vicious. She was loving it. Drinking in your pain like champagne.

You stared at her, your expression empty but your mind racing. The fury in your chest was slow-burning but steady, like coals gathering heat.

What had you done to her?

What had you done to anyone to deserve this shit?

The questions slammed into you with brutal clarity, tearing open a flood of pain that you couldn’t contain anymore. The humiliation, the burn, the mockery, it all bubbled up and broke loose. You choked on a sob, and then another, until the sound was ripping from your throat, raw and frantic.

You ran. Bolted right past her.

Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to see her smug face another second. Fuck this place. Fuck everyone here.

If you were going to be miserable, then fine. You’d go back to being miserable on your own terms. At least then you wouldn’t have to keep pretending, wouldn’t have to play servant to monsters with pretty smiles and handsome faces.

You burst into the front room, heart pounding in your chest like it wanted out. You grabbed your bag with shaking hands, yanked your phone from inside it, and typed with trembling thumbs to Sylus.

"I quit."

You hit send.

Then, without a second thought, you dropped the phone to the ground. It hit the floor with a sickening clatter, the screen cracking on impact. A thin spiderweb of shattered glass bloomed across its surface, reflecting the light in jagged fragments.

You didn’t stop to look at it. You couldn’t. You were already crying too hard, the sound of your sobs echoing off the marble floors.

You made it to the elevator and slammed the button. The doors slid open and you stumbled inside, wiping your face, breath hitching. As the doors closed behind you, sealing you off from the nightmare above, you crumpled slightly against the wall.

And then you were gone.

Gone, with your heart cracking in your chest like thin ice giving way.

Away from her cruel laughter, from her perfect smirk that still burned behind your eyelids.

Away from Sylus, his large hands, his voice, his lies that tasted too sweet until they rotted.

And away from all the pain.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood alone in the elevator, sobbing your eyes out, silently begging the doors to never open again.

[sylvieisoffline]

what I mean when I say I want a man that talks me through it 🫠

Dirty Thoughts (+18) - Caleb (Love and Deepspace)

You were on vacation, and with Caleb working the morning shift, you’d taken full advantage of the alone time to finally start the book Tara had been bugging you to read – an erotic novel with a highly suggestive cover that left no doubt about what it was. Unfortenly for you, Caleb comes back home earlier than usual.

masterlist | request rules

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 1,954

tags: caleb (lads) x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader, dom!caleb, established relationship, is not specified if the reader is MC or not (up to interpretation)

content warnings: shameless smut, vaginal fingering, oral sex (fem receiving) dom/sub undertones, use of petnames (babe, sweetheart)

notes: Quickly posting this because tomorrow i work and it's 1AM HAHA. Hope you like it. The ending is kind of rushed, but I didn't want to delay this more. The fragments of the book you're reading are taken from a Zayne x Reader oneshot I wrote a few months ago. You can find it here. :) English is not my first language, not betareader, not proofread.

When Jane finally felt his touch, her fingers wrapped the arms of the chair with a force that made her knuckles turn white. The smooth leather of his glove dragged along her inner thigh in gentle moves, cool at first and warming with each stroke. The sensation sent a shiver through her body, making her legs twitch involuntarily.

“You’re unusually tense today.”

She parted her lips to respond, but the words tangled in her throat the moment he moved his hand again. His fingers slided lower, skimming along her entrance, just barely touching before retreating. 

“What’re you reading, Pipsqueak?”

Caleb’s voice abruptly pulls you out of the book you were reading. Your entire body jolts. The book snaps shut in your hands with a loud whump as you cross your arms over the cover.

It’s only midday. He wasn’t supposed to be back yet.

You were on vacation, and with Caleb working the morning shift, you’d taken full advantage of the alone time to finally start the book Tara had been bugging you to read – an erotic novel with a highly suggestive cover that left no doubt about what it was.

“You’re home early!”, you squeal, voice higher than usual.

He’s already halfway into the living room by the time you look up, still in uniform and with his jacket halfway down his shoulders. You glance at the hallway at his left, and start to think of an excuse to escape in advance.

“I was going to surprise you,” he says with a lazy grin, dropping his keys into the dish by the door as he makes his way closer. “So, what are you reading?”

He heads straight to the couch, and you feel a rush of panic bloom in your chest. You sit up in a move a bit too quick to be casual and hide the book behind your back, plastering on an awkward smile. “Nothing! Just a dumb romance that Tara recommended.”

Caleb arches an eyebrow, not truly convinced with your answer. His gaze drags over your arms and the tension in your posture. Then, he leans to the side, angling his head forward in an attempt to peek behind you – but you’re faster. Like it comes as second nature, you spring to your feet and twist your body so your back stays between him and the book, successfully hiding it. 

But he doesn't give up.

He steps left, ready to round you. You instantly pivot to block him, mirroring his every move. He leans forward, you rise on your toes. He goes right, you go left.

“Really?” he laughs, amused. “Is that how you wanna play?”

You’re about to reply when your body stiffens at the sudden change in the air. The weight in your limbs disappear, and for a second you feel your feet hover off the floor. The book slips from your arms in a sudden tug, yanked upwards by some invisible force. You whirl around just in time to see it floating through the air and landing neatly into Caleb’s open palms.

Your jaw drops. He has used his evol to win! “Caleb, you damn –!”

“Mmh, let’s see…” he flips it open with exaggerated interest, eyes scanning the page you left off on. Then, he begins to read aloud, voice dripping with mock like he’s reciting a bedtime story. “His hand finally found her core. His fingers glided through the slick folds, the oil on his gloves mixing with her arousal. She was already so wet.”

“Caleb!!” Your stomach twists. You lunge forward, reaching for the book, but he easily lifts it just out of your reach. “Give it back!”

“Jane knew this was part of the treatment and it didn’t mean anything more when Dr. Smith touched her; but for some time now, this has stopped being just a treatment for her,” he continues, eyes flickering over all the words piecing together the context. He looks at you again, but this time his eyes have a different type of glint. “Doctor, huh? Is that what you’re into?” he says as he closes the book and gives it to you.

You take the book with hesitant hands, eyes fixed somewhere near his collarbone, too embarrassed to look him in the face. 

Guilt starts coiling tight in your stomach. He probably thinks you’re gross, reading such nasty things when you’re alone. You must have hurt his feelings, and now he thinks he’s not enough. And it’s all your fault. Why would you even need to read something like that when you have Caleb – ?

“Babe,” he interrupts your spiraling with one single word. “I’m not mad.”

He takes a step closer, and you take a step back, the back of your legs bumping into the edge of the couch. Before you can even think to retreat further, he reaches up and gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I just think,” he continues, voice an octave lower, “if you’re gonna spend the morning getting all worked up over a book…”

His hand slides around your waist, and as if you weigh nothing, he puts you down. The cushions catch your back, and he leans over you to trap you between him and the couch. The warmth of his solid body makes butterflies flap in your stomach. You blink up at him, breath caught in your throat as he plucks the book from your hands. He flips it open to a random page, then settles it back into your grip, angling it so it rests against your chest ready to be read again.

“...you might as well have an immersive experience.”

He shifts downward, lips brushing your stomach through your shirt. His hands part your legs until he can settle between them. “So, why don’t you lie down and keep reading? Out loud this time.”

His voice is low and full of heat, but he’s not asking you: he’s commanding you.

You blink down at him, wide-eyed and lips parting like you’re about to protest, but words won't come out. Not when he’s looking at you like that, with his head between your thighs, mouth so close to your core you can feel his breath even through the fabric of your pajama pants. Your entire body prickled with heat.

“Go on.” He nods towards the book, voice darker than before. “Read.”

You feel warmth rush to your face in an instant, because God. You want to hide, to cover yourself or make some weak excuse to leave, but instead, you swallow the nerves down and drop your gaze back to the pages. His voice leaves no room for negotiation, and his presence leaves you too dizzy to disobey.

You clear your voice, voice small but steady. “She… she let out a soft gasp when his fingers returned, thumb finding her clit and giving it an experimental rub –”

You stop mid-sentence.

A breath punches out of you when Caleb’s hand slides into your pants. He finds your clit immediately, like he knows your body better than his own, and as if he’s following a script, his touch mirrors the words of the book. Your head tips back with a soft gasp and your eyes meet his.

He smirks up at you.

“No panties on…?” 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pajamas and begins to slide them down, eyes never leaving yours. You lift your hips without having him to order you, and he takes them off. He throws the fabric somewhere behind him. He leans in closer to have a better view, the sweet smell of your bare cunt filling his lungs. You stare at him agape, freeze in your place. He notices and reaches up to gently caress your thigh with one hand.

“Keep going.”

You blink down at the book again, hands trembling as you search the line where you left on. “Dr Smith stopped his movements to spread her lips apart –” you read, “and stare at her… winking hole –”

You feel the pressure of his hand again, opening you up.

“ – rubbing it with one of his fingers before gently… prodding at it!!”

You gasp. His long finger sinks in without warning, stretching your tight walls. Your hips twitch, thighs clenching around his wrist. Caleb doesn’t seem to reach, just watches you from down there while he waits for you to continue.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispers right against your core, the vibration sending sparkles straight to your brain. “But don’t stop now, sweetheart. You need to finish the chapter.”

You force your eyes back down to the page, vision a little blurred from everything going on below. Your voice comes out strained this time, “he starts working her tight hole with his long fiingeeer…” the words tumble clumsily from your lips. His finger pushes deeper, then pulls out completely before sliding back in.  “E-each time he pushed… ah… in, his palm ground down on your sensitive clit…”

Caleb’s hand tilts, and the heel of it massages your sensitive spot at the same time hsi finger enters your cunt. Your entire body reacts at once. Your spine completely arches off the couch, a long moan escapes your throat, and one of your hands flies to his shoulder to steady yourself.

“C-caleb I –”

He looks at you through his lashes, the corners of his mouth curling into something dark and satisfied. “Continue.”

You don't even know where you're supposed to continue. Your eyes glaze over the words, every line swimming on the page. You just pick the first sentence that makes sense.

“Then, finally… Jane felt something warm and wet pressed against her c– AH!” 

Caleb replaces his fingers with his mouth. His hands curl around your legs, anchoring you to the couch and holding you open for him. His tongue does slow moves at first, but he soon speeds up, matching every ragged breath you take. He hums at your taste, savouring every part of you. He’s not even following the narrative of the book anymore, just enjoying the taste of your cunt.

“A-and begins sucking it…” you try to keep reading, but the words move incoherently and you’ve long forgotten what you were even reading. You moan and your back arches. The book tilts in your grip, then slips entirely from your fingers and lands forgotten on the floor.

Caleb doesn’t seem to mind, because he doesn’t stop.

His hands stay firm on your thighs, grounding you as his mouth explores every corner of you. The measured licks grow messier, eating you out with desperation. Every now and then, his lips close around your clit. Your hips jerk closer, the pressure inside you building fast.

“I…” you breath, barely able to speak. “I’m gonna…”

That’s all he needed.

He lets go of one of your legs, free hand now moving lower again – and then he’s inside you. He thrust two fingers inside you like it’s nothing, the mix of your juices and his spit helping ease the pressure. He sets a pace that robs you of thought, matching the rhythm of his tongue with the thrusts of his fingers. He angles them just right, hitting your sweet spot every time he sucks your clit. Your hips jolt back into his face, your toes curl, and you finally feel your climax hit you. 

“Mmmh… that’s a good girl,” he praises, slurping your juices while you come hard on his fingers.

He waits for your body to relax, then lifts his head to look at the mess he’s made of you. “You didn’t finish the chapter.”

You manage a breathless laugh, still dizzy. “Think I lost my place.”

He smirks, brushing his knuckles along your thigh. “Then we’ll just have to start again.”

[sylvieisoffline]

puppy!caleb being possessive? WILL ALWAYS GOBBLE THIS UP!

How Puppy!Caleb apologizes ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

a/n: sorry, i'm horny for whiny pathetic caleb. yes, that could've been done without the whole puppy aspect. DON'T COME AT ME!! (i promise i'll tag u all in the next post)

--

He ruined your night—and he knows it.

That's why he's standing off in the corner, ears flattened and tail drooping as you wipe off the makeup you'd painstakingly done.

What a waste.

"Don't be mad at me." His voice cracks on the last word.

But you don't look at him. Just sit at the edge of your bed as you try to take out your earrings. You hear him though, shuffling closer and closer until he's right in front of you.

But you still refuse to look at him.

A staggered breath leaves him when you won't meet his eyes. He misses you.

"Please look at me, Pips," he whines, the sound low as he suddenly sinks to his knees in front of you.

You scoff, slowly easing your hands away from your ears and propping them up behind you. You don't say anything, but you're looking at him now. Finally.

You have every right to be mad at him though.

He got too possessive. Again.

Made a big deal about you going out and what other men would do, and forced you to stay home.

So, of course, he ends up at your feet—eyes soft, tail tucked, and begging for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his fingers gliding up your leg. Careful. Slow, like he already knows you'll give in if he's reverent enough.

"I didn't mean to upset you.." He blinks up at you, brows furrowed and lips pursed in the saddest little frown you've ever seen on him. "I just don't trust other men."

Silence.

You press your lips into a hard line and just stare.

You're still not breaking and the fact that you're not breaks him.

A pathetic whine slips past his lips as he dips his head to press a soft kiss to your knee.

"I hate when you look at me like that."

"Then don't give me a reason to look at you like this," you snap, your tone making his ears flatten even more.

"I'm sorry, baby," Caleb breathes, sliding one hand up your calf while he trails the other higher up your leg, fingers curling under the hem of your dress. "Let me show you how sorry I am."

He blinks up at you, every soft breath against your skin weakening your resolve.

"Are you kidding me?"

Caleb exhales, gently nudging your legs open. Just slightly, enough to press a kiss to your inner knee. "Please.. I'll be good. Please.. Let me say sorry."

You shouldn't let him go further. But you do. You sit there, completely still as he carefully slips his thumbs under your dress and begins to tug it up enough to expose your panties.

Then he slowly parts your legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs.

He can't help the little wag of his tail when he sees you. Smells you.

"I'm so sorry, Pips," Caleb whispers, kissing and sucking your plush flesh between his lips. "Promise.. Promise I'm sorry.."

You swallow hard when his nose brushes against your clothed cunt.

Caleb shudders, tail thumping wildly against the floor now.

Then, slowly, he presses a kiss to the dampening fabric.

You fight every urge to roll your hips against his mouth. "What?" you huff, your fingers curling in the bedsheets behind you. "You think you can just kiss it better?"

Caleb doesn't say anything. He just pulls you closer to the edge and mouths you more eagerly. "Forgive me... Please. Say you'll forgive me."

Your chest tightens.

He always sounds so pretty like this. So sweet and pathetic.

"Love you," he murmurs into your panties, the vibration making your lips part on a silent breath. "Love you. I'm sorry."

He’s licking at you now, soaking through the fabric.

A quiet sigh spills past your lips, one hand slowly uncurling around the bedsheets to tangle in his hair. "You don't deserve this," you say, your voice low and breathy.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry."

He inhales you, the sound sharp and desperate, like your cunt is the best thing he's ever smelt. "Let me... Let me please. I'll make it up to you."

"I shouldn't..." you breathe, and Caleb whimpers out a pathetic little sound. "But I always do, don't I?"

Caleb nods eagerly.

A beat. The finally—

"Fine.."

Caleb doesn't waste a single second. He nudges your dress higher and peels your panties down your thighs.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Then his mouth is on you again. Eager, sloppy, and devoted.

You sigh, unable to stop yourself from rolling your hips against him. "Don't... don't think this means I for–forgive you."

Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps his lips around your achy clit and sucks. He always knows just the right ways to make you crack.

"God, Caleb.." you moan, tipping your head back and grinding against his mouth. "Why do you always... have to ruin things.."

Caleb whimpers against your cunt, his tongue faltering for just a second. Then he grips your hips harder and buries his face deeper.

"I'm sorry.. I'm sorry." Then he's back on you, eating you out like he has something to prove. "I'll be good, I swear—please don't hate me."

You moan, holding him between your legs. "I could never hate you..—fuck, Caleb!"

"Promise?" Caleb whimpers, the sound muffled against your slick heat. "Even when.. when I don't let you go out? Even when I want you to myself?"

You barely hear his words over the sound of your cunt. You can only make out breathless pants against your skin, but you make out some of it.

You know what he wants you to say, but you can't. Not when his tongue is doing filthy things to you.

But the second Caleb doesn't hear a response, he becomes a babbling mess between your legs. "Please. Need it. Say it."

His desperate cries against your cunt is what tips you over the edge. You come with a ragged cry, your hips jerking against his face.

Caleb laps up every drop, only pulling off when he's sure you'd be completely satisfied.

You let out a shaky breath, finally looking at him again. Your hand rakes through his hair, gently rubbing his fluffy ears between your fingers.

"I promise," you finally say, tilting his head up. His face is glistening in your mess, and his lashes are wet with tears.

The sight makes your chest squeeze.

"I could never hate you, Caleb."

Caleb's ears perk up, his tail thumping even louder against the floor.

"Do you forgive me?"

"I forgive you."

Caleb smiles, instantly crawling up your body and peppering your face with kisses. You can smell yourself on him. Musky, but not unpleasant.

"Thank you."

You give a defeated sigh as you wrap your arms around his neck.

You always forgive him.

Always.

And this time was no different.

You just could never stay mad at your sweet little puppy for too long.

––

to everyone waiting for me to finish ur requests, i promise i'll get to them! i have 30 atm so be patient!

[sylvieisoffline]

FINALLY! 😭😭😭😭😭

with that, I'm re-shuffling my precise wish 😭

[First lineup had Caleb, Sylus, and Zayne (cause I really want to watch zaynemc's 'f*ck you' to Astra on my own) and I now switched Sylus for Xavier)

I have Caleb as my designated precise wish cuz I really want to read through the plot on my own but my first main came home instead (A WIN IS A WIN)

I don't have Rafayel in my Precise Wish for this banner cuz I've spent so much on his myth that I think I needed to give the other boys the love.

I hope I at least get two more cards, got to farm for more diamonds though 🥲

[sylvieisoffline]

with that, I'm re-shuffling my precise wish 😭

[First lineup had Caleb, Sylus, and Zayne (cause I really want to watch zaynemc's 'f*ck you' to Astra on my own) and I now switched Sylus for Xavier)

I have Caleb as my designated precise wish cuz I really want to read through the plot on my own but my first main came home instead (A WIN IS A WIN)

I don't have Rafayel in my Precise Wish for this banner cuz I've spent so much on his myth that I think I needed to give the other boys the love.

I hope I at least get two more cards, got to farm for more diamonds though 🥲

[sylvieisoffline]

I better get multiple 5 star cards in a 10-pull with how rotten my luck is 🥹

[sylvieisoffline]

ZAYNE BEING A SOFT DOM IS CANON! (to me)

Brat tamer Zayne ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 3.2k

a/n: for my pookster (@ohshitcindylou) also, i don't write a lot of smut for zayne, so i wasn't sure if he was ooc. i hope it's okay!

content: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, soft dom (?), desperate reader, you drive zayne crazy but he loves you, praise kink, (idk guys)

—

Nudes. 

That's what you did when you wanted attention—sent nudes in the middle of the workday. 

"Zayne?"

He blinked, swallowing harshly before looking up at Dr.Greyson. "Yes?"

"Are you all right? You look a bit flushed."

Zayne's lips pressed into a thin line, trying to will the heat creeping up his neck back down. 

"I'm fine. I just need a minute," he murmured, shoving his phone in his pocket and handing Greyson the charts he was holding.

"Oh—okay? If you're feeling unwell you should—"

"I'm fine." Then he was gone, his coat rustling as he rushed to his office. What were you trying to do to him, sending him such provocative pictures in broad daylight? 

When Zayne reached his office, he shut the door with a sigh and locked it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he slowly stalked over to his desk and sank into his chair. 

He sat there for a moment, hand hovering over the phone in his pocket, contemplating whether or not to take a second look. 

Zayne shouldn't. He was already half-hard. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't help the way his body responded to you and seeing you all posed and naked again definitely wasn't going to help.

Then, like you already knew he was spiraling, another text came in.

His chest tightened, his hand hesitantly curling around his check the message. Zayne glanced down at his screen, and there was your text. 

Zayne exhaled, awkwardly shifting in his seat. 

You: You saw my pictures. 

Simple. Yet so teasing. 

You: Did I get my Zayne all cute and flustered?? <3

Very teasing. You knew what you were doing, didn't you? And worse, it was working. 

Zayne shifted in his seat again, his thighs tensing as he subtly tried to find some relief. Then quickly, he groaned, pressing back into his chair like that might keep him still. 

Because no. No, he wasn't doing this. 

Zayne: During my shift?

Zayne: You know better. 

You: Do I?

You: [1 image attached]

Against his better judgment, he tapped on the picture and nearly forgot how to breathe. You were a vision. Even when you were sending the most teasing pictures known to man—God, you were gorgeous. 

You: I just can't help it

You: I miss you so much 

I miss you. 

Zayne's eyes narrowed, tilting his head in his hand. Teasing or not, those three little words would always undo him. 

He missed you too—always did—but he couldn't let you off so easily. No, not after those crude pictures.

Zayne: You miss me

You: Mhmm

Zayne: Then you'll be good tonight. No games. 

You: And in the meantime? You're not here to stop me...

You: [1 image attached]

Zayne's jaw clenched, rolling his hips and sighing when he found nothing but the fabric of his jeans that were suddenly too tight. 

Christ.

The things you did to him. 

Zayne: Take that off. 

Zayne: Sit on your hands.

Zayne: And don't touch yourself.

Zayne: I'll know if you do.

He watched as three bubbles popped up, disappeared, popped up again, then disappeared once more.

After a minute, you finally typed back with proof of just how good you were being.

You: Yes, Zayne.

You: [1 image attached]

He twitched in his jeans. You were going to ruin him if you kept sending pictures like that. The only reason he'd let this one slide was because you were listening.

He typed back.  

Zayne: Good girl.

Then he huffed, his dick giving another traitorous twitch at the praise. He could imagine how riled up it would get you. How you would squirm and pout because you couldn't do anything after that. 

Zayne stood up, his cheeks a shameful red as he slid his phone back in his pocket.

What was he doing, humoring his girlfriend's sexting while he was at work? 

He stopped at his door, taking a steady breath. He had to calm down. Had to will his painful erection away before anyone saw him like this. 

Zayne adjusted his coat, making sure it covered the obvious tent in his pants before stepping out and shutting the door behind him. 

He nodded politely at a passing nurse, hoping she didn't see the furious blush coloring his face.

God. You were going to pay when he got home.

 

°❀.ೃ࿔*

Zayne glanced at the clock as he stepped into your shared apartment. 1:43 a.m. He sighed, loosening the collar of his shirt. 

It was late. 

But he knew you. Knew that you'd still be up, waiting for him.

He washed his hands in the sink—thorough but tired. It was his routine. He always had to wash his hands first thing when he got him.

When he finished drying off his hands, he started stalking toward your shared bedroom. 

He quietly stepped in, glancing around. The room was quiet, lights dimly lit, and then there you were, curled under the blankets. 

Zayne moved closer, his chest squeezing when he saw the way you sat up and turned to him the minute you heard his footsteps. Your eyes were tired with sleep, your hair mussed from the pillows, and—when the sheets spilled down around your hips—still naked. 

"Hi," you breathed, a sheepish smile pulling at your lips as he padded closer. 

Zayne stopped in front of you, then slowly, he leaned down and captured your lips in a long, reverent kiss. He cupped your cheek and held you firmly, like you might slip away otherwise. But you both knew you weren't going anywhere.

You eagerly kissed back, bringing your hand up to his. Just when you gently swiped your tongue across his bottom lip, Zayne pulled back.

You frowned, but you didn't say anything.

Zayne eyed you carefully. He noticed it then—you nervous. The look made him narrow his gaze and tilt his head. 

You didn't behave, did you?

He studied you a second longer, then quietly, he asked, "Did you behave?"

"Yes, I did," you breathed, squirming in your spot as you watched Zayne's gaze drift over you. 

"Are you being honest?"

You paused at that. "I... I didn't touch myself."

Zayne nodded, slow. "So something else did. What was it?" His voice was deceptively gentle. 

You didn't answer at first. You didn't want to answer, but your hand subconsciously drifted toward your bedsheets and tugged it close. You should've kept still though.

Zayne took the sheets from your grip and examined them. Then, he found it. A damp patch, like the fabric had been stuff between your legs. 

Zayne stared at it, his mere scrutiny making your stomach flutter. "I.. I didn't—I mean, I didn't finish."

Zayne gently dropped the fabric and met your gaze again. "That wasn't the point, love."

You whimpered at the pet name. 

"I'm sorry. I just missed you so much and I—"

Zayne cupped your jaw and kissed you again, harder this time, but not cruel. Never cruel. 

"Lie down," he murmured as he pulled back.

You blinked up at him, eyes already glossy. "Zayne, I'm—"

"Shh. Lie down."

You didn't argue. You simply lied flat on your back and brought your hands over your stomach, heart beating so fast you thought Zayne might've heard it. 

Zayne nodded in approval before stepping away with the bed. He didn't speak. Didn't look at you, just quietly shrugged his coat off and draped it over the hanger behind your door. Then he loosened his tie to finally take it off.

Meanwhile, you sat there and watched the. The over-confident brat from earlier was long gone. Now, all you were left with was a desperate need.

When Zayne finally undid his shoe laces and nudged them off, he made his way back over to you. You stared, your body drumming with anticipation as he calmly settled into bed next to you.

"What are you doing?"

"Lying down beside you," he replied, carefully grabbing your hips and turning you over so your back was facing him before pulling you into his chest. 

Zayne sighed, pressing his lips to your shoulder like he'd been waiting all day to do this. "You made me hard in the middle of shift today," he murmured, dragging his fingers over your stomach. 

Your breath caught in your throat, your body instinctively arching into his touch.

"I had to keep a straight face and pretend I wasn't losing it," he added, kissing up your neck. 

At the same time, he brought his hand lower, easing toward the cleft between your thighs. He nudged you, softly, letting you think he might actually touch you before pulling away. "And you knew what you were doing. Didn't you?"

Your hips bucked in protest, but Zayne only clicked his tongue as a warning. 

You sighed. "Yes. I knew."

Zayne's breath fanned against your skin as he let out a shudder. "I thought about you all day," he whispered, his fingers sliding up to graze the underside of your boob. "Thought about how warm you'd be under these sheets... How pretty and pouty you'd look when I told you not to touch yourself."

Your whole body burned with desperation. You wanted him to touch you—needed him to touch you. Really touch you. Not just brush his fingertips over your skin with that teasing cool.

"What am I supposed to do when I miss you?" you asked, shifting against him. 

Zayne's hand traveled tantalizingly close to your sweetest spot. He so, so close, just not quite there. He teased his fingers down your inner thigh, the touch pulling a light shudder from your body. 

"You wait, or entertain yourself with the resources I got you. You don't send me nudes while I'm at work." 

You gasped when you finally felt his fingers slide through your slick folds. 

"And if I tell you to behave, you certainly don't rub yourself on the blankets."

You jerked your hips against his hand, but Zayne gave another low click. "Be good."

His other hand curled around your chest and cupped your pillowy breast. "Tell me what you did. Walk me through it." 

Your mouth parted, but all that came out was a breath. You couldn't speak. You were shaking and he'd barely even touched you. 

Zayne hummed, pressing an open mouthed kiss against your shoulder. "If that's too much, then show me."

He firmly cupped your mound, fingers pressing deliciously against your needy flesh. "Go on. Show me what you did when you were too desperate to wait."

"W-what?" you managed. 

"Pretend my fingers are the blanket. What did you do?"

Your cheeks burned from embarrassment. "Zayne..."

"[❀]," he replied, gently shifting his fingers. 

Your lips opened in a silent gasp. You were so pent up. Any little movement had you reeling. Had you fighting everything in you not to rut against his hand like a woman possessed. 

You rolled your hips once, your body shaking with the effort of holding back. 

"Is that all?" Zayne mused, his mouth still working over the skin of your back. "I find that hard to believe given the mess you left on our sheets."

You bit your lip as you gave another weak roll. God. It was too good. You nudged your hips back, moaning when you found the perfect angle. 

Then you started again, slow, shaky. You'd occasionally stop and squeeze around his hand—just keep him there for a little. And when you couldn't hold back anymore, you started over. 

And Zayne never moved. Just patiently kept his hand between your legs as he watched—felt—reenact what you'd done earlier. 

When you felt your stomach coil a little too tightly, you stopped with a stuttered movement. "And then—and then I stopped."

Zayne was still kissing you, his lips practically melted against your back. "You were close."

You bit your lip and nodded.

"Finish."

Your hips almost moved on instinct. You turned your head over your shoulder, trying to look at him. "You'll let me?"

Zayne hummed in assurance. "Go on."

You didn't hesitate. You ground yourself against his fingers, curling one hand against his (the one on your breast), while you fisted your other hand in the sheets. 

You should've been embarrassed, but you weren't. All you were was a girl chasing down her orgasm like her life depended on it.

"That's it," Zayne whispered, feeling every broken little thrust as you got closer and closer to the edge. 

Then, with a raspy gasp, you were coming undone, spilling yourself down his hand, down your thighs. You sunk your nails in his hand, but he didn't pull away, didn't even wince.

Just let out a quiet groan and reflexively squeezed around your breast tighter. 

"Is that what you needed?" Zayne murmured.

You gave a lazy nod. "Mhmmm."

You thought that was it. That he would kiss you and forgive you for misbehaving the way he always did. But then you felt him rubbing firm, languid circles over your clit. Again.

You squeezed your legs around him, whining. 

"Z-zayne! What are you—!" Your sentence trailed off on a desperate mewl as he moved faster. 

He knew your body better than you did, and he was using that to his advantage. He avoided all your perfect spots before, now he was hitting them over and over and over again. 

"You didn't think I was going to let you off that easy after today, did you?" Zayne asked, eyes fluttered shut with concentration. "You wanted attention. Now you have it."

Your stomach curled tight, limbs tingling at the way he wrung out every drop of pleasure you had to give.

"Mmnn..! It's too soon!"

Zayne moved faster at your protest. "You earned this, remember?" he murmured, his words ghosting over your shoulder. "This is what happens when my sweet girl can't behave."

You squirmed, pressing the side of your face into your pillow and whimpering quietly. "Z-Zayne!"

Zayne hummed quietly, slipping his hand away from your breast to cup your jaw and tilt your face. His eyes roved over yours, drinking in every twist of pleasure. 

"You're doing so good," he muttered, pressing his lips to yours and tensing when he felt your moans spill into his mouth. 

It was addicting. 

He wanted to swallow every last sound. But he was never one for self-indulgence, so grudgingly, he pulled away. 

"Will you give me another one?"

You shook your head no, even as your body screamed yes. 

Zayne furrowed his brows. "That wasn't a question," he murmured, his voice so soft you might've thought he was coaxing a nervous animal into his hands. "You'll give me another one because you couldn't seem to resist the urge to send me nudes today."

He worked his fingers over your throbbing clit with expert precision. He used the perfect pressure. The perfect strokes. The perfect speed. It was the kind of skill that made your vision blur. 

"Isn't this what you wanted?" 

Your lips parted with a guttural cry. You could feel the heat in your stomach curling tight.

"For me to touch you?"

"Yes! But—! Hhnn'but—"

You bit your lips to try and keep your sounds down, but it was pointless. Your hips jerked forward as they chased the friction of his fingers like he wasn't already making you lose your mind. 

You didn't think you could come so soon, but you were getting achingly close again. 

"Then I'm going to touch you until you can't take it anymore," he husked, his cock twitching painfully in his jeans. But this was all about you. About how pretty you fell apart. "Just like you wanted."

Your body seized as your second orgasm ripped through you, your hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist. You weren't even sure if you just wanted to hold him or push him away. 

"Good girl."

Oh, God. Any thoughts of pushing him away melted the instant you heard those two words. You'd do anything to hear that. 

"Th-thank.. you.." you breathed out. 

Zayne let out a sharp breath. He carefully drew his hand away from your face, instead curling it around your chest again. 

For a second, you relaxed. 

Zayne seemed to relax too, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. It was so sweet and gentle. 

Then you felt him moving again, the slick sound filling your ears and making you clench around nothing.

God. You couldn't possible be capable of another orgasm.

You dug your fingers in his wrist. "Nnnh—Wait!"

"You're not done."

You whined, desperately trying to twist away, but Zayne only curled his arm around you tighter and pulled you flush against his chest. "You have one more in you," he breathed. 

Tears brimmed in your eyes. "I-I don't—I can't—" you choked out, trying to push his wrist away even as your hips helplessly rolled into his touch. 

"Yes you can," he said, his words quiet and full of awe. It was less like a demand and more like a fact. "Look at yourself." His breath warmed your already flushed skin. 

"You're still moving. Still so beautiful."

You trembled. He was right. You were still moving—still torn between squirming away from him and grounding yourself on him like you couldn't breathe without it.  

You let out a quiet little cry, your thighs and stomach burning with the effort of processing the overstimulation. 

Zayne bit back a soft growl. "I've got you."

You couldn't stay still. You were a mess—toes curling, hips jerking, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks, breath ragged. 

And Zayne never stopped. He couldn't. 

Because you deserved this. Every last touch and word.

He continued to work your clit with aching accuracy, his fingers slick with your arousal.  

"You're doing so well," Zayne praised, his wrist burning from the repeated motion. 

You bit your lip to stop the whiny cries from slipping past, but it barely helped. They'd just come out in low hums.

You couldn't come again, you just couldn't. But your body said otherwise. It was soft—needy—and you could feel that familiar heat curl low in your belly again. 

You couldn't tell whether to cry or moan. 

It was too much, too fast. 

"Wait—I'm—"

A breathless moan tore from your throat as you came again, your body trying to curl in on itself. But Zayne didn't let it. He held you tight, his fingers finally slowing as he worked you through your third orgasm. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he cooed, his body never leaving yours.

When the final twitches of your aftershock washed over you, Zayne carefully turned you around and hugged you to his chest. Didn't wait or tease. Just quickly tugged you toward him.

And you melted into him. You wrapped your arms around him and held onto him as tightly as you possibly could (which wasn't that tight). 

Zayne stroked your head, gently messing with the ends of your hair, the feeling making you tingle. 

"I'm very proud of you," Zayne finally whispered, a subtle smile tugging at his lips when he felt you hum against him. "I hope you learned something today."

You nuzzled into his chest and murmured a soft, "I did."

Zayne kissed the top of your head. "Good girl. I'll start the shower for you."

You smiled lazily against him. "Thank you."

Zayne grudgingly peeled himself away and stepped toward the bathroom. He let out a stuttered huff and ran a hand through his hair. 

He was throbbing in his jeans. Precum had soaked through his boxers and dampened his jeans, but it was all worth it. 

You were always worth it.

—

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[sylvieisoffline]

MY POOKIES ARE BACK 😭

[sylvieisoffline]

"Know that my name was tattooed on his chest while his dick was in your mouth."

THIS WAS FINALLY ADDRESSED HAHAHAHAHA, I was wondering about it when Caleb said when he got that tattoo 🤤

Note: Please —Click Here— to read part one if you’d like! I’m finally getting around to giving them a second part, omg. I hope I did it justice. Enjoy, my beautiful baes!

Warning: A woman picks a fight with you over Caleb (she’s not a real threat, dw), you get really possessive over him, car sex, use of ‘angel’ for a nickname

Word Count: 4K

Summary: A night out quickly takes a different turn.

Cowboy!Caleb/PossessiveReader

“C’mon, angel. You got it. Push your thighs in tighter,” Caleb instructs you. “Harder. Good, like that, like I taught you.”

You bite your lip, uncertainty coiling through you as you feel the back and forth motion in your hips. You’ve been at this for what is definitely far too long, but with Caleb, you didn’t mind the time it took. Choosing not to be patient wouldn’t get you anywhere, not when you wanted to succeed so badly.

“I—I’m gonna fall again!” you squeak, your nerves calming just barely when he holds you by your hip, silently reassuring you as Applebottom begins to strut along the even terrain of the rich green grass.

“She can sense your nervousness. That’s why she’s so ready to throw you off,” he chuckles, remaining beside you before patting on the large horse’s side with three quick loving taps. “Confidence is key, alright? Show her who’s the boss.”

“You’re her boss!” you yelp right before she trots in place, her hooves pounding into the ground unforgivingly with whine-like neighing to follow. The typically sweet animal did this every time she wanted to set her boundaries and make it known that she did not want whoever was on her back.

It was understandable. You’d only wanted Caleb on top of you, too.

It’s been a few days since you’ve been staying with him on his parents’ ranch, simply because you wanted to, you could, and he offered—no, he begged you to come over. With your dad being able to take on farm work again without needing help, you told lied to him about how you’d be staying over at a friend’s house for a much deserved break.

He still doesn’t know that the man he strictly told you to keep out, was in your room the morning they returned. You had to explain to Caleb later why you frantically pulled him from your bed and threw his sweatpants at him like you were a teenager sneaking a boy out.

You were able to get away with it because not only is the guest room thankfully on the second floor, but momma called your phone and said they needed you both to come down and help haul their stuff and the hand-me-down farm clothes Grams surprisingly let them take, upstairs.

That was about a month ago and a complete win in your book, despite the near heart attack at first. And now, after the time it took for you to have this privacy, you’ve been delightfully basking in the presence of your beloved cowboy.

Since Caleb’s workaholic mother and father tended to be so busy with other business ventures, they were often out of town a lot and this week was one of those instances you both were more than willing to take advantage of.

It was safe to say that you two have been going at it like you were making up for lost time. From sex in his room, to the shower, and even with you bent over the kitchen counter that you ended up scrubbing with bleach because you felt awful about it post orgasm, Caleb has had you folded up in too many ways to count.

He even asked you to be his girlfriend, to which you declined.

Yes, he had your heart, he’s had and will continue to have your body, but you needed to make sure this wasn’t some glorified honeymoon phase. Everything was and felt perfect right now because of how excited you two were to have each other entirely without fear, limitations, and uncertainty—well, nearly.

Your dad will come around when you tell him, you’re almost positive.

But, waiting a bit would prove to you if this feeling was something that would stick without the memories and nostalgia you share being the anchor to it all.

Besides, you two still have a lot to learn about one another all over again before you outwardly labeled this beauty of a man as your boyfriend. You weren’t lying when you said you loved him, but love didn’t mean you had to rush. It meant that you had all the time in the world together to figure it out.

Right?

He understood your concerns, even if he wished you would’ve told him yes and let him fuck you in celebration. Granted, he still did, but it was with determination—to show you that there was no such thing as a fluke when it came to how he felt about you.

Besides all the mushy feelings though, it’s been immensely freeing with him. Like he promised the morning after he made love to you for the first time, in the early evenings during your stay, he’s been helping you try to learn how to ride a horse before he took you out to buy you one of your own.

No matter how much you failed, it was the reality that Caleb was your helping hand to make your heart dance in your chest.

You whole heartedly blamed your pops for your inability, but it partially on you, too. He tried to teach you when you were younger, but gave up once he realized how scared you’d always be no matter what horse he put you on or in front of you. Despite how badly he wanted you to conquer, he refused to traumatize his little girl further after all the falls and near accidents.

And Caleb was far too young and inexperienced himself at the time to try, so you simply never got the hang of it. Not even when he took you a few times to ride on Applebottom before you left for college.

You were honestly too embarrassed to try asking for any assistance the older you became and add you leaving on top of that, horse riding just became a skill you accepted that you’d never acquire.

Caleb soothed the beautiful steed, rubbing down her nose and scratched below her chin to ease her defiance.

“You wanna call it a day?” he grinned up at you, the warm setting sun making his dewy skin glow.

“Please.”

“No worries, angel. Scoot back.”

You maneuver yourself on the leather saddle to make room for the burly man, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting against him once he sat and grabbed hold of the reigns before making sure you were ready to go. After your confirmation, with a click of his tongue and a soft “go ‘head girl”, you were riding towards his large home with the slightly humid wind wiping across your dampened skin.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he said the closer you got.

“For what?”

“Because I want us to have some fun.”

“I think we have a lot of that here, don’t you think?”

He laughs, the sound warming you on the inside. “You’re not lyin’, but I wanna take you dancing. Remember the last time we went?”

You flip through your memories like they’re pages on a book, not having any recollection.

“Exactly,” he fills in your silence. “We weren’t even ten years old and couldn’t catch a beat for shit.”

“Caleb, that does not count!” Now you’re the one laughing, hard enough to make you snort a little bit.

“It definitely does!” Slowing Applebottom down until she completely stops beside the wrap around porch, he jumps down first to then help you. When you’re standing in front of him, he cups your face in his hands and kisses your lips tenderly.

“I’m gonna set her up for the night, we’ll head in, get cleaned up, and I want to be back down in my pickup in an hour. You got that, angel?”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, making him smirk.

“Go on.” He plucks his cowboy hat off his head and hits you playfully on the ass with it on your way up the steps. “Get the shower going for us.”

You and Caleb have been on the dance floor for nearly an hour straight, and you couldn’t get enough. With every twirl and the feeling of his body pressed against you alongside all the other patrons having their own fun, you wished this night could go on forever.

In your floral pink knee length summer dress, his strong hands were on your waist as he moved you side to side to the thumping beat that vibrated the walls and floors of the classical country dance bar that’s been around long before the both of you.

Your sexy cowboy was a sight to drool over in his sage green long sleeve shirt that he had pulled up on his strong forearms to display his tattoos and dark blue jeans that showed off some of his impressive physique.

You were wearing his black Cattleman that he slyly placed atop your head in the middle of you swaying to the music. You helplessly giggled when he kissed down your neck and took you by the hand to spin you around to face him.

His skin was slightly flushed and his soft hair a small whirlwind of a mess, but if you asked Caleb what he was feeling—complete and alive were the only adjectives that could come to mind.

Your arms went around his neck with a bright smile to accompany your eagerness as you sang along to the lyrics of a song your momma still loves to blast on her cleaning days. Caleb flashed you that boyish grin that made you swoon when you grew dramatic in your efforts to match the passion of the talented singer’s voice blasting through the speakers.

Then he started to sing with you and for a moment, there was no care in the world about how crazy you both sounded. This was where you had fun and you wouldn’t let anything prevent you from enjoying it to its fullest potential.

That was your intention until a woman walked up to you both as the upbeat song ended and transitioned to something slower. You couldn’t even get close to him again before an airy voice said behind you, “You finished with her yet, C?”

C? Who the hell is she calling C?

You craned your neck to figure out who was emitting the strong aroma of too-much perfume. A pretty and short, long haired brunette looking up at Caleb with very clear fuck-me eyes, proved to be the answer to the mystery.

Her complete disregard for your presence wasn’t missed, either.

“I know your mother raised you to have some respect, Maycee,” Caleb replied sharply, not bothering to look at her.

“What? I waited ‘til the song was over,” she shrugs, moving closer to him and making this weird primal behavior surge within you when her perfectly manicured fingers tried to rest on his shoulder before he shucked her off.

“That was respectful enough, was it not? I just want to talk with you.” Her judgmental eyes look into yours that’s slowly losing the light it had second ago. “Alone.”

“We’ve got nothin’ to talk about. Coming up to me when I’m with my girl is out of line.”

“Nothing to talk about? Your girl?” she spits out in disbelief. “Seems like you’ve made the wrong choice.”

“Am I invisible?” you interrupt swiftly, the irritation coursing through your body making it impossible to keep your mouth shut any longer. The looks were hard to ignore, but the nosiness of others did nothing to put out the flame stoking in your chest.

You face her head on, ready to defend yourself with zero intimidation at her attempt to size you up.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“The moment you spoke to him made it have every fucking thing to do with me.”

“Aww, let me guess: you think you’re special?” she scoffs with a mocking grin. “Tell her about our time together Caleb, since it’s so necessary that she stays clued in.”

Your body tenses as your jaw ticks. The noticeable reaction makes her smile as if she’s triumphant.

“I’d really rather not embarrass you or ourselves more than you’ve already done yourself, Maycee,” Caleb says through gritted teeth. “That’s not what I want or what I do, but you have a tendency of pushing your fucking luck. You’ve done enough. I suggest you know when to walk away.”

You were hard to rile up—very hard. But Caleb was one of the few people who knew how you could get if that’s where you were brought. It’s one of the reasons he’s trying to deescalate the situation as quickly as possible.

“You’re such an asshole. Her over me—seriously?” She sucks her teeth. “Call me when you come back to your senses. My mouth really misses you.”

Your eyes narrow and you check her before Caleb can try. Your tone drops to make sure that even with the quietness that’s suffocating the already stuffy space, only she can hear you clearly.

“Know that my name was tattooed on his chest while his dick was in your mouth.” You get in her face now, feeling a strong hand on your arm to hold you back.

“I want you to make sure you sit with the fact that every time he got hard, it’s because he thought of me. Even when he was inside of you.”

Maycee’s chest rises and falls, the clear shock and disbelief swirling in her irises.

“Baby, let’s just go,” Caleb calls to you, his grip pressing a little harder to make sure you’re aware that he’s trying to keep you calm.

It’s ridiculous how easily your night has been ruined, and now all the fun is washed out your veins.

Not another word is spoken when you take off his hat and press it roughly to his chest, not caring if he doesn’t catch it. You snatch yourself away from him before you storm out the bar and into the now cool night.

Your anger is misplaced, you know that. But it’s feels impossible to correct with the way it was encompassing your entire being.

Caleb doesn’t waste a moment following you, quickly unlocking his vehicle and opening the door to let you climb inside. Once behind the wheel, he maneuvers the tires over the gravel parking lot before rolling onto the smooth roads, and god is the drive uncomfortable.

“You wanna talk now?” he voices ten minutes in, sighing at your refusal to answer—again.

You told yourself you weren’t jealous of his past, that you didn’t care. And truly, you didn’t.

But the mere thought of Maycee with Caleb in any way, made your blood boil. The way she walked up to him like she was so familiar fueled you with violence.

He was yours, he belongs to you.

“Pull over,” you mumble, making his eyebrow furrow.

“I’m not letting you walk if that’s what you think you’re about to do. I don’t care—”

“Pull. Over,” you repeat slowly.

He does. What other choice does he have when the woman he loves looks ready to set fire to anything in her path that dared to give her a reason?

There’s nothing but long empty rode in front and behind you in the dark night of chirping crickets and twinkling fireflies as he puts the car in park to the side. Caleb looks over at you, the moonlight and rows of illuminated warm street lamps pouring through the windshield giving him the privilege to set eyes on his lady.

“Angel, you know she doesn’t mean anythin’ to me. I know you know.”

“I do.” You turn your body to face him.

“We only hooked up twice, pretty. I don’t want you being upset with me. Tell me what you need me—” Your hand reaching over the center console and the tug on his belt makes his words slow.

“I want you,” you breathe out, your voice shaky and the need to have him overriding anything sensible. “I want you to fuck me, Caleb. I want to erase her from you—erase all of them.”

Pretty,” he coos apologetically. “You’ve already done that. But anything you want. Just let me take us home.”

“No,” you shake your head stubbornly. “Now. I want it now.”

“Fuck…” His cock comes to life at your possessiveness.

He leans in to kiss you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he swallows your whimpers and identifies your cravings without more needing to be said. You stay like that for a moment, letting him savor your taste.

When he releases you, he gets out the truck so that he can slide into the black leather seat in the back. The moment he shuts the door and sits, waiting with his legs spread wide, you’re kicking off your shoes and climbing toward him like he’s your reclamation.

The lack of sufficient space isn’t enough to stop you from sitting in his lap and pulling on his hair, grinding your panty clad pussy against the rough material of his jeans. He sucks on your neck, the sweet and tangy taste on your skin only making his balls tighten with need.

You have to see your name that marks him, that gives you ownership of him. Impatiently, you pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the side and tracing your fingertips along the mesmerizing ink.

“I’m yours, angel,” he whispers, his hands gripping your hips hungrily.

“Show me,” you beg. You feel down his pecs and toned abs before quickly beginning to undo his belt. The clinks echo in the enclosed space at the same time that he bunches your dress above your waist.

Wrapping your hand around his thickness and pulling him out of his confines, you pump him agonizingly slow in your palm.

“You told me this was my cock,” you say against lips, your heart hammering so fast that you’re not too sure how coherent you sound. “You said both of you were devoted to me.”

Your mouths graze, but never meet. “Give me what’s mine…”

Caleb curses under his breath when you swipe a thumb along his slit and smear his precum around, his hips bucking up with eagerness. “I’ll listen to your every w—word. Sit up on your knees, baby…Let me make it better.”

Bracing one hand on him, you follow his instruction and push out a desperate huff when he roughly tugs your panties to the side after you lift yourself.

You didn’t want a condom. In fact, you’d lose your shit if he even offered one. That’s all you’ve been using since your first time together and right now, you just wanted to feel him without any barriers.

When his bare tip slides into your leaking hole, you press your lips together with a pleased hum.

“They can never have you again,” you cry as he helps lower you down to take every pulsating veiny inch. “Hngh—Yes…I miss you like this…”

“N—Never,” he solidifies through a raspy groan, his dick twitching inside your hot and slick walls when you squeeze him.

“You hear how we sound together?” You get closer as you make your hips rise and steadily fall, the squelching of your connection filling your ears. “Only we could make music so powerful.”

The truck begins to shake the harder you go, your palms pressing against the cushioning behind him so your nails had something to scratch when he fucks into you, knocking the breath out of your pliable body.

His fingers dig in your flesh through your dress, surely bruising you, but you need him to. You need that tinge of pain as a reminder that neither of you are never going anywhere because you’ve already made your mark.

“You—hah—you feel so fucking good, Caleb…” The effortless gliding in your pussy makes white dots spot in your vision and your nipples ache beneath the meddlesome fabric.

“We’ve always been in tune.” He shakily reaches over and grabs his Cattleman, placing it on your disarrayed strands and running his thumb across your lip before his large hand caresses down your neck before grasping one of your breasts over your dress. Your lack of a bra lets him flick a nipple, making a strained whimper fall from your puffy lips.

“Don’t ever take it off again. I’m your cowboy, pretty. Own that.” He loses his train of thought for a moment, being buried so snuggly in your heat.

“Ah, fuck…fuck…M—Make me feel it…”

You nod, leaning further back against the console so the outside streetlights could shine upon where you’re connected. Your lover looks down to watch your cunt greedily spread the sticky fluids up and down his cock with unabashed desire.

“Y—you’re not C…” you mewl tiredly, rotating your hips to grind against him. “You’re my Caleb…Just mine…”

The new motion sends shivers down his spine. “You’re right…That’ll never change. It never has…”

The interior grows foggy and humid, sweat beading down your back and his temples the faster your orgasm approaches. You use your muscles to tighten your cunt around his throbbing length, and each contraction makes him feel more precum spurt out in preparation to claim you from the inside.

“That’sss right…oh, baby, keep going… just like that…W—Wanna fill you up so badly…” He pulls your panties over more to gain complete access, his thumb lazily circling your taunt bundle of nerves and sending shockwaves through you.

“Make you so fuckin’ full of me, pretty—I know you want it.”

He sucks air in through his teeth when your peak hits you so hard and unexpectedly that it has you trying to crawl away from him at the simultaneous moment that his cum rushes inside your shuddering walls.

Your moans are on the precipice of pornographic, but for him, it’s the embodiment of sublimity.

You serenade him with your gentle sounds and wavering tone, letting yourself succumb to the deliriousness like you’ve done many times now. Caleb holds you down to make sure you’re filled to the brim, rubbing along your trembling inner thighs. He keeps you spread open so he can watch how the copious amount of cum has no choice but to spill out of your hole and down cock before reaching his balls and staining his clothes.

“‘M so sorry for what happened,” he speaks softly after giving you the space to catch your breath.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble, holding his hat so that it’ll stay on your head as you sit up before taking it off. Fear consumes him for a brief moment when you place it on his.

“Remember when I told you no?” Your head tilts, taking his hand and placing it on your cheek to nestle into. “About being your girlfriend?”

“I do.”

“Tonight has shown me that…I think I’m in wayyy too deep to be trying to play it safe.”

He smiles. “A mutual sentiment.”

“Will you do me the honor,” you flash a genuine one as well, adjusting the crooked hat and brushing his hair away from his eyebrows. “and let me be your one and only cowgirl?”

“You never even have to ask, angel. C’mere.”

After you share yet another kiss, he presses a sweeter one to the tip your nose.

“Your dad is going to whoop my ass.”

You laugh, the vibrations making you remember that Caleb is still inside of you.

“He’ll be okay. Momma will hold him back.”

“Thanks, baby,” he rolls his eyes with playful sarcasm. “That means a lot.”

“Whatever he does, I’ll be there to kiss it better.”

“Yeah?” he smirks.

“Mhmmm.”

You don’t know what you were even going to try and say or do next because any and all calmness and sentimentally is gone when you see red and blue light flash along with two curt blares of a police siren.

“Shit!” you panic, flicking Caleb’s forehead when he starts to muffle his laugh.

“Ow!” he whisper shouts.

“Move your ass!”

“I can’t until you do!”

Then a knock at the driver’s window sounds. You would forever be in debt to tinted windows now.

“Play dead,” you suggest lowly.

“You’re a terrible problem solver.”

“Well, I’m not seeing you come up with any bright ideas!”

When what you know is the final polite knock sounds with four hits instead of the initial two, Caleb closes his eyes and lays his head back, the hat falling over his eyes and forehead.

“You’re right,” he says, his words muffled. “Play dead.”

“You’re all worried about my dad when me and this police officer is getting ready to kick your ass.”

“Can’t. I’m already dead.”

“Caleb!”

“Mr. Xia?” calls a male voice.

“Who the hell..?”

“Oh,” he huffs in relief. “It’s just Xavier.”

“From high school!?” you ask, completely stunned.

He nods. “He moved back a year after you left. Nothing to worry about. We’re cool.”

“You’re shirtless and still in me!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be embarrassed.”

You pluck his forehead once more. “I can’t stand you!”

He rubs his forehead, then pulls you into him. “I’m in love with you too, angel. But flick me again and I’ll fuck you again with him right outside.”

“Just do something!” you pout, your face getting heated at the thought.

Glad to have made you flustered, he smiles. “Anything for you.”

A/N: I felt like creating a scenario like this felt kinda realistic for them because I definitely believe people would fight over a man like Caleb—especially if he sexes you as good as he looks LOLLLL!!!! I didn’t think it would’ve just been sunshine and rainbows initially in a small town where Caleb has been around the block…I could’ve just done a big time skip to their happily ever after, but where’s the fun in that?!?! But I think I’ve unintentionally started another series, DAMNIT! JAYLA, PLS PUT THE PHONE DOWN!!!!

🍎 Tags: @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @meadowinthesky @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat

Creds to @/saradika, @/saradika-graphics, and @/bbyg4rlhelps for the dividers!

[sylvieisoffline]

MY BRAT TAMER CALEB 😭😭😭😭😭

hii I love ur work bookie!!

brat tamer caleb nsfw? looks around nervously ..

Brat tamer Caleb ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 2.6k

a/n: hi bookie!! LOL no need to be nervous 😏 thank u so much!! that seriously means so much to me ‹33 hope this was okay. i can totally see caleb being a brat tamer, but only if u wanted him to be bc that man is DOWN BADD. like otherwise he would totally give in.

as always, DM me, comment, or send another ask if u wanted something else! i won't get butthurt. if anything i just get an excuse to write caleb more

——

Everything was completely fine. You were completely fine.

Until Caleb rolled his sleeves to his elbows and leaned back in his chair like he didn't know exactly what that would do to you.

Maybe you were a little desperate, but that wasn't news. You were always desperate for Caleb.

You shifted closer, brushing up against his side like it was just some innocent gesture. "Calebbb."

Caleb grinned, leaning down to hear you over the clinking glass and passing conversations. "Pipsqueaakk."

You pursed your lips and batted your eyelashes. It was an overused look, but one that always won Caleb over—he claimed it was "too pretty to resist."

"Aren't you a little bored?" You trailed your heel up his shin under the table, the touch drawing out a small chuckle. He knew that move. Knew that look.

"Mm.. maybe a little," he admitted. "But it'd be rude to leave a dinner you're supposed to have with your friends."

You frowned, leaning in even closer. Who cared about modesty anymore? Caleb looked too damn good to not be bending you over the table right now.

Alright. Down, girl.

"C'mon." You nudged him lightly. "We can just say a quick goodbye and be done."

But he still wasn't budging. If anything, he was liking this, letting an amused little grin tugging at his lips.

You chewed your cheek. What an ass.

"Please?" You brushed your lips against his ear, the gesture innocent enough to pass off as nothing. "I need you."

Caleb watched as you sat back. Oh, you were going all out.

The thought made him laugh. He loved you like this. Loved how desperate you were to be put you in your place. "You're being naughty tonight."

You sucked your lip between your teeth, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

"I'm sorry, Pips," he huffed, shaking his head and taking a small sip of his drink, "but I think you can wait a little."

"Caleb—"

"You really wanna act all needy in front of your friends?" Caleb mused, casting you a sideways glance. Any protests you had left instantly melted away. It was hard to think when Caleb looked at you like that—all smug and sharp like he already had you exactly where he wanted.

"Just sit pretty. You'll get what you want in a little."

You huffed.

Just sit pretty?

No. No, absolutely not. Caleb had never resisted that look. Why the hell was he starting now, when you needed him so badly it hurt?

You crossed your arms and sat back in your seat, your eyes darting over your friends who all looked completely unbothered—laughing, drinking, eating.

God.

They had no idea that Caleb had just denied you.

And that you were going to make him pay.

The rest of the night you teased him.

You trailed your fingers up his thigh, flashing him an innocent smile when his eyes darted towards you. Sharp. Suspicious.

You didn't stop though. Instead, you brought your hand higher, stopping dangerously close to his groin. And when he didn't even flinch, you went higher. His hitched little breath was your cue to pull back.

Two could play this game.

You pulled your dress a little too low to expose more skin. You brushed your ankle against his more suggestively. You texted him the filthy things and watched as he read them, then spread his thighs subtly and shifted in his seat.

You were getting to him.

Deny as he might.

But he never broke. No. Caleb was too cool for that. He could give your leg a warning little squeeze and murmur dirty promises in your ear, but he didn't break.

Not even on the car ride home.

You sat there, elbow resting on the window and legs squeezed together.

"Tired?"

You blinked, glancing over at Caleb. He wasn't looking at you. Not then, anyway. But you saw it, heard it—the little upward curl of his lips and mocking lilt in his voice.

You sucked in your cheek. "Mmn. No, I'm feeling great. Actually," you shifted, squeezing your legs together a little tighter, "I think I'll help myself when I get home."

Caleb tensed slightly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Play nice, Pips."

"I am playing nice," you hummed, turning your gaze back out the window.

Caleb let out a disbelieving laugh. You were annoyingly stubborn and he loved that. You gave him the perfect challenge. The perfect chase.

"Maybe I shouldn't."

Caleb's eyes darted toward you again. "What do you mean?"

You met his gaze again, lips soft and sweet, curled into the cute smile that told him you were up to.

"I'm just so—" you sighed, arching your back off the seat. Not too dramatic. Just enough to look real. "I'm so pent up. I don't know if I can wait 'till we get home."

Caleb scoffed. "You wouldn't."

You shouldn't.

You knew what he'd do to you when you got home. How'd he'd put you back in your place and God, if that isn't what you were asking for all night.

"I would," you murmured, eyes glued to him as you pulled your dress up and bunched it around your stomach.

Caleb let out a stuttered breath. But he didn't speak. He couldn't. Because were you seriously about to get off in front of him? In his passenger seat? To taunt him?

The answer was a resounding yes when he heard the first, slick slide of your fingers over your swollen bundle of nerves.

And you just smiled, lazily rolling up into your touch. Caleb's eyes narrowed.

THAT was it.

You finally had him.

You could feel it.

Without warning, he swerved onto a different street, pulling into an empty, dimly lit parking space, and turned the engine off.

"Get in the back." He stared at you, his chest falling and rising just a little too quickly. "Now."

A small part of you wanted to put up more of a fight. Reject him the way he'd so rudely done to you this evening. But the bigger, more needy part of you was already scrambling to the back seat.

You watched with bated breath as Caleb slipped out of the car, only to slip into the back seat with you.

He didn't tease or wait, just grabbed you and pressed you into the window. You gasped, hands grasping for something to hold onto.

Caleb leaned over you, his stomach pressing against your lower back as he murmured into your ear. "You're lucky I love you so much, you know?" He dragged his hand down your leg, then back up to slip it between your legs, and pressed two fingers against the damp fabric of your underwear.

"I could've made you wait 'till we got home, but I'm taking care of you right now."

You whined, helplessly nudging your hips back against his hand. "Thank you."

You didn't care how breathy or pathetic you sounded. You needed Caleb now.

Caleb huffed, nudging your panties to the slide to run his fingers through your drooling cunt. "Don't thank me yet."

But your body was already doing that, fluttering around nothing, begging for him to do something. And when he finally did, you nearly buckled.

You would've collapsed into the window if he hadn't been holding you.

"You're so wet," he awed, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your puffy clit. "Were you like this the whole dinner?"

"Yes," you moaned out, your body jolting when he teased your entrance. It was barely the tip of his finger, but you were desperate and overeager. Any touch had your mind spinning.

"Naughty girl," he breathed, dipping his finger in your clenching hole for a second before pulling out and going back to rubbing.

You whined, pushing your hips back again.

You thought you had him.

That he was finally giving you what you were begging for all night.

Until he pulled his hand away.

"Uh-uh."

You breathed out a shaky sigh.

No, no, no.

Why was he stopping?

"Caleb—Please."

"Nope."

You fought every cell in your body not to push your hips back again. You knew you'd find nothing, but it was like instinct.

"You don't get to take after tonight. You just get to look pretty while I do this." His fingers found your slick folds again, but he didn't move. Not yet. "Understand?"

You bit your lip.

Caleb nipped at your ear. "C'mon, baby. Understand?"

"I understand," you whimpered.

"There you go." Finally, he started moving again, rubbing you in maddening little circles. He knew just the way you liked it. Knew you liked to be teased just a little.

So he'd slip his finger down and pump a finger in. Slow, steady, then go back to your clit when you thought you'd had enough.

But you weren't getting enough.

"Caleb, this isn't fair," you exhaled, dropping your head against the window like that might ease the ache between your legs.

"No? You don't think so, Pips?" He mused, words a little breathy.

Your skin prickled at the teasing lilt you heard. You knew it was pointless, but you shook your head away, the movement slow and pathetic.

"What isn't fair is you thinking you have the right to anything after you were touching me and sending me those dirty texts all night," Caleb gritted out, plunging his fingers in and curling them to hit that perfect spot inside you.

You gasped, unable to help the way your hips jerked back. "Yes! Oh, God!"

For a second, you had some semblance of relief before he was pulling out again.

"Pipsqueak... I thought I told you to keep still."

"You..." You paused, a whine tearing from your throat when he went back to the same agonizing movements on your achy clit. "You didn't explicitly say to stay still. You just—you just told me to look pr—"

"Don't get smart with me unless you want me to stop completely." His breath fanned over your neck. "And I really don't want to stop."

"Please don't stop!" You sunk your nails into the leather seat. "I'll be still. Promise."

Claeb groaned, moving his fingers slightly faster now. Maybe it was a reward, or maybe he just couldn't help it. You didn't know. Didn't care. He was moving faster and that's all that mattered.

Your breath left in uneven pants as the heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter with each pass of his fingers.

You were close.

So close.

Caleb was hitting all the perfect spots, circling the little bud between your thighs like he knew your body better than he knew his own.

You were almost there.

Just a little more.

Your lips parted with a silent gasp.

Then—

He stopped.

Gently eased his hand away and started pumping you, slowly.

You nearly cried. "No, no, no. Caleb—" You bit your lip to keep the pathetic sound from tumbling out. "Ca–Caleb, please! Just—I—"

"Shh, you're okay."

If you hadn't caught the mocking edge in his voice, you would've melted at the sweet words.

"Next time, don't tease me if you can't handle this."

You sighed, the sound breaking off on a whine. Your window was all fogged up, sweat and tears clung to your cheeks. You were a mess, and Caleb was completely fine. Teasing you. Feeling you, like you weren't losing your goddamn mind.

"I won't do it again," you blurted. "Just let me come. I wanna come..!"

Caleb huffed out a quiet laugh. "A brat and a liar." He slid his slick fingers back in your throbbing cunt, giving you just enough to make your toes curl, but not enough to push you over the edge. "Suchh a naughty girl today, huh?"

"'Mmno! I promise!"

Caleb sunk in knuckle deep and started curling his fingers, brushing over the spongy spot that made you see stars.

"Ah-ahh," Caleb murmured. "You know how I feel about broken promises."

"Caleb—P-please! Pro–promise!"

He laughed again, the sound making you clench around him. "You're making this worse for yourself, Pips."

You were close again. He was touching all the right spots, curling and uncurling his fingers in a way that made your eyes roll to the back of your head and your thighs tremble around his hand.

"You're close," he rasped, listening to the obscene squelch that told him you were so worked up it hurt.

You grit your teeth, nodding.

So close again.

He had to give it to you this time. He had to. You earned it, right?

Fucking wrong.

Just when you were about to come, he pulled away. Again. Fingers slick and warm.

Your whole body was screaming for release. He couldn't leave you like this. He wouldn't.

"I'm sorry!" you cried. "I'm sorry I teased you! Please let me come!"

"Yeah?" Caleb brought his fingers back to the mess between your legs and tapped them playfully against your slick flesh. The sound it drew was sinful. "I don't believe you."

"Caleb—!"

"Show me how sorry you are." Slowly, he pushed his fingers back in. "Fuck yourself on me."

Your breath caught in your throat. "I—I can move?"

Caleb's fingers twitched, eager to watch you lose yourself. "Mhmm. You can move."

"I can come?"

"Yep. Move, cum, whatever you want—as long as you do the work. Can you do that, Pips?"

You didn’t even answer—you were already grinding down, fucking yourself on his fingers like you needed it to breathe. You were moaning and panting on every filthy slide of his fingers.

"You look so pretty like this." Caleb gawked, watching every shift and twitch of your hips as you sank on his fingers over and over again. "Using my fingers to get yourself off—Fuck—"

He bit his lip at the little curse slipped out. He wanted to keep up the facade of indifference, but it was impossible when you looked and felt like that.

"Faster. C'mon," he rasped. "Don't you want it?"

"Mm'yes! I want it!" You didn't miss a beat. You moved faster, filling the car with your moans and cries.

The corners of your vision blurred as you chased down your orgasm like a woman possessed. You didn't stop. Didn't hesitate, not even when you felt your arms shake and your head lull forward against the glass.

"Caleb! I'm—Yes! Oh, God!"

"That's it. Right there, right there," Caleb encouraged.

And then you were finally coming.

Your orgasm ripped through you with a guttural cry. Your body twitched, wave after wave of arousal gushing around his slender fingers.

Caleb held you through everything, making sure you didn't collapse against the door when the aftershocks finally washed over you.

"Hey, you okay?"

When you didn't answer, panic flared in his chest. Had he been too mean? Did he hurt you?

Caleb shifted, sitting back and holding you in his lap.

"Hey, Pips."

"Mm."

He sighed.

"Don't do that to me. Are you okay?"

You didn't answer, just lazily curled into his chest and wrapped two shaky arms around his neck.

Caleb instantly melted into you, peppering your head with kisses. "You did so good, pretty."

You gave another quiet hum in response and he chuckled. "Are you sure you're okay?"

You nodded. "I'm.. very okay."

Caleb smiled. "Good." He pressed another kiss to your head. "Wanna stay like this for a bit?"

"Please."

He huffed. "Anything for you."

—

taglist <3

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @heartyluv @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @beaconsxd @haleaf @politefawn @colonelpantysniffer @villainessobsessed @lioria @inlovewithsylus @tired7o7 @justwinginglife @itsmysmut @bitewiththis @littleboomerang @aenishas @honeymoonfleur @stargirlygirl @peachlycheetea @calebsbabyapple @goochfiddler99 @lewdcifer778 @minivia @bidisasterforevermore

[sylvieisoffline]

drunk mc is sooo cute argh, I love how they're written here (especially zayne, I can actually see him doing this 🥹)

hey, i love you! ♡

synopsis: drunkenly telling the lads men you love them 

character/s: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb 

warning/s: drunk reader, giggly reader, a lot of ilys

note/s: i will not tolerate any “i don’t act like this while drunk” comments. i will actually block you. 

xavier: 

the hunter’s association held its yearly anniversary celebration and attendance was heavily encouraged. there was a rumor spread that if you attended the party, you would get a day of vacation. 

unfortunately for xavier, it was only a rumor. however, he couldn’t help but be amused as he watched you from the couch he sat on. 

you were tipsy, swaying slightly as you giggled at what tara said, throwing your hands in the air as if you were exaggerating a point. xavier smiles fondly at the scene as he takes a sip of his own cup of alcohol.

he’s donned the same cup for the past hour, but if his calculations were correct, it was your third cup, you drank it like water and went around the room, initiating a toast to every higher up you encountered. 

it was by your fifth glass that you stumbled in your footing, your lover immediately stands up, walking briskly to catch your intoxicated body. 

“easy there.” xavier whispers and you could feel goosebumps rise on your arm.

“oh, romeo’s here to save the damsel in distress!” tara giggles but was shushed by simone who pulled her away from the scene. 

“xavier, you’re here!” you say, a grin on your face as you tried to stand on your own two feet, his hand automatically flits to your waist, stabilizing you. 

“you okay?” you giggle at his deep voice as your head falls on his chest. “mm!” you reassure him. 

you tilt your chin up to meet his piercing blue eyes, warmth seeping on your cheeks. 

“xav?” “yeah?” 

“you look really good tonight.” you say with a drunken smile on your face, xavier couldn’t help but smile and scoff at your words. 

“you’re beautiful, always.” xavier responds as he watches you squirm in his grasp, a flustered expression on your face. 

“oh, and xavier?”

“yeah?”

“i love you.” 

xav tries to blame the alcohol for the sudden blush that appeared on his face. he tries to look away but you whine, pushing his cheek back so he can face you once more. 

“you’re drunk.” xavier mumbles. 

“‘mmm so?” you giggle, you nuzzle your head against his chest. “it doesn’t change the fact that i love you!” 

xavier fights the smile that wants to escape his lips, he places a hand at your back as he leads you outside to get some fresh air. 

as you drape yourself over the railing, you can feel xavier wrap himself around you as he leans down and whispers in your hair. 

“i love you too.”

zayne: 

the sudden doorbell interrupts zayne from his concentration. he looks over at the time, 4:13am. his brows furrowed as he takes his tablet and presses the app for his home camera. he definitely was not expecting any guests this early in the morning. 

he abruptly stands, knocking over his reports as he all but sprints towards the front door. 

from behind the door, he can hear your friends try to quiet your drunken giggles, zayne pulls the door open only to find you slumped over tara and simone, an apologetic expression on their faces. 

“we didn’t realize she drank so much…” simone starts. “we didn’t want to disturb you, dr. zayne! promise!” tara says, a bit too quickly, “but she wouldn’t tell us her address and she kept asking for you and–”

“it’s alright.” zayne cuts her off, gently taking you from their hold, effortlessly carrying you bridal style. “i’ve got it.” you perk up at the sound of his voice.

he bids the two of them goodnight as the door shuts close. 

“zaaaaayne” you drew out his name, giggling at your antics. 

“yes, my love?” zayne can’t lie. he is very amused to see you like this. 

“‘m love you.” zayne feels his heart stutter against his chest. 

“what?”

your eyes flit to a close, smile dopey as you repeat your words, quieter this time. 

“i looooove you. ‘m ‘so lucky to have you, y’know?” you were slurring your words  

zayne scoffs, a small smile on his face. 

“okay, let’s take your makeup off.” you whine at his words. “no, zayne. listeeeen.”

“i aaaam.” zayne mimics, laughing as he watches you pout. 

“what is it?” zayne asks as he places you on the sink counter, makeup remover ready in his hand as he wipes away the pigment gently. 

“please tell me?” zayne tilts her chin up so you can face him. her pout slowly disappearing. 

“i love you a lot.” you say and zayne hums as if you’ve given him new information. 

“i see.” 

“you don’t love me.” you pout, zayne sighs, an amused smile on his face as he presses a kiss on your recently wiped cheek. “i do. i love you.” “how much?” 

zayne couldn’t believe that he was giving in to your drunken antics. “very much.”

“hehe. ‘m the luckiest girl in the world. i love you, zayne!” you beam. zayne lets out a chuckle as he kisses your closed eye. when he pulls away, he realizes that you were no longer responding and tiny snores escaped your lips.

“you’re wrong.” zayne whispers as he wipes away the last of your makeup. “i’m even luckier to be loved by you.” 

rafayel: 

it was talia’s birthday, you and rafayel knew that you could never say no to his aunt as she dragged the two of you alongside her, forcing you both to socialize. 

socializing meant politely drinking with your conversation partner, and god. why did talia know so many people? by the end of the first hour, rafayel was already supporting your weight with his arm around your waist. 

“cutie, maybe we should slow down.” rafayel coos in your ear. you grumble, crinkling your nose as you shake your head. 

“eh? is our rafayel slowing down?” he flinches as he hears his aunt’s teasing voice, he rolls his eyes, shaking his head. 

“me? slowing down? puh-lease. it’s my cutie you need to worry about.” you pushed against his hold in a sloppy manner. 

“i’m fine!” you assure talia as you raise another glass. “i can drink plenty more.” talia looks at you then back at rafayel who was silently begging for her to stop you. 

but who was talia if not an instigator? 

“very well then!” talia says as she links her arm with yours. “rafayel, i heard that one of the investors is here and is interested in your works.” talia said before dragging you away. 

“i’ll keep her company, you should meet with him!” 

rafayel sighed. it was going to be a long night. 

—

the door opens to his room, talia smirking at her flushed nephew as she sighs sympathetically, a drunk you leaned against her body.. 

“it seems like you both can’t hold your liquor. what a shame.” she teases, rafayel was too drunk to answer her back with a “you were trying to kill us!” 

talia lays you down beside your lover, rafayel immediately tucks you in and talia can’t help but coo at the sight. 

“i never knew you could be romantic!” “aunt talia, get out!” talia laughs but does so nonetheless. 

when the door clicks shut, you let out a giggle. 

“what’s so funny, cutie?” rafayel asks, a slur to his voice. you shake your head but relent when rafayel didn’t stop poking your cheeks. 

“it’s just…” you slur before you perk up, placing a kiss on his chin. “i love you!” 

rafayel smiles, “i love you more.” you shake your head, “no. i love you more.”

rafayel scoffs. “well i love you more than mo–” “no! i love you most!” you say, a bright smile as if you won. you nuzzle yourself deeper into his chest as you places a tender kiss on where his bond mark was. 

“i love you so much, raf.” 

rafayel closes his eyes and pulls you closer, placing a kiss on the crown of your head as he feels your breathing even out. 

“i love you most, my beloved bride.” rafayel whispers as he joins you in your dreams. 

sylus:

when sylus invited you to an auction, you expected to see rare protocores that were of high grade or exotic animals that were illegal to auction off. though you did see just that, sylus saw the way that your eyes twinkled as the auctioneer introduced the world’s oldest wine. 

no words were shared, however, sylus clicks his tongue as he sees your fingers twitch while holding the paddle. with no hesitation, sylus raises his, offering an amount that could pay off your entire life if you thought about it, and it irked you that the amount offered barely put a dent on sylus’ bank.

the two of you were now situated in one of his suites, his vinyl player humming classical tunes as the two of you conversed under candlelights and charcuterie boards. 

for every bite of cracker, you found yourself sipping from your wine glass. it wasn’t your fault that the wine tasted like juice! it also wasn’t your fault that you were slowly becoming looser, much to sylus’ amusement. 

“are you okay, kitten?” he couldn’t help but ask, a teasing smile on his face as he wiped the sweat beading on your forehead. when did it become so hot?

“‘course i am!” you say, a little buzzed as you tapped your wine glass. “more please.”

sylus shakes his head with a chuckle. “i don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie.” you groan, swatting his hand away and reaching for the bottle, pouring yourself another glass and downing half in one sip. 

“t’s just juice.” you say as you find yourself sliding down the very comfortable sofa, sylus only looks at you with an amused expression as he feeds you another combination from the charcuterie board on the table. 

“you need to eat up, sweetie. we don’t want your hangover to be terrible tomorrow.” 

“i’m not drunk!” you reiterate. 

“i believe you.” he doesn’t. 

sylus stands up to grab a glass of water, you take the time to appreciate his retreating back, trying to memorize every muscle that flexes as he moves. 

“kitten?” you jolt, unaware that you were zoning out. 

“huh?” 

“sit up and drink.” he says as he angles the water to your lips. you keep your eyes trained onto his as you swallow the refreshing water. 

“feel better?” 

“i love you.” 

sylus’ eyes widened before he recovers with a smirk. “oh?” 

“what brought this upon, sweetie?” you say nothing as you push him on the sofa, sylus, caught off guard, lets himself be pushed, his hands supporting your waist as you climb on top of him. 

“it seems the kitten has cla–-” “i just love you a lot.” you slur, cutting him off as you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek. “‘m love you.” a kiss to his forehead. 

“you always take care of me with no complaints.” you giggle as you cup his face using both hands. 

“i just love you, so, so much.” you finish off with a loud kiss on his lips, giggling as you hear the sound of the smack. 

sylus was frozen. he was not expecting this kind of reaction but he would be a liar to say that he didn’t like it. 

sylus looks down to see you asleep on his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso. he chuckles, looking over to mephisto who was perched on the manmade tree branch, his mechanical eye blinking, recording. 

he definitely wasn’t going to let you forget this moment. 

caleb: 

the fleet was celebrating a successful voyage in the deepspace. all officers and personnel came back unscathed under the command of colonel caleb, and as much as caleb wanted to brush this off, a party was thrown in his honor. 

“not so much now, pips.” caleb coos softly in your ear as you take another flute of champagne from the waiter walking around. 

“pfft. i’m not a kid, caleb!” you say as you take a sip. “i know how to control myself.” you continue as you looked around the room. 

“you know, you don’t need to be glued to me, right?” caleb looks at you confused. “this night is thrown in your honor, go and socialize! i’ll be fine!” you say, pushing him towards his coworkers that looked like they were expecting him. 

as much as caleb didn’t want to, he respected your instruction and socialized, sharing a sip or two with his colleagues, his higher ups, and even rookie pilots who wished to talk to him. 

by the time he ensures that he has acknowledged everyone in the room, he finds you sitting on a chair, your head placed on top of your crossed arms on the table. 

caleb walks towards you in haste, poking your shoulder. you jolt, glaring at the intrusion as you turn around, only for the glare to melt away into a beam as you see caleb’s worried expression. 

“caleb!” you say, a giddy lilt in your voice. 

caleb looks over to the empty flutes surrounding you. 

“how many have you had?” 

you shrugged, joints flailing around as if you were boneless. “did’ya know that there were different flavors of that stuff? ‘wanted to try it all!” you giggle. caleb sighs as he kneels with his back facing you. 

“alright, get on.” “huh?” “you’ve had too much fun tonight, pipsqueak, it‘s time to rest.” 

you pout but followed nonetheless, your body dropping on his back as if you were magnetized. 

your arms cross against his chest, your head by his ear as you tell him what went on with his back turned. he walks away without saying goodbye to anyone at the party.

“and d’y’know? one of the officer’s wife is here because she can’t trust her husband with alcohol, said he gets embarrassing when he drinks too much.” you whisper, caleb hums, a teasing smile on his face. 

“sounds like someone i know.” “hey!” “kidding, pips. tell me more.” and so you did. 

“i have a secret.” you say, a giggle escaping your lips. caleb smirks, “oh yeah? let’s hear it.”

“i love you!” caleb feels his heartbeat quicken. “pips, you’re drunk.” he says, not paying mind to her words but the smile on his face betrays his demeanor. 

“so?” you scoff as you tighten your hold against his back. “that doesn’t mean i don’t love you.”

caleb, still smiley, decides to push it further. “oh yeah? what do you love about me?” 

he wonders if he should’ve asked that as you went onto a tirade of compliments, from his face, to his physique, to his practical and physical skills. 

“...i just.” you say, after the long list of things you loved about your colonel. “really love you a lot.” you say as you lean your head on his shoulder, breath evening out. 

caleb, with his cheeks flushed and his skin warm, couldn’t stop smiling. 

“i love you too, pips. more than you’ll ever know.” 

note/s: guess who's back :D i have another drunk mc! cooking rn (i can also do a counterpart version of the lads men doing this if yall want it) i hope you enjoyed !! ♡

[sylvieisoffline]

SO HELP ME GOD

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ caleb finding ur gspot <3

💭 : p in v , changing positions, mating press, prone bone, doggy, dumbification, slight degradation with praise

you didn’t know what he was doing. every time you thought he’d stop, he’d settle, he would change positions. acting like he was trying to find something inside of you that you didn’t even know was there. but your body did.

every time caleb thrusted, you clenched around him in pleasure—but it felt like he was missing something. every time he changed positions—from your legs on his shoulders, bending you in a way you didn’t even think was possible, to putting all his weight on top of you as you drool into the pillow—he blubbered something about knowing that it was somewhere inside, that he was so close to finding it.

every thrust was restless, a thrust deep—short, fast, a bit too the right, far to the left—you felt it through the fuzzy haze that muffled your hearing and overstimulating you. you felt your brain turn into mush, seeping past your lips as drool with every buck.

“c-caleb,” you slurred, face pressed against your pillow as he lifted your hips and pressed your ass against his pelvis. “‘leb, what’re you do—hah!” he quickly hushed you, thrusting harshly again, seeking for something—and you thought he hit it before missing it by a fraction. “know it’s here somewhere. fuck, fuck—gonna find it—gonna make you squirt, baby,” he panted.

he moved your hips to the side—thrusted. moved them slightly down—thrust. up again—thrust. until he pressed down on your back, making you arch against the matress and moved his knee—

he hit it and it felt like your brain popped.

you let out a sharp scream (one that your neighbors will probably call 911 thinking you were murdered) and you squirted. loud, wet, and dirty as your jaw dropped. he let out a choked gasp and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. he let out a long groan, head tilting back. “fuckkkk… there ya’ go. all dumb and fucked out for me, huh?”

he drew back, just to slam back, tip pressing against your gspot again that made your legs fly around and hips buck. “as you should, right? you like being so dumb for gege. your drooling your brains out, sweets,” he chuckled, grinding against the spot as you sobbed into the pillow.