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kissandtellus · 3 days ago

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Bark Like You Want It : ZaynexReaderxHybrid!Caleb

Synopsis: You adopted a stray Hybrid off the streets, much to your Fiancé Zayne’s dismay. Not only does he have to handle drool, he has to deal with his hormones too?

Warnings: SnowApple (sort of), threesome, knotting, dub-con, Hybrid!Caleb, oral (f!receiving), Lixli.

Tag List: @tremendoustragedybard, @katiiee80, @ohshitcindylou, @justannie18

Zayne always thought of himself as a cat person. Just a small, sassy little thing that could take care of itself. But when his fiancé comes from a Wanderer Battle with a big, overgrown human Mutt in tow. He only has one word.

No.

That no, never came to life.

You’re in your cozy home, sprawled on the couch with a massive, scruffy canine hybrid taking up 90% of the space. His tail thumps against the cushions as he grins at you, tongue lolling out.

“You’re not actually gonna make me sleep outside again, right? C’monnnn." He rolls onto his back dramatically, hands in the air.

Meanwhile, Zayne stands rigidly by the kitchen island, gripping his coffee like it's keeping him sane. His eye twitches.

“I cannot believe we are co-parenting a dog." He glares at Caleb. “A stray who eats my socks. And my patient files."

“Correction—former stray! And I only ate one sock because it smelled like YOU. Hmph." He flops his head onto your lap with zero remorse. “Besides…Y/n loves me more~ Right?" Big puppy eyes activate—he knows what he's doing.

Zayne exhales sharply through his nose and mutters something about "betrayal by fiancé.”

Clearly, you've become the bridge between these two very different creatures.

Who would've thought? You've gone from just living your life to being the mediator in the great domestic dispute: Dog vs. Fiancé.

While Caleb's puppy eyes can work on anyone, especially you, it's quite clear a real heart-to-heart discussion with a side of compromise is in order. Otherwise, your apartment might become a battlefield for dog and man to duel it out in a match of wills.

And that's a show you did not buy tickets for.

Everything is fairly calm in the Li household.

You go off on Hunter missions to destroy Wanderers and Zayne is, of course busy with his Cardiac Surgeries. But over the next few days, Caleb’s behavior becomes erratic, more primal.

Caleb's sudden behavior change is like watching a well-trained dog regress into a wild wolf—and not the cool “Game of Thrones” kind. His usually vibrant purple eyes shift into a feral yellow. He’s twitchy, agitated, growling at shadows. His usually playful nips become something more aggressive, more…animalistic.

It’s alarming, to say the least.

Zayne's concern is evident as he takes notes on the canine’s new demeanor, his professional demeanor slipping every now and then.

He’s pissed on nearly every inch of Zayne’s once pristine home.

Zayne stands frozen in the doorway of their shared bedroom, his usually composed expression cracking as he takes in the sight—yet another rug marked. His jaw clenches so tight you fear a molar might shatter. The air is thick with the scent of ammonia and quiet rage.

“This." He gestures stiffly at the latest offense, voice eerily calm. “Is an act of war."

Caleb, meanwhile, sits proudly beside his masterpiece—tail thumping once. His eyes gleam with something between defiance and... amusement? You swear there’s a smugness to his panting grin.

Then Zayne turns to you slowly. “We're getting him fixed. Today."

At the veterinarian’s office, Caleb’s mood swings are all over the place. One moment, he’s wagging his tail, charming the vet tech with doggy smiles; the next, he’s growling at the receptionist’s poor attempt to pet him.

Zayne stands off to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, clearly unamused. His eyes track Caleb, studying his every move with the focus of a predator stalking his prey.

If looks could neuter-

Inside the examination room, the atmosphere is tense. Zayne is all business as he answers the vet’s questions, his hand firmly holding Caleb’s head still.

Meanwhile, our furry protagonist seems to have made a new personal record for “Most Pathetic Whines per Minute.”

“You are going to be fine.” Zayne’s voice has a comforting reassurance that’s so at odds with his tight grip on Caleb’s muzzle. “No more surprise puddles, no more dominance displays. It’s for the best.”

The vet nods in agreement, trying to look confident despite the occasional growl from our beloved canine. “So… who’s gonna tell him that?” You glance helplessly from Zayne to the vet, then to the whining, wriggling Caleb.

Yeah. This isn’t going to be easy.

But when the Vet returns, all lab coat and chuckles, Zayne’s heart drops. “Well, I don’t believe there will be any neutering today. Your boy here is in Pre-Rut.”

Zayne’s grip on Caleb’s collar slackens in shock. His normally composed expression cracks—lips slightly parted, eyes wide.

“…Excuse me?" His voice is dangerously quiet. A storm brewing beneath icy calm.

The vet, oblivious to the impending disaster, pats Caleb’s head like he just announced good news.

“Yep! All that erratic behavior? Classic pre-rut symptoms in hybrids—territorial marking, heightened aggression... and well," he gestures vaguely, “-other urges. Normally we'd suppress it with medication but..." He glances at Caleb's now very smug grin. "...Given his size and lineage? I don't recommend fighting nature on this one."

A beat of silence. Then—

“So you're telling me... my house is now a crime scene because this mutt is horny."

Zayne tries to take a deep breath and push up his glasses. “He’s been territorial over my fiancé. Can’t we give him a pill and a toy and let him ride it out?”

The vet chuckles again, clearly unaware of the depth of Zayne’s mounting frustration.

“Sure, you could. But just like with humans, hormonal suppression pills can have side effects—weight gain, potential long-term health risks, not to mention… well, a rather moody hybrid to deal with."

Caleb leans his weight against you, giving Zayne a look that’s a cross between an apologetic whine and a smug "Told ya so."

“If he's marking his territory around Miss Y/n here. I recommend finding a suitable mate. Someone familiar, someone he already sees as part of his pack..." The vet looks between you and Zayne pointedly. The implication is clear: he’s suggesting Caleb mate with you, his already established ‘matriarch’.

Zayne’s face goes from white to red in record time.

Zayne banishes Caleb to the Garage, only having contact when feeding or taking the mutt out for a walk.

But Caleb’s smug attitude turns into complete desperation within 2 days.

Zayne just came in with his food when Caleb attaches himself to his leg, hips gyrating as he grinds against the Doctor’s black slacks.

The moment the garage door shuts behind them, Caleb, no longer smug, no longer playful, presses Zayne back against the wall with alarming desperation. His pupils are blown wide, his breath ragged and hot against Zayne’s throat as he growls out.

“I can smell her on you… every time. Every goddamn time.” His hips roll in slow, deliberate circles against Zayne’s thigh—a mimicry of something far more primal. “You don’t get it... I can’t—” A broken whine escapes him as his claws dig into Zayne's shoulders. “This is torture!”

Zayne freezes for a split second before his own instincts kick in, his hands clamp around Caleb’s wrists like steel bands. He doesn't flinch at the hybrid's snarl or the press of fangs near his jugulars

“No," he says coldly. “You forget this is my home."

He shoves Caleb off him and pushes him back against the wall with a firm hand on his chest. His voice is still quiet, dangerously so. There's a flicker of something dark in his gaze.

“You have two choices: You control yourself-“ His other hand comes up to grasp Caleb’s chin firmly, nails digging in just enough to leave crescent marks. “Or you're out that door before the sun goes down. Your choice."

A beat passes. The air feels like it's charged with electricity, and neither man backs down or looks away.

Zayne's grip is unyielding, his gaze locked with Caleb's until those gold-flecked eyes finally waver. Caleb swallows hard, a faint whine escaping him before he finally drops his gaze in submission.

“Good boy." Zayne releases his jaw, letting his head drop.

Zayne takes a sharp inhale. “Can’t believe I have to do this….” He unceremoniously shoves his hand down Caleb’s baggy shorts and grasps his cement hard cock.

The Vet recommended ‘manual’ release and there was no way he was going to have Y/n take on this duty.

Caleb’s whole body jolts at the sudden touch—his breath stuttering out in a broken gasp, hips bucking instinctively into Zayne’s grip. His claws scrape against the garage wall behind him, struggling between resisting and giving in entirely.

“F-fuck—! You—!” His voice is raw, strained between anger and unbearable need. His forehead drops against Zayne's shoulder with a muffled growl as he mutters. “H-hate you... s-so much...”

Zayne doesn't react beyond tightening his fingers slightly, his movements methodical and unrelenting. His expression remains coldly detached—but there's a flicker of something almost... victorious in his eyes as Caleb shudders under his touch.

“Good." He says flatly. “Hate me all you want. Just don't make this harder than it has to be."

There's something almost clinical about the way Zayne handles him, a surgeon handling an instrument and it's driving Caleb insane.

Every stroke drags a new noise from the hybrid, desperate, needy, and utterly at odds with his usual bravado.

“Zayne..." he manages to rasp out, and the name almost feels like a plea.

Zayne leans in, his lips a whisper against Caleb's ear. His breath is warm, steady—a stark contrast to Caleb's ragged panting.

“Shut. Up."

Caleb leans his head onto Zayne’s shoulder. He can smell the faint expensive cologne and sterile odor of the hospital still on his clothing.

Caleb barely has time to register the command before Zayne twists his wrist just so—and suddenly Caleb is arching into him with a strangled cry, fingers digging into Zayne’s shirt hard enough to tear the fabric. His whole body locks up, shuddering violently as he spills over Zayne’s hand.

Zayne watches him through hooded eyes—expression unreadable as he slowly withdraws his hand once Caleb slumps bonelessly against the wall. He wipes his palm clean on a discarded rag he uses to shine his car with an air of finality before straightening his rumpled sleeves.

“Consider that your one and only freebie." His tone leaves no room for negotiation as he turns towards the door. “Next time you get this desperate? Figure it out yourself.”

Caleb is slumped against the wall, chest heaving, golden eyes still blown wide with residual pleasure, but his expression twists into betrayal as Zayne turns away. His voice is rough, dripping with venom when he finally speaks.

“You act like this fixes anything." He pushes off the wall with a snarl. “It won’t stop. Not until I have her. And you can't keep us apart forever."

Zayne pauses at the door, shoulders stiffening for just a second before he exhales sharply, he's already exhausted by this entire conversation.

“Then I guess we'll find out just how long you can last without privileges," he says coolly before shutting the garage door behind him with a final click of the lock.

But Caleb only grows more desperate. He howls all day and night, humping every inch of the garage and cries out for you.

Zayne sits at the kitchen table, sipping coffee like a man trying to ignore an air raid siren going off in his own home. The distant sounds of Caleb’s tortured howls rattle the walls—along with the occasional THUD of a body slamming against something in frustration.

“Y/n.” He finally sets his mug down with deliberate calm. “I am this close to sedating him myself." His fingers pinch together for emphasis before dragging down his face in exasperation. "...And possibly moving out."

A loud whine and nails taking down the door cut Zayne off.

“Y/N—PLEASE! I CAN SMELL YOU OUT THERE! JUST—FIVE MINUTES-“ A crash. A whimper. More desperate humping noises against what sounds like… Zayne’s vintage motorcycle?

You meet Zayne’s dead-eyed stare as he silently reaches for the veterinary sedation pamphlets on the counter.

You cover his hand quickly with a sharp inhale, your breakfast forgotten. “What if…what if we help him? Just once?”

Zayne seems to wrestle with your request, jaw tight and looking like he's in actual physical pain even considering it. But eventually he sighs a ragged, resigned sound.

“Once.” He holds up a single finger for emphasis. “And I mean it. We are not making this a habit. This is a one-time… biological necessity. Nothing more.”

He looks like he just ate a lemon as he pushes his chair back. “We do this under my supervision.“

That night, you both clear your schedule to focus on Caleb. Zayne drags the Hybrid up the stairs and into the bedroom where he nearly snaps his collar and chokes himself when he sees you perched on the bed.

The moment Caleb’s eyes land on you, his entire body goes rigid, muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. His breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts as he strains against Zayne’s grip on his collar, practically vibrating with need.

“Y/n please—” His voice cracks on the word, rough and desperate. His pupils are blown wide, gold swallowed by black as he fights the urge to lunge forward.

Zayne shoves him down onto the bed with a firm hand between his shoulder blades before Caleb can do something stupid like tackle you, his other hand still gripping that collar tight. He levels Caleb with a warning glare.

“You move without permission,” he says lowly. “-and this ends immediately." His gaze flicks up to meet yours for confirmation before releasing just enough slack in the leash for Caleb to turn his head and look at you properly... but not much else.

You watch as Zayne leans over the bed, one knee planted firmly on the mattress to keep Caleb pinned while he leans in to kiss you, an unexpectedly tender moment in the midst of this wild frenzy.

But then, with no warning, Zayne's other hand slides between your legs, and he's nipping at your lower lip with a smirk.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers tease you open, slow and deliberate. “You just relax… let me take care of him. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Caleb whines at the sight, his entire body trembling beneath Zayne's hold. His hands fist the sheets as he watches with a mixture of desperation and awe.

“Z-Zayne-please—” He chokes out again.

The doctor merely hums in response before guiding Caleb's head down to where his fingers are still working you open, effectively cutting off any further begging with action instead of words.

Caleb is a beast. His tongue is so large and messy you gasp out and cling to Zayne’s corded forearm like a lifeline. “C-Caleb!”

Zayne watches Caleb’s wild enthusiasm with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement, his forearm flexing under your desperate grip as the hybrid laps at you like a starved man. His lips quirk into an almost smug smirk when he hears you cry out, satisfied by the way he's orchestrating this chaotic scene.

“Eager, isn't he?" Zayne muses dryly before suddenly yanking Caleb back by the collar, just enough to force eye contact between them. “Slow down. She's not a damn chew toy."

Caleb pants heavily but nods—still trembling with restraint—before diving back in with slightly more finesse this time. His tongue drags slow and hot over your sensitive flesh now, making sure every flick is precise... even if his tail is thumping against the bed hard enough to shake it.

And Zayne? Well... let’s just say there’s something undeniably satisfying about watching him play puppeteer while still keeping that composed doctor façade intact, even as Caleb threatens to unravel it all beneath him.

Caleb’s face is smeared with your juices. His hips rut uselessly against the edge of the bed. Your eyes are in the back of your skull, thin baby blue night gown pushed up over your belly. You open your eyes when you feel Zayne nuzzle your cheek, his hand soothing back your hair.

“How’re you feeling Snowflake?”

You open your mouth to answer but Caleb’s sharp canines grind down against your throbbing clit and you openly sob.

Caleb’s whines grow more pitiful. He pulls back for air and rests his cheek against your inner thigh. “It fuckin’ hurts. Please-please just the tip! I’ll be so good!”

Zayne exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of it like he's physically restraining himself from strangling Caleb right then and there.

“You are literally incapable of 'just the tip.'" His voice drips with exasperation, but when he glances down at you, seeing how flushed and breathless you are beneath them both—something in his expression softens. Just slightly.

He sighs before gripping Caleb’s leash again, forcing the hybrid to meet his gaze as he leans down close enough that their noses nearly brush.

“Listen carefully," he growls lowly, “-because I'm only saying this once. You move too fast, you hurt her even a little... I will take you to the Vet and leave you there for the rest of your Rut. Do you understand?”

Caleb swallows hard but nods frantically whining again when Zayne finally releases him with one last warning tug on the leash before sitting back to watch like a particularly strict supervisor.

Zayne tugs down Caleb’s shorts, his angry, nearly purple mushroom tip bobs against your thigh and even Zayne has to admit how painful his cock looks.

Especially the knot at the base swelling uselessly.

Zayne fishes the toy he bought begrudgingly online from the bedside drawer.

He looks at Caleb and knows he’s about to start a fight. The silicone toy wraps around a Hybrid’s knot so they are incapable of properly knotting.

Caleb’s growl is instantaneous—a deep, guttural sound of pure outrage as soon as he sees the toy in Zayne’s hand. His ears flatten against his skull, tail bristling like a bottlebrush.

“The fuck is THAT?” He snarls, trying to lunge forward but still held firmly by Zayne's grip on his leash. “I don’t NEED that! I need her—Y-n!” His voice cracks into a desperate whine halfway through, hips jerking uselessly against the air like he can already feel the cruel denial coming.

Zayne ignores him entirely and instead focuses on you, holding up the toy for inspection with an expression that says ‘this was not my idea but here we are.’

“Supposedly it...” He clears his throat slightly before continuing dryly “…simulates knotting without actual penetration. “For safety.” The way he says 'safety' implies heavy sarcasm toward whoever invented this thing.

Meanwhile Caleb has started thrashing like a wild animal caught in a trap, spitting curses between ragged breaths while trying to buck out of Zayne’s line of fire.

You cup Caleb’s face in your hands, thumb brushing away his tears. “It’ll be okay Puppy. Don’t pay attention to him, pay attention to me. That’s it….” You shoot a look to Zayne that says ‘do it now, while he’s distracted’

Caleb’s breath hitches at the feeling of your touch, his thrashing slowing into more of a restless twitching as he tries to focus on you—trying not to whimper again when you call him ‘Puppy.’ He meets your gaze with wide, pleading eyes, the pupils blown dark.

Zayne seizes the opportunity while you’ve got Caleb distracted. With a determined set to his jaw, he starts to work the toy down over the hybrid’s swollen knot, his movements slow and careful. He can’t help but wince slightly as he feels the intense throbbing heat beneath his fingers.

Caleb tenses instantly the second the cold silicone touches him, his breath stuttering out in a broken gasp. He instinctively tries to jerk away, but Zayne’s grip is ironclad.

“N-no—fuck!” His head drops forward against your shoulder with a shuddering groan as the toy finally clicks into place over his knot, trapping it in an unrelenting pressure that’s both agony and relief. His claws dig into the sheets beneath him, muscles trembling from restraint... but he doesn’t fight anymore. Just pants raggedly against your skin.

Zayne takes a deep breath, looking like he just survived defusing a bomb, before sitting back on his heels with grim satisfaction. “There. Now we don't have to worry about any... accidents."

Caleb lets out a wounded noise at that, pressing closer to you like you're his only lifeline left in this cruel world of ‘no fun allowed’.

But when you part your thighs and pat your inner thigh, Caleb feels like he died and went to heaven. “U-up boy. Mount.”

Caleb doesn’t need to be told twice, his entire body surges forward with a desperate, guttural noise. The moment he presses against you, the toy between his thighs does its job, simulating the pressure and friction of a real knot without fully locking him in. His hips jerk erratically at first before settling into a frantic rhythm, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder as he pants harshly against your skin.

“F-fuck—fuck!” He chokes out between thrusts, tail lashing wildly behind him like he’s trying to balance himself mid-storm. “S-so good—Y/n!”

Zayne chuckles under his breath as he watches Caleb pathetically rut against your inner thigh as his drooling head misses its mark again and again. Caleb whines and growls in frustration, even when you try to calm him and tell him it’s okay to try again.

“Hold on." Zayne moves closer, his hands grasping Caleb's shoulders to steady him, ignoring the hybrid's ragged protest and the growl that rumbles deep in his chest.

When Zayne’s long, steady fingers from years of medical training wraps around his cock, Caleb nearly shoots his load again.

“Easy... you're a good boy, right?" He grips Caleb's chin, forcing those wild eyes to meet his own. “Be good and I'll help you. Sound fair?"

It's not really a question.

Caleb stills instantly, frozen in Zayne's grip like he's afraid of what might happen nextx his breath a ragged whisper against your skin.

“P-please... just... I-I'll be good... I'll be good..."

Zayne leans in close enough that his breath tickles your ear, voice a soft purr.

“Do you hear that, sweetheart?" Zayne moves his fingers down over Caleb’s taunt and heated scrotum to cup his balls. The Hybrid gasps and squirms like his skin is on fire.

“Begging. He's already begging for it."

Zayne tightens his grip slightly, making sure Caleb feels every deliberate press of fingers against him as he aligns their bodies just right. The hybrid’s entire frame trembles with restraint, every muscle coiled tight like he’s one wrong move away from snapping completely.

“Good boy.” Zayne murmurs before finally—finally—letting him sink into you properly, inch by torturously slow inch. Caleb’s choked cry is immediate, broken and raw as his forehead drops to your shoulder again.

“Y/n… fuck…” His voice cracks on the words, hips stuttering like he can barely control himself even now that he’s gotten what he wanted so desperately.

Your walls welcome him eagerly, but the Hybrid is just so damn big. Your hips arch, fingers scrambling to Zayne’s arm and Caleb’s shoulder as the Pup rolls his hips eagerly.

When Caleb starts to sloppily drive home into you, you barely are able to think. He’s turned your brain to mush and Zayne cups your jaw, watching closely for any sign of pain or your body going into shock.

The wet noises fill the bedroom. Caleb is murmuring praises about how good you feel around his cock. “Feel s’good, needed you so bad. Smell so good-“

Caleb’s thrusts are erratic, desperate, his rhythm messy and unpracticed as he struggles to hold back the primal urge to just take. But despite the frenzy in his movements, there’s something worshipping in the way he keeps nuzzling against your throat between gasps.

“Easy.” Zayne murmurs, one hand still cupping your jaw while the other grips Caleb’s leash like a lifeline. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone soothingly before glancing down between you both with sharp focus.

“Slower.” He tugs on Caleb's leash for emphasis when the hybrid starts getting too rough again—.

But Caleb is too lost in his instincts. He’s pleading with the doctor as his hips snap into your sopping hole, the silicone around his base, straining and nearly turning to mush from his desperate thrusts.

Zayne can’t deny how tight the fabric around his cock gets. Watching you praise the Hybrid and those pathetic whines of Caleb has him twitching in his slacks.

Zayne’s patience finally snaps, his grip on the leash tightening like a vice as he yanks Caleb back hard enough to choke off his air for a second. The hybrid wheezes, hips stuttering to an abrupt stop as he claws at the collar in protest.

“I said," Zayne growls right into Caleb's ear, voice dripping with warning. “-slower."

Caleb whimpers but nods frantically. chest heaving as he forces himself into something resembling control. His next thrust is deliberate, almost hesitant... but the moment you arch under him with a quiet moan? All bets are off again.

Zayne exhales sharply through his nose before adjusting his grip, this time wrapping an arm around Caleb’s waist from behind to physically guide his movements into something more manageable “Like this. Or do I need to hold your hand through every little thing?"

Caleb is panting between you both, his body caught somewhere between the primal urge to take what he wants, and the need to hear Zayne’s approval for every little thing. With every new touch, he glances up like he's checking in: "Am I good? Am I doing this right?”

Zayne, for his part, watches you with a laser-sharp focus, his free hand tracing the curve of your jaw as he murmurs encouragement, voice rough with want.

Caleb whines and presses back against Zayne too, drool dripping from his mouth. “M’ I a good boy Doc? I’m doin’ good?”

Zayne’s mouth twitches into a faint smile before he murmurs soft words of praise into the hybrid’s ear, whispered between slow, deliberate kisses along Caleb’s neck. His fingers brush against the collar like a reminder.

“You’re doing so well, Caleb. Just focus on her.” He glances at you and his gaze warms, something vulnerable flashing in those eyes for just a moment. “You’re going to take care of her. Make her feel good. Can you manage that?”

Caleb turns into a whining and whimpering mess. He leans over your breast, lapping feverishly at the mounds of flesh. “Yeah-Yeah gonna make her feel so fuckin’ good!”

Zayne shifts, his grip on the leash loosening as he moves around behind the hybrid. But his movements are purposeful, every touch, every word carefully controlled; a master with his pet. His voice is steady when he speaks again, calm, authoritative.

“Show me then." His fingers curl into Caleb's hair, tugging his mouth away from your breast with a sharp pull. “Make her cry."

Caleb’s whine of protest is cut off with a muffled yelp when Zayne yanks sharply on his hair again.

“Is that any way to say ‘thank you’?" He's clearly enjoying the power dynamic here, his tone still even, his grip unyielding.

“Try again." It's not a suggestion, but an order.

Caleb’s breath shudders out, his whole frame shuddering with need... before finally giving in.

“Tha-thank you, Sir..."

You feel his cock throb inside of you and your moan of need breaks the males from their fight for dominance. “M-move, please let him move…”

Your gummy walls are frantically trying to pull Caleb back in again, wanting his cock to split you apart to put you back together again.

Zayne exhales sharply through his nose, clearly debating, but one more pleading look from you is all it takes. His grip loosens slightly on Caleb’s hair, giving just enough slack for the hybrid to surge forward again.

“Go.” He mutters gruffly. “But not too fast.”His hand slides down to grip Caleb’s hip instead, guiding the rhythm with firm pressure whenever the hybrid threatens to lose control again.

Caleb practically sobs in relief at being allowed to move, his thrusts still messy but deeper now. More intentional. Every snap of his hips drags a broken moan from your lips that makes his ears twitch wildly in response. “Y/n… feels so good…”

Caleb feels his knot swell under the silicone and his whines turn to growls, he reaches down to the nearly disintegrated toy. “Take this fuckin’ thing off. I need-I need to knot! I’ll be so good, be so good to her-give her pups-please!”

Zayne’s jaw clenches at the word.

Pups.

His grip tightening on Caleb’s hip like a warning, but then you whimper beneath them both, arching into the hybrid’s touch in a way that makes Zayne hesitate. His gaze flicks between your face and Caleb’s swollen knot that catches on the toy straining to break in pieces.

“God….” He finally growls through gritted teeth before reaching down to wrench the ruined toy off with one sharp tug, ignoring Caleb's gasp of relief. “Just Once. And if I think for a second you're hurting her—"

Caleb doesn't let him finish, surging forward with a snarl as his knot locks inside you at last. The force of it punches a moan from your lips that has Zayne rolling his eyes, digging his fingers deep enough to bruise as he mutters.

“Disgusting mutt..."

The knot causes Caleb’s eyes to blow wide. He’s immobile inside of your gushing walls. He panics, heels digging into the sheets as he frantically tries to still thrust, to fill your womb with his seed.

Zayne’s jaw clenches at the sight, those hazel eyes dark with envy, but his voice is steady when he speaks again.

“Easy. Just relax…”

His hand slides up to grip Caleb’s shoulder, fingers digging in slightly to ground him. His tone is firm but somewhat gentler now.

“You’re safe. She’s safe. Everyone’s safe… Just breathe.” His other hand settles on Caleb’s back, tracing slow circles over sweaty skin.

Caleb shudders, the tight, wet heat around his knot making his openly sob into your shoulder. “Mm’ sorry, mm sorry it felt so good. I’ve been bad, forgive me. M’ sorry…”

You eyes finally find the right spot in your skull and you reach out to stroke between Caleb’s ear, looking at Zayne over the Hybrids shoulder. “You did so well. felt so good…are you feeling better Pup?”

Caleb practically melts under your touch, his entire body going slack against you with a shuddering exhale, still locked in place by his knot but no longer trembling with frantic energy. His ears twitch weakly at the pet name, nuzzling into your palm like he’s starved for affection.

“Mmf... s'good..." He mumbles drowsily, tail giving a half-hearted thump against the bed before stilling again. His breathing is slowing now, deep and even as he clings to you like a lifeline.

Zayne watches the two of you with an unreadable expression for a long moment before finally releasing Caleb's shoulder with a quiet sigh. He leans down to press an unexpected kiss to the hybrid's sweat-damp temple, brief and almost chaste, before murmuring.

“Rest." It's not just permission; it's an order. “You've earned it."

Caleb's breath hitches at the rare tenderness from Zayne, his fingers clutching the sheets as he tries (and fails) to stifle a quiet, contented whine. His tail gives one last feeble wag before he finally goes completely boneless against you, his knot still securely locked inside.

Zayne sighs but doesn't push him away again just shifts slightly to pull the blankets up over all three of you with surprising care.

“Don't get used to this," he mutters gruffly but there's no real heat behind it now. Just exhaustion and something close to affection.

#lads #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads smut #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #lnds zayne #zayne smut #love and deepspace zayne #zayne #snowapple #applesnow #lads alpha #lads au #lads fanfic #lads mc #zayne x caleb #lads zayne #caleb x zayne

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scylex · 4 days ago

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playtime

#lads caleb #caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #夏以昼

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princessxmin · 14 hours ago

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FREAK LIKE ME — LADS!MEN

[♕]: warnings— mdni!! fem!reader, smutty hcs, sensory deprivation + play, spanking, zayne being a brat!tamer (literally is cannon atp), semi-public sex, overstimulation, fingering, sex in a dressing room, lowkey overprotective + obsessive!caleb, toy play, rafayel being a little shit (I love him lol), rope & stillness training, [౨ৎ] synopsis: how the lads!men punish you when you've been bratty/bad.

SYLUS. — sensory deprivation (blindfolding)

You felt so vulnerable, yet immensely turned on as you felt sylus's fingers trail up and down your bare thighs. Your vision blinded by the blackness of a blindfold around your eyes. Each graze sending a shiver down your spine and heat to your core. A low chuckle escaped sylus as you whimpered, "Please sy.." hands griping the sheets loosely as you breathed, "M'sorry for posting the pictures—I really am just ah!"

A sharp gasp fell from your lips as you suddenly felt a finger slide up your clothed slit, damped panties making the sudden touch making you jolt and mewl as your hips chased the sensation. "You saw my text, you saw me ask you to delete it." Sylus’s voice was low, calm, but there was that dangerous edge threaded through every word—one that made your pulse stutter.

“I– I know, Sy, I’m sorry—” your apology broke off in a breathy moan as now his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, rubbing slow circles into the bundle of nerves. “Shhh…” he hushed gently, drawing out another shiver. “You don’t get to explain now. Just take it.”

Defeatedly, you nodded, resisting the blinding urge to grind your hips into his thumb like a dog in heat.

Lashes fluttered uselessly behind the blindfold, your world reduced to the soft drag of sheets under your fingers and the sharp, exquisite burn of his touch. Deprived of sight, every sensation was magnified—the slow, deliberate circles of his thumb over your swollen clit, the measured pressure that had your stomach tightening and heat pooling low in your belly.

It was agonizing how unhurried he was, how he never gave you the rhythm you desperately chased. Just when you felt yourself begin to crest, hips twitching up instinctively to meet him, everything stopped.

The sudden absence made you gasp, a broken sound caught in your throat.

A sharp tsk followed, and you could hear the smile in his voice as he sucked his teeth softly. “Ah, ah… what did I tell you?” His words were silk over steel, low and commanding. “You don’t get to take what’s not being given.”

Your breath shuddered, frustration and need clawing up your spine as his hand lingered there, warm but still, reminding you of what you weren’t getting. “Sy…” you whined, a tremor in your voice, your thighs trembling with the effort not to move.

He chuckled low against your ear, the sound rumbling through you like velvet over flame, sending another shiver racing down your spine. “There you go… nice and still,” he murmured, voice dripping with dark amusement. His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear as he added, softer, yet no less commanding, “Try to behave for me, kitten… otherwise I won’t touch you at all.”

The slow drag of his thumb resumed—pressing down with maddening precision, circling your clit with deliberate cruelty. The rhythm was just enough to make your thighs tremble, just enough to have your hips jerking upward before you could stop yourself.

“Mmm…” he hummed, the sound low and approving yet tinged with warning, and then—he stopped. His thumb stilled completely, leaving you stranded in that aching, buzzing need. A needy cry broke from your lips before you could swallow it back.

Sexual frustration coiled tight in your belly, heat climbing up your chest and into your throat. A sharp retort bubbled at the back of your tongue, but you forced it down, desperate not to lose even this cruel attention.

“Not a word,” he breathed, his lips grazing the side of your neck in a fleeting, electrifying kiss. His other hand slid over your stomach, fingers splayed wide and firm as he pressed you down into the mattress, a silent show of strength that made your heart race.

“You decided,” he began slowly, each word precise, each pause deliberate, “you weren’t going to delete that post after I told you to.”

A soft, shaky sigh left you as his mouth found your throat, pressing a slow kiss into your skin. The contact made you bite your lip, stifling a whimper even as his voice threaded through you like silk and steel.

“So now,” his thumb began to move again, slow, torturous circles, “you’ll take your punishment.” His teeth grazed your neck in a fleeting nip that drew out a soft gasp from your lips.

“And if I hear even a hint of attitude…” his voice dropped lower, darker, the words a promise that curled through your core as his lips brushed your pulse point, “…then I’ll correct it accordingly.”

ZAYNE. — spanking

“Louder,” Zayne breathed, his tone low and smooth, but sharp enough to make your toes curl. His palm rested heavy on the curve of your ass, the sting of the last slap still burning hot across your skin.

You hiccupped out a shaky breath, hips wriggling instinctively though his arm around your waist kept you pinned, bent neatly over his lap. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, fingers knotting into the fabric as you gasped, “T‑two… please—”

Smack!

The sound cracked through the air, the heat flaring over your tender skin as you cried out.

“Count it,” he ordered softly, that dark edge in his voice making your thighs tremble.

“T-three!” you squeaked, voice breaking into a whimper. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt his fingers sweep lightly over the sting, rubbing soothing circles that only made you ache deeper.

“That’s it…” he murmured, leaning over just enough that his breath ghosted against your ear, “but I’m not hearing that sweet voice loud enough. You can do better for me, can’t you?”

You nodded desperately, body shivering. “Y‑yes, Zayne, I can— I’ll be louder, I promise—”

Smack!

You gasped, the pain melting instantly into a rush of molten heat between your thighs. “F‑four!” you yelped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming mix of sensation.

His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass again, slow and deliberate, as if praising the very spot he’d marked. “Good girl… such a pretty sound."

Your breathing hitched as you felt him shift beneath you, the firm press of his thighs steady under your stomach, his voice dropping even lower—gravelly, intimate.

"Tell me why you're getting punished right now."

Your lips trembled, the words catching in your throat. Shame and stubbornness tangled together until another sharp smack made you jolt and cry out, hips jerking against his hold.

“Answer me,” Zayne breathed, calm but commanding, his thumb rubbing over your heated skin as if coaxing you to speak. His hand glided slowly up the back of your thigh, a deliberate caress that made your breath catch.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, shame pricking hot behind your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets. “…Because I ignored you,” you whispered, voice muffled and trembling.

“And why did you ignore me?” he pressed softly, tone unwavering, not sharp—just patient, steady, like stone beneath your trembling hands. Your fingers tightened in the fabric, and you felt the sting of tears before the words finally tumbled out. “Because you… you didn’t get me the heels I wanted.”

There was no immediate judgment in the silence that followed. Instead, his hand smoothed over the tender curve of your ass, thumb tracing soothing little arcs as if to ground you.

“Mhm,” he hummed lowly, lips brushing just near your ear. “There it is.” A breath of a pause, then, quieter still, “You could’ve told me that, angel. You didn’t need to push me away.”

“I—I’m sorry…” you whispered, and his fingers ghosted along your hip again, that soft edge still wrapped in steel. “I know you are,” he murmured. The warmth in his voice didn’t take away from the gravity of his next words. “But you’re not done counting. Are you ready to continue?"

You gave a tiny nod, breath shivering.

Smack!

Your body jolted, a strangled cry spilling out as you gasped, “S-seven!”

CALEB. — semi public sex, overstim

"Why was that guy talking to you, hm pips?" Caleb asked through pants, his fingers thrusting in and out of your cunny as your head lolled onto his shoulder. Your bare back pressed up against the walls of the changing room.

"F-fuck, I don't know he was hah— askin for directions to a store!" You whispered biting back a whimper, your hand coming up and clutching onto his shoulder as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mouth dropping into an 'o' as you quivered,

"Bullshit," Caleb spat, "He was checking you out when we first walked in here. Eyes staring up your skirt like a fucking perv."

Your thighs trembled as his fingers curled deep, dragging over that tender spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. “C‑Caleb—” you choked out, hips jerking as a familar coil began to unravel. Fingers purposely hitting that spot as purple eyes peered down at you, watching your face intently as your eyes fluttered shut.

“That’s it,” his voice dropped, rough and commanding, “fuckin’ come for me, pips. Let him hear you.”

The words shattered the last of your restraint. Your climax tore through you—hot, blinding, unstoppable. A strangled cry spilled from your lips as your walls clamped down around his fingers, the slick sounds and your ragged moans echoing in the cramped changing room.

Your breath hitched in panic and pleasure as his pace didn’t falter—if anything, his thrusts grew sharper, slick sounds filling the tight space as your overstimulated walls fluttered around him. “C‑Caleb—please—” you gasped, legs shaking as you tried to squirm away, but his other hand shot out, gripping your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his dark, burning gaze.

“Nuh‑uh, pips,” he rasped against your ear, voice low and rough, frayed with lust. “We’re not done. Not even close.”

“’Leb—wait, please, there’s people outside—ah!” you mewled, your protest dissolving into a high, desperate cry as another wave of pleasure coiled tight and fast in your belly.

His lips brushed your temple, his breath hot against your skin, and you felt the curve of a cruel little smirk against you as he whispered, slow and dark, “I don’t give a shit. And you will. Let them hear you, pips… c’mon… let everyone out there know this pretty pussy’s mine.”

Your knees buckled, your whole body quivering as his fingers worked mercilessly, pushing you higher and higher, every wet thrust loud in the quiet store, every ragged moan slipping past your bitten lip only fueling his low, approving groans.

“C‑Caleb, please, I’m gonna—!”

“Good,” he growled, thumb circling your clit now in tight, relentless motions as you writhed between his body and the cold wall. “Scream for me, baby. Let everyone know exactly who’s making you fall apart.”

And with another sharp curl of his fingers, the dam inside you broke again—louder, messier, raw enough that you didn’t care who was standing outside that door.

XAVIER. — rope & stillness training

The silk ropes were warm against your wrists, tied neatly to the headboard in a way that was firm but not cruel. Xavier always made sure you could move your fingers, always checked twice before stepping back to admire his work.

You tugged instinctively, testing the knots, and he caught the movement immediately—dark eyes flicking to you with that infuriatingly calm smile.

“Ah, ah,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I didn’t say you could move.” Your breath stuttered, chest rising and falling faster as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a predator’s patience. “Do you remember why you’re tied up like this, angel?”

“…Because I was teasing you in front of your friends,” you admitted, voice trembling.

“Mm,” he hummed approvingly, sliding his palm slowly down your throat, lingering just over your collarbones before tracing the dip between your breasts. “You wanted my attention then. You have it now. Every last bit of it.”

Your thighs shifted restlessly as he dragged his fingers over your bare stomach, deliberately slow, circling your hips but never quite touching where you needed. The ache built cruelly, every second stretching into forever.

You whined softly, hips lifting just an inch— and his hand instantly left your body.

“Still,” he warned, voice soft but cutting through you like glass.

“I—Xavi, please…” you whimpered, tugging helplessly at the ropes. He only tilted his head, that quiet smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at you,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, “you can’t even lie still when I ask you to.”

His hand returned between your thighs, stroking lazy patterns over the soft skin there, so close your body shivered with need. And then, with devastating slowness, he pressed two fingers into you—deep and unhurried, curling just enough to make you gasp.

The pleasure built fast, spiraling up and up— and just as your hips bucked—

He pulled out, fingers wet, your slick glistening in the dim light.

A broken sob escaped you. “X‑Xavier—”

He hushed you with a finger to your lips, his tone as calm and patient as ever, but layered with steel: “Until you learn to stay perfectly still for me, star,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your swollen bottom lip, “you’ll keep feeling like this—aching and desperate.”

RAFAYEL. — toy play

You were trying desperately to keep your smile polite, your words steady—when suddenly a low hum started deep between your thighs.

Your hand twitched around your wine glass, a strangled gasp caught in your throat. “Y‑yes, the piece is quite… quite beautiful,” you stammered, legs pressing together as your pulse spiked.

Across the room, Rafayel’s dark eyes met yours over the rim of his glass. The faintest curl of his lips told you he’d turned the remote on. His voice slid smoothly into your earpiece—a private comms he insisted you wear when accompanying him. “Mm, you’re twitching, sweetheart. Focus.”

You swallowed hard, trying to answer another question from the woman in front of you. The vibration softened, mercifully fading, and you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding you—

—until it flared again, stronger this time.

Your knees nearly buckled, the words tumbling out in a broken stammer. “Ah—I mean, it’s… th‑the composition is, um—”

He was leaning lazily against the wall now, remote in hand, watching you struggle with an expression of decadent pride. “Such a cutie,” his voice purred softly in your ear, “you look so lovely like this. Everyone thinks you’re nervous little thing.”

By the time you slipped into the car beside him after dinner, your entire body was trembling with frustration and arousal. You grabbed his wrist, breathless. “Rafayel, please… turn it off. I can’t—”

“I could...” he spoke softly, catching your chin between his fingers. “You have done so well for me all night.” His thumb swept over your lips, eyes glinting with something darker. “But I heard that little tone you took with me at the table. Getting mouthy infront of investors?”

You froze. “…Rafayel—”

The toy roared to life on the highest setting, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your hips jerked against the seat. “Let’s fix that attitude, shall we?” he murmured, leaning close to your ear, the city lights flashing across his sharp features.

“Keep your pretty thighs open, dove. And don’t you dare come until I say.”

Your hands clawed at the leather seat, head falling back as wave after wave wracked through you, every word you tried to form dissolving into gasps and whimpers— and through it all, his low voice stayed calm and silken, the faintest smile in every syllable:

“That’s it… let me hear how well pretty girl behaves."

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calebsdog · 9 days ago

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Doomscrolling with Caleb is a top tier experience.

Taking a lazy day in, spending some quiet quality time in bed, the two of you lay back to back. Your cold feet intertwine with Caleb's underneath the blanket. Stealing his warmth as any decent girlfriend would.

"What made you laugh this time? Show me."

Whenever Caleb hears you laugh he glances over his shoulder, already smiling in anticipation. Just because you're scrolling on separate phones doesn't mean he isn't interested in whatever captured your attention.

However, even though you're on your own phones, he doesn't let you get away with sending him messages. The sole of his foot nudges your ankle as your username pops up in his notifications.

"I'm not even a foot away from you, lazy bones. Just turn around and show me the video yourself."

Sometimes your quiet quality time is spent cuddled a little closer. Caleb has his phone propped upright on his chest, his fingers wrapped around the back for support. Your head rests on his shoulder just far enough from the screen so Caleb won't scold you for hurting your eyes.

You were essentially playing with Caleb's phone while he sits back to watch. Whenever you get bored of the video playing you'll reach out to scroll to the next. But when you want to let the video play out Caleb never scrolls away out of his own boredom.

Like this you're also allowed to like, reblog, or bookmark any video or picture that has earned your approval. You leave a mark on his account, changing his feed the longer you spend on his phone.

"Because of your influence I'll get to see more of what you find funny, what you think is cute, what makes you grumpy. I'll come across something and think 'she'd like this.' And I'll be the one to show it to you."

#Nyx writes ࣪ ִֶָ☾.#love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb x reader #lnds caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb xia x reader #lnds caleb #caleb #lnds #caleb xia #love and deepspace headcanons

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k-nahriko · 9 hours ago

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the outfits are so fiiiiine~

🫣

#love and deepspace #lads #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #picnic date for all of them pls and thank u

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qinche-cvmslvt · 5 months ago

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WEAR HEADPHONES

NSFW

2 minutes of Caleb fingering you and then fucking you.

Excluding bgm. All audio and sfx come from the game. No Ai. 🤤😏

#love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #caleb smut #lads caleb

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kaitoru · 3 days ago

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bestfriend ؛ caleb secretly jerking off to your pretty voice

he’s sprawled on his bed, the sensual darkness of the room and the glow of his phone casting shadows as he scrolls to your name, his thumb hesitating before hitting call.

his other hand’s already in his sweatpants, gripping his already hard cock just thinking about you, he shouldn’t want this but badly does.

“hey!” you light voice crackling through the phone, and it hits him like a spark, his breath hitching, hand moving slow, stroking himself, his eyes fluttering shut.

“miss me already, caleb? It’s barely been a week.” your tone’s teasing, unaware of the effect you’re having, and he groans softly, low, trying to keep it quiet, his heart racing.

“fuck, yeah, i miss you,” he says, voice a little strained, his hand moving faster, the sound of your voice making him throb, his hips shifting on the bed.

“been thinkin’ about you, pipsqueak,” he adds, his breath obviously uneven as he strokes the thick of his tip, slowly shamelessly imagining your face.

you laugh softly, the sound sending a jolt through him, his grip tightening, groans muffled as he presses the phone closer to his ear.

“aw, caleb, you’re so sweet,” you say, and he can hear you moving, maybe settling on your couch, the faint rustle of fabric making him picture you, relaxed, unaware of how you’re unraveling him.

“what’s got you all acting like that? miss my pretty face or something?” he bites his lip, his hand moving faster, cock leaking, his breath hitching, a low, whiny groan slipping out before he can stop it.

“shit, you have no idea.” he mutters, almost a growl, his eyes squeezed shut, your voice painting vivid images in his mind.

“caleb, you okay?” you ask, his voice sounded wrong, too wrong. “you sound… weird. you good over there?”

“yeah, im—im fine.” his breathe hitched, his hand never stopping, the sound of your voice pushing him closer.

“just—keep talkin’ pipsqueak, please?” he says, his hips shifting more as his cock throbbed under his hand, your voice the only thing he needs right now.

#l&ds caleb #lads x reader #lads caleb #lads caleb smut #l&ds caleb smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb smut #l&ds caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #caleb x reader smut

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aeyumicore · 4 months ago

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green-eyed and creampied

just the, now, FIVE love and deepspace men being possessive and jealous!

━ ✧.˖ PAIRING: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb (separate) x female reader (afab)

━ .ᐟ✧ GENRE: smut, porn with little to no plot

━ ✧.˖ TOTAL WORD COUNT: 6.1k

━ .ᐟ✧ GENERAL CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, jealous behavior, possessive behavior, LOTS of filthy dirty talk, sub!reader, dom!sylus, dom!zayne, dom!xavier, dom!rafayel, don!caleb, pet names, unprotected sex, never pulling out, banter, individual content warnings below with their respective fics

━ ✧.˖ LINKS: ao3

━ .ᐟ✧ A/N: haiiii guys it’s been a while since i wrote for all the guys. now FIVEEEEE guys, call it a burger joint.. .. sorry this is a day late. i know i’ve done a jealous fic before but i wanted to kinda do it again when they’re not drunk + include caleb.

caleb will still get his jealous and drunk fic tho! i’m also working on some stuff for caleb still. if ur a caleb girly u will eat

enjoy friends <3

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

sylus 秦彻

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 1,213

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, slight voyeurism, mentions of xavier, mating press, sylus on top, furniture breaks, lots of loud sex, sylus makes reader scream, praising

In the time you’d known Sylus, you’ve had to replace your mattress frame exactly three times.

It had gotten to the point where you refused to let him stay over. Not that that mattered, as you found yourself staying at his base—his home—far more than your own.

But for whatever reason, Sylus had asked to stay at your apartment tonight—insisting that the base was unsuitable to sleep at tonight. Some unconvincing excuse about renovations. You were suspicious, but he wore you down.

And so you found yourself being absolutely fucked into your mattress, thinking about how you’d need to buy yet another frame tomorrow, when this one inevitably shattered.

“Syluus,” you moan breathlessly, “S-Slow—mmngh—slow down. Bed’s going to break.” You wince when you hear it creak, knocking against your bedroom wall.

“You don’t want that, dove,” Sylus purrs, “She doesn’t want that.” He rolls his hips harder, squeezing the plush of your ass so hard that he leaves indents in the shape of his fingers.

“You know I can’t deny her, not when she wraps around me so fucking perfectly,” he groans, hiking your thigh up against his hip so he can angle deeper.

“You’re impossible. W-What’s gotten into you?” you force the words out, your nails clawing into the thick ropes of muscles of his shoulders, whimpering when he purposely drags his pelvis against your clit.

Sylus kisses your forehead, the tender gesture nearly enough to make you forget that he was knee deep in your guts trying to imprint his name into you.

“I haven’t seen you in a week. You’ve been so busy saving the world from Wanderers,” Sylus says simply, his voice calm and steady as if he wasn’t buried inside of you.

Your lips curl, and you tease, “You missed me?”

Sylus scoffs, his rhythm slowing for a brief moment, “Yes, terribly so. I’m not afraid to admit that.”

Your heart skips a beat, looking away shyly. But Sylus brings your face back to his, his grip on your chin gentle.

“What, getting shy on me now, little bird?” Sylus chuckles, almost condescendingly.

”That partner of yours gets to see this beautiful face more than I do. Don’t look away,” Sylus murmurs, eyes trained on your lips. He drags his pelvis intentionally along you, the coarse hair along the base of his cock working literal magic against your sensitive bud.

It’s not enough for you to miss the whiny undertone in his words though.

“You mean Xavier?”

Sylus’s pace falters, but he smirks still, raising an eyebrow at you, “Tch, you should only be thinking of me right now.”

”Y-You’re the one who—o-oh god—brought him up!” you say incredulously, finding the strength to gently smack his solid marbled chest. He catches your wrist before you can make content, bringing your fingertips up to his lips.

He nips at your hand in warning, his pace growing more forceful, as if telling you to watch yourself. His increased vigor makes your bed knock more violently against the wall, your eyes widening in fear.

”Sy, the neighbors are going to hear,” you whisper, knowing he wont listen to you anyway. He’d been forever trying to convince you to move in with him anyways.

“Hm, right. They will.”

You’re about to question his cryptic words when Sylus hoists your legs up, folding you in half. At this angle, he can quite literally hammer into you with an entirely renewed enthusiasm, reaching parts of you that he knew were your absolute weaknesses.

Your eyes roll back with a pleasured squeal, crying his name repeatedly.

Sylus smirks, praising you, your own name sounding like honey as it dripped off his tongue.

“That’s it, my love,” he coos, “Think you can get louder for me?”

You physically can’t respond, eyes squeezed shut as Sylus drives into your g-spot repeatedly and unrelentingly. He’s big enough where the head of his cock brushes against your cervix, a pleasure mixed with just the slightest pain that makes you delirious.

“Sy-lus,” you moan brokenly, unable to stop from practically screaming, “So deep—can’t…”

”You’re doing perfect,” he praises, whispering your name in a way that makes your stomach coil tightly, on the verge of exploding.

“Sh-shit. All you have to do is focus on screaming my name, hm? I’ll take care of the rest.”

You whine at the thought of your neighbors hearing you, knowing first hand just how thin the walls were. Biting the inside of your cheek, you do your best to keep your sounds down.

And of course Sylus notices instantly. But instead of scolding you, he only fucks you harder–physically pulling the sounds out of you. The screams of ecstasy that he wants.

Screams that would undoubtedly be heard across the walls. And the ceiling,

“Just like that,” Sylus grunts, his crimson eyes nearly glowing with approval, “Think he can hear you, sweetheart?”

Your eyes, previously screwed shut in sheer pleasure, fly open as you register the implication of his words—his actions.

Sylus seems to anticipate your reaction, simultaneously bringing his lips over your nipple and his thumb to your clit—rendering you a wordless, squealing mess.

You can’t see the way Sylus smirks against your breast with a dangerous satisfaction, his ruby eyes glowing with adoration and possession.

“He might get to see you every day, but I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. So drunk off my cock that you can’t even open your eyes.”

His thumb moves faster, in perfect tandem with his claiming thrusts.

”He might get to hear them, but these screams are for me, and only me. Right, my love?”

You find yourself nodding obediently, willing to do anything to get him to shut up and give you the orgasm he’s holding just out of your reach.

”Syluuus,” you plead shamelessly, words slurring, “F-Feels s’goood. Please!” Any attempt at being quiet had long been abandoned, your brain clouded only with thoughts of Sylus and the filthy mating press he had you folded into.

Sylus was a man of fierce passion, but this was entirely different. His beautiful eyes held a swirl of dangerous emotions, nearly as intense as the vigor in which his body pounding down into yours. Your nearing climax rings in your ears, blocking out the sounds of your mattress frame snapping, his thrusts masking the feeling of the wood smashing into the ground.

He revels in your cries of pure ecstasy, satisfaction blooming in his chest as you grow louder with every thrust towards your release. Sylus’s vermillion eyes flicker to the ceiling of the bedroom, intrusive thoughts clouding his own building pleasure.

It’d be easier if he lived next to you as opposed to the unit atop yours.

With his lips at your neck, his thick body presses down onto you, angling himself deeper. As he brings your body to unprecedented heights, he whispers into the shell of your ear, voice husky and rough.

”Can feel how close you are” he groans, your cunt attempting to wring his cock absolutely dry, “Want him to hear you cum for me?”

You whine, weakly shaking your head ‘no.’ Sylus only grins, his hips snapping into the plush of your thighs.

”That’s too bad, kitten. Your dear partner is going to have to hear it anyway.”

xavier 沈星回

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 1,165

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, dark!xavier, mentions of sylus, standing sex, mentions of voyeurism, mentions of cum marking, hitting it from the back, sex against the window, slight choking

“You’ve been at the N109 Zone a lot this week.”

You can hardly comprehend Xavier’s words over the sheer intensity at which he’s driving himself into you, as if trying to carve you perfectly into the shape of him.

“Wh-What?” you pant, your voice pathetically shaky as your palms desperately steady yourself against the window he has you pressed against.

The city lights twinkle beneath you, and you find yourself grateful that you’re more than ten floors up. Because the way Xavier had your naked body pressed into the cool glass pane, his chin digging into your shoulder as his hips snapped harshly into your ass?

If you were on a lower floor, anyone outside would undoubtedly see everything.

But you’re starting to think that’s exactly what he wants.

“The N109 Zone. You’ve been there almost every day this last week,” Xavier says, his words simple but his tone almost threatening. Not enough to scare you, but just enough to have your toes curling in excitement.

“And?” is all you manage, your back arching against his abdomen when he presses you deeper into the window. In response, Xavier’s thrusts slow to a near stop, his hand gently wrapping around the base of your throat. You whine in protest, desperately rolling your own hips backward against him, chasing the pleasure

His tender fingers stroke the sides of your neck, so softly and adoringly. It gives you whiplash when you see how dark his eyes have gotten, almost sinister.

Gripping you gently, he pulls you toward him by your neck until your head rests on his shoulder and you can really see the intensity of his shadowy azure eyes.

“Have you been working with the Onichynus leader?” he asks, his thrusts unbearably slow and shallow.

“Sylus?”

At that, Xavier snaps, his grip tightening and his pace quickening. Except it’s much more violent this time around–enough to have your body pounding into the glass and your head swimming with delirious ecstasy.

The sound of another man’s name on your tongue while his cock was nestled against your g-spot? That fueled Xavier with a jealousy that bordered on insanity.

“You did that on purpose,” he grunts unhappily against your ear. It’s nearly impossible to hear him over the sound of his pelvis pounding into your ass, the wet slaps resounding throughout the room.

“Mnngh…W-What did I do?” you ask, struggling to speak.

Xavier’s breath is heavy against your shoulder, his fingers abandoning your neck and instead cupping your jaw, turning your face towards him, so he can really look at you.

Wordlessly, he pulls your face to his, taking your lips into his–bruisingly and possessively. As his tongue claims every inch of your mouth, his cock does the same, filling you out so completely that you find it difficult to breathe.

“Do I need to be rougher?” Xavier grunts as he reluctantly pulls away from you, his lips shiny and cheeks flushed red. You squeak when his hand roughly cups your breast, kneading just how he knew you liked, but just a tad bit harder to make you scream.

“Do I need to remind you just how much you need me?”

He punctuates his words with a pointed thrust, his cockhead stroking roughly against your most sensitive spots.

“How much you need this?”

The intensity and passion in which Xavier takes you against the window is enough to render you a wordless, moaning mess. The glass is nice and cool against your burning skin, fogging up as Xavier presses you deeper into it.

He maneuvers your chin so that you’re facing the reflection again. He kisses your shoulder, deceptively tender, as he murmurs your name. The push and pull between tenderness and roughness confuses your brain, only making your body more receptive, more pliant, to him.

“Oh god—Xavier!” you moan unabashedly, your forehead falling forward to lean against the window. Xavier smiles, thoroughly pleased at the sound of his name leaving your beautiful lips.

But he was a greedy man and he wanted more.

“Look at me,” he commands gently, saying your name with so much conviction and possession that you're wracked with a violent shiver. He tilts your chin up again, so that you come face to face with him in the reflection, the city lights outside blurring. His fingers are soft against your skin, his grip demanding.

Xavier’s glassy cerulean eyes bore into yours through the reflection, misted with a dark and raw possession that you’d been seeing more and more of lately as Xavier opened his heart to you. A look that made your instincts tingle with the need to escape.

And yet your body only tightens with excitement, sucking Xavier further into you, wanting him harder–deeper.

But it’s still so effortlessly Xavier–pure and soft. It made your heart clench with adoration while your core tightened with desperation.

His intense eyes burn into your naked form, fingers forcing you to watch him, as he speaks again, “The next time you go to the N109 Zone, I’m coming too.”

You’re about to protest but Xavier cuts you off, “I know you’re perfectly capable. That’s not why.” His words come out shaky and soft as you get painfully tighter, inexplicably turned on by his possessive nature.

“If you’re going to be walking around the N109 zone with him, you’re going to do it with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

You gasp, your stomach tightening at his filthy–completely serious–words. Xavier smiles into the mirrored window that’s now fogging up with your combined torrid breaths.

“Do you like the sound of that? It feels like you do, angel.”

Xavier glances at you again, looking absolutely ethereal with the city lights twinkling behind his reflection. But he’s starting to look just as disheveled as you, his blonde hair strewn messily, his pale cheeks dusted pink, beads of sweat trailing down his muscles.

As you get distracted in the way his burning cock literally reshapes your gummy walls around him, Xavier grabs a gentle fistful of your hair, forcing you to level with him.

“Tell me you want it, please.”

His commanding words are tinged with just an inkling of insecurity, his blue eyes nearly begging with yours through the damp glass.

You push yourself off the glass, leaning back against him, knees buckling when he gets deeper.

Xavier wraps a secure arm around your chest, holding you effortlessly in place. In this position, he buries his face into your shoulder, his eyes still peeking over, trained on you.

Laying your head back against him, you cradle the back of his head with your hand. Maintaining eye contact, you somehow find the coherence to appease him, knowing he’d go insane without your reassurance, no matter how ridiculous what he was asking was.

“W-Wan’ it Xav,” you moan through the force of his thrusts, “Anything you give me, anything you want.

Xavier noticeably falters, his breaths becoming alarmingly ragged, azure eyes darkening to a deep navy instead.

“Then, let’s start right now.”

zayne 黎深

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 1,120

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, marking + hickeys, improper evol use, dry humping, mentions of caleb, zayne on top, praising

Zayne wasn’t a jealous man.

At least that’s what you’d thought—what he’d made you and everyone who knew him believe.

He was wildly successful in his career, self-assured in himself, and secure in your relationship.

And yet, the way he was sucking bruises into every inch of your burning skin, with the clear intent to mark and claim–where everyone could see, said otherwise.

“Zayne—!” you cry out as he bites a particularly mind-numbing hickey into your collar, his skilled tongue soothing the sensitive skin as his teeth graze against the forming bruise.

“Hm?” is all he murmurs. But he doesn’t let you continue or clarify, because the next thing you know, he’s rolling his bare erection against your moist slit, purposely letting his own leaking tip rub against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

With your eyes squeezed shut in burning anticipation, you can’t see him, but you can hear the faint smirk in his voice.

“What is it, sweetheart?” his lips are suddenly at the skin under your ear, pressing soft kisses into the spot he plans to mark you next.

“You know what,” you whine, “Not so high up.” Even you can hear how half-hearted your plea is. You loved the rare occasion Zayne made it known exactly what he did to his favorite hunter, his most crucial patient, behind closed doors.

But you’d gotten so familiar with Zayne’s straight-edged professionalism that you were used to him leaving signs of himself on your body that only you’d be able to see. Areas that only the two of you would know he’d been. Where his lips had been.

“And why is that?” he chuckles, letting his lips ghost along your pulse, as if warning you what was to come if you didn’t plead your case.

You gasp when he grabs the base of his cock, purposely letting himself brush against your soaked entrance, but not letting himself enter–much to your dismay.

“H-Have to go to—ngh—go to Skyhaven tomorrow,” you whimper, “Meeting with Caleb and the F-Fleet to discuss Wanderer activity.”

Zayne pauses at your words, his entire body tensing ever so slightly as he presses himself forcefully into you, his muscles twitching against you.

Ah.

He collects himself instantly, his teeth nipping at your pulse in warning.

“Oh?” he says, as if he didn’t already know you’d be seeing Caleb tomorrow, likely having gotten your mission schedule from the Association. Doctors often had access to the files of all Hunters that were under their care.

“Even more reason to send you off with a few gifts for the Colonel.”

If his jealous possession didn’t turn you on so damn thoroughly you might’ve rolled your eyes and teased him. Tease him that he’d said the childhood rivalry between him and Caleb was one-sided. That he’d said he was above that petty jealousy.

But with Zayne’s cock wedged so tortuously between your legs, a burning path of love bites trailing from your neck to your breasts, his warm breath at your ear–you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but moan for more.

“You sound beautiful,” Zayne whispers thickly into your ear, before his lips descend and latch onto the soft skin above your nipple, “So perfect like this. Spread out for me, begging for more.”

He pulls away, a string of saliva connecting from his lips to your heaving chest, his mouth pulling into a faint smirk at the pretty little marks he’s left all over your soft skin. The sense of satisfaction he feels from watching your quivering form, chanting his name like a prayer. The satisfaction he got from knowing that he’d be the only one to see you like this, feel you like this. Now and forever.

The satisfaction from knowing that anyone who saw you would see exactly how thoroughly you belonged to him.

He shifts to give himself better access to you. To the spot between your legs that was reserved only for him.

Zayne positions himself, his tip at your aching entrance, his body coming down to hover over you, his face inches from yours. His eyes bore into yours, the gold flecks shining as he takes in your flushed features. His magnificent woman.

His fingers trace your jaw, carving an icy path down every beautiful mark, every searing claim. You yelp at the feeling of his Evol laced fingertips, body arching at the hypersensitivity of his frosty digits. But Zayne only presses you back down into the mattress.

“Tell me, love,” he whispers, his voice husky and gravelly with need, “Who’s the only one who gets to see you like this?”

Feeling rebellious, you refuse, “I’m not feeding into this ridiculous del–” You’re cut off by your own scream as Zayne’s fingertips close over your nipple, using his Evol to make his skin colder than it normally was. He repeats his demand, saying your name so tenderly–a stark contrast to his unforgiving touch that your body yearned for.

“Tell me.”

“Y-You!” you squeal as Zayne rolls your sensitive tip in his skillful torturous fingers.

“Who’s the only one who gets to hear you make these perfect little noises?” This time he punctuates his question by bringing his frozen fingers to your clit, pressing down, simultaneously holding your body down as it arches.

“Anngh–you. Only you! P-Please–!” you beg, not able to take the hypersensitivity, but not wanting him to pull away.

“So good for me,” Zayne murmurs, pressing his cock into you, just barely stretching you out, “And only me, right beautiful?”

Your eyes widen at the feeling of just his thick tip inside you. Your body arches, trying to receive more of him. He gently pushes you back down, his palm flat against your stomach.

You whine at his blatant denial, using your legs to try to trap his body against yours, pulling him closer so he had no choice but to push deeper.

“Oh g-god, yes!”

But Zayne remains steadfast, his strong muscled body unmoving. Instead, he gently grips your chin, bringing your eyes up to his.

“Say my name.”

Zayne thrusts shallowly, forcefully pulling the words from your lips and making you spill exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Nnngh–only yours, Zayne!” His name rolls off your tongue like music, earning you a low growl of approval from the man just barely inside you.

As if to reward you, he pushes himself fully inside of you, all the way to the hilt. He falls onto his elbows, rolling his hips with a passionate intensity that has you calling his name–over and over. With a torrid groan of your name, he desperately presses another blossoming bruise into your pulse. Right where everyone could see it.

“That’s right sweetheart. And everyone will know it.”

rafayel 祁煜

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 1,190

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, marking, spanking, kinda mentions of voyerism, raf on top but from the back, messy make out

You were a relatively flexible person.

By no means did you have the range of a gymnast or a professional dancer, but all things considered, you were decently limber for the average woman—dabbling in the occasional yoga and pilates.

But that did little to prepare you for the arch Rafayel was forcing you into, his hand gently gripping your hair for leverage, the other pushing you down lower.

He’d purposely put his massive ornate gold-rimmed mirror in front of his bed, forcing you to watch as he mounted you savagely from behind, his hips desperate to paint pretty flowering bruises into the plush of your ass.

Rafayel normally punished you with the silent treatment, or overt sass. But now?

He was punishing you with his insatiable body.

“You better not do that again,” the purple-haired artist groans from behind you, his voice much more demanding than you normally ever heard from him. His hips snap into you, your combined arousal dripping down the back of your thighs.

You can only moan back, every nerve end in your body burning with the pleasure delivered from Rafayel’s thick length inside of you, rendering you unable to think or speak clearly.

Unsatisfied with your lack of response, Rafayel tugs gently at your hair, forcing you to level with him in the reflection in the mirror. He looks devastatingly handsome, his purple wavy hair tousled, like he’d run his hair through it several times. His soft, blemish free, skin a beautiful shade of coral. The sapphire in his eyes eclipses the soft pinkish corals, as he gives into primitive instinct, making them nearly entirely blue.

“Tell me you won’t do that again.”

You whine, even in your cock-drunk state, you know exactly what he wants you to say.

Rafayel was just wrapping up a guest lecture circuit for the local universities, particularly their fine arts departments. He’d asked you to be his “assistant” to the last one, claiming he needed his precious bodyguard there if any of the students tried to kidnap him for ransom.

During a portrait exploration exercise, a student had asked you to model for his sketch. It seemed innocent enough, and you didn’t want to make Rafayel look bad by denying a student’s genuine request–being his guest on campus.

And apparently Rafayel did not like that.

“Raf–!” you rasp, doing your best to speak through the torrent of passionate thrusts, your broken voice barely audible over the lewd sounds of his skin slapping against yours.

“S-Slow down,” you whimper, unable to speak coherently, answer his demand, if he was fucking you this passionately.

“That’s not what I asked for, pretty girl,” Rafayel murmurs, his own voice nearly broken over how perfect your gummy walls convulse around him.

You squeal when he presses his palm harder down on the small over your back, making your ass arch even higher for him.

“You’re in no position to be making demands,” he pants, the hand in your hair abandoning your head to grab a fistful of your soft ass. He kneads it tenderly, eliciting a cry of pleasure from you, before releasing it.

Thwack!

Your eyes widen, a squeal erupting from your lips as Rafayel’s hand comes down to meet your rear in a harsh spank.

“Come on, baby,” he groans your name, halfway between a growl and a whine.

“W-Was jus’ a portrait sketch,” you reason, catching his heated gaze in the mirror. His perfectly arched eyebrow raises at you.

“You think I care?” Rafayel mutters, smacking your ass again, only this time it’s softer. Not punishing, but rather claiming. With the sole intent to mark you up. His.

“Unngh–you asked me t’come!” you slur, your entire body jolting with the force of his body pounding against yours.

“Yeah, to be my pretty little TA,” Rafayel protests, “Not someone else’s fucking inspiration!”

He slumps over you, forcing you deeper, his chest lightly pressed against your upper back, his lips pressed into your shoulder, nipping gently.

“Ngh–knew I should’ve kept you under my podium,” he grumbles, only half joking.

You give him a pointed look in the mirror, your face covered in sweaty strands of hair. Rafayel props himself above you with one arm, the other tenderly sweeping your hair out of your face. So he can see you properly.

You were his. Only his.

Even if it was just some unsuspecting university student.

Rafayel grabs your chin, turning your face so he can kiss you. You crane your neck towards him, letting him capture your lips aggressively, possessively.

It’s anything but a gentle tender kiss, but rather a dark claiming one. One where his tongue explores every inch of you, his teeth nipping your lips, swallowing your exquisite cries of pleasure.

When he pulls away, a string of saliva connects you to him. His fingers still gripping your chin, he turns you back to the mirror.

“You’re my muse. No one else gets to use you, innocent sketch or not.”

You nod submissively, inexplicably turned on by his jealous and possessive demeanor. Rafayel smiles at you through the reflection, a heated promise in his bi-colored eyes.

“Fuck—just like that, need to memorize every inch of you like this,” he moans, stroking your hair unbearably gently. As if he wasn’t rutting into you so viciously that his entire bed shook, the expensive wood legs of the frame scraping against the silk rug.

“You—mmmf—always say that,” you tease him, “Surprised you haven’t—ngh—haven’t created an entire map yet.”

Rafayel gives you an unamused look, his bottom lip jutting out in that adorable Rafayel grimace.

”A map? No,” he lowers himself back to your shoulder, letting his warm breath tickle your neck. He leans his head against yours, his hips rolling like the tides of the ocean. Except maybe during a tsunami.

He laughs when you nearly collapse, his angry tip hitting your g-spot. He catches you, hooking his arm under your stomach before you can lose that beautiful arch.

“Raf—!” you moan, “Can’t…Can’t take much more.”

“Easy, cutie,” he kisses your ear, slowing his movements much to your dismay. It stifles your impending orgasm, making you whine in frustration.

“D-Don’t tease Rafayel!”

He lets out a breathy laugh, giving you a single languid thrust before slowing again.

“Well I can’t have you tapping out juuuust yet,” he smiles into your neck, taking a deep inhale of your pheromones, the left side of his chest burns as your scent clouds his brain.

“I need more time, if I’m going to commit this image to memory,” he whispers predatorily into your ear, directing your face back to the massive mirror. The image reflected is so unbearably lewd.

Rafayel’s muscles ripple as he quite literally mounts you. You look so filthily undone beneath him, your skin flushed and shining with sweat, lips swollen and slick.

”Going to make a mural of you, exactly like this,” Rafayel grins wickedly, delighted by the way your eyes widen with horror, before rolling back into themselves. “Cheeks flushed, perfect ass up, hair disheveled…All for me.”

He gives you another gentle spank, your poor cheek reddened and marked.

“Think that will inspire him?”

caleb 夏以昼

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 1,417

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, slight improper evol use, mentions of zayne, against the wall sex, kinda leash use, caleb puts his dogtag in reader’s mouth, hickeys, brat taming

Against the setting sun, Caleb’s silver dog tag casts dancing flashes of light on the wall of his bedroom. Sunsets in Skyhaven have always been so much more magnificent. The floor to ceiling windows allow the waning sun to paint the entire room in a brilliant orange glow, the light bouncing off the necklace he never took off.

The necklace that was now swinging wildly against your own naked chest with the force of Caleb’s desperate, forceful movements.

”C-Caleb, o-oh god,” you cry, nails digging painfully into him, an angry trail of red welts already littering his muscled back. He hisses at the sting, but it only makes him more feral, his pelvis slamming so violently into yours that the wall behind you nearly tremors with his raw strength.

“Yeah? Finally being sensible, princess? Ready to be a good girl for me?” Caleb grins, his words lacking any real bite, balancing you in one hand as he moves your hair to one shoulder.

You whine in indignation, knowing exactly what brought about his sudden attitude.

A certain raven haired surgeon you both knew all too well.

It would be adorable if it wasn’t making him so damn animalistic right now. But who were you kidding—you loved it. Loved him like this.

“Y-You were in important Fleet briefings all day,” you pant through the moans, his cock spearing up into you as he holds you firmly to the wall.

He presses ravenous kisses to your jaw, his fist balling as it propped himself against the wall. “And? All you have to do is ask and I’ll have someone stand in for me.”

“You’re the Colonel–mmngh–you can’t just drop your duties every time I n-need someone to pick me up!”

“Fuck– so damn tight,” Caleb groans, leaning his forehead against yours as he ruts into you savagely, “and who says I can’t?”

There’s a childish and challenging lilt to his gravelly voice, squeezing your ass with his right hand, leaving flourishing bruises behind. If that arm couldn’t feel you, it’d sure as hell leave reminders he was there.

Your eyes roll back, from the pleasure or Caleb’s ridiculousness, you’re unsure.

“It was right next to the hospital,” you whine, squealing when Caleb takes your nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth, “Mmngh–Zayne was a-already there!”

Caleb’s rhythm doesn’t falter for a second at the sound of that name rolling off your tongue. In fact, it seems to only make him more determined. More feral.

He holds your jaw in his fingers, his violet eyes glowing with a cautionary sparkle. The cool metal of his dog tag rattles against your bodies, pressed together and slick with sweat.

“I would’ve been there too. If you called me,” he murmurs petulantly, his face transforming into that classic wet-puppy face that Caleb so expertly used to get his way with you.

But the contrast of his adorable face to his downright filthy thrusts helps you stay clear-minded against his charms. Well, as clear-minded as you could be when he was being like this.

“Caleb, you’re being unrea—oh god!” you whimper, his fingers meanly pinching your clit, purposely trying to make you lose your train of thought, “U-Unreasonable!”

He pulls your chin to him, enveloping you in a feverish kiss, no doubt trying to get you to give in to his jealous little whims. When he pulls away, he tilts your chin up to look into the burning galaxy in his irises.

“You’re my girl. Call me next time, okay baby?” His tone, commanding–nearly a growl, betrays his deceptively sweet words.

You continue trying to reason with him, clawing desperately at the thick ropes of muscles in his back, “You w-were in Skyhaven! Would’ve been—angghh—been waiting for hours!”

Caleb presses warning kisses into your neck, his teeth nipping hard enough to leave marks. He takes one of your hands into his, intertwining your fingers slowly.

”Personal aircraft. Did you forget? Even after you rode me that one t–”

You whine in embarrassment, cutting him off with a poignant roll of your hips, “Ngh–Caleb! Y-You can't possibly fly a whole ass plane to Linkon every time Zayne tries to–”

Caleb interrupts your words with a growl, hips slowing down tortuously. His fingers wrap gently around your neck, his head tilted as he stares down at you.

“Really? You’re going to keep saying his name when you’re crying out for me? For this?”

To punctuate his lightly veiled threat, he ruts particularly viciously, your entire body sliding up the wall. He presses against you so tightly that you shudder, the cool metal of his necklace like ice against your singed skin. His hand brushes along your naval, where he can feel his cock hammering in and out. He presses down, eliciting a beautiful scream from you.

“God, you’re such a brat today,” he growls heatedly in your ear, his hand abandoning your stomach, threading with your fingers again. He raises your joined palms above your head, pushing them into the wall, giving him a bit more leverage as he tries to use his cock to make you forget anyone’s name but his.

Particularly that of your beloved doctor.

“I’m the brat?!” you say incredulously. He cuts you off, hammering until you can nearly feel him in your throat, but you don’t stop, “Y-You’re the brat! Still letting Zayne get under y–mmmf!”

Irritated at your unending talk of Zayne, his dog tag still swinging annoyingly with the force of his thrusts, Caleb cuts you off again. Using one hand to balance you, his free fingers place the tag of his bouncing silver necklace in between your lips. The cool metal brushes against your tongue and you whine as he squeezes your jaw, making it difficult to release it.

“Only name I want to hear from you is mine,” he murmurs, voice deceptively soft. He smirks when your eyes roll back, his tag still between your pouty lips. Something about the sight of you, his claim in your mouth, your eyes nearly white with the sheer force of pleasure only he can give you? It sends him dangerously close to losing all control.

Caleb’s fist slams into the wall next to your head, gasping out a string of expletives, his hips stuttering with the overwhelming emotions he feels when he looks at you. Taking a deep breath, he tries to collect himself, not quite ready to give you your release. His fist softens, stroking the chain of the necklace as it dangles from your mouth toward his chest.

“You gonna be good?” he coos your name, his smooth, heated voice doing little to betray how dangerously close he is to coming undone into your impossibly tight heat.

You give him a rebellious glare, your eyes saying no. You were this close to being cock drunk and giving in to enabling his possessive behavior, but you did your damned best to hold onto your pride.

Caleb chuckles darkly, freeing your chin which lets you drop the metal tag from between your teeth. He catches it in his fingertips, stroking the damp steel, his wordlessness feeling almost sinister.

You yelp when your neck is yanked towards him, close enough that you can feel his threatening breath against your lips, a dangerous glint in his eyebrow-shadowed eyes.

At first you think it’s his Evol, both his hands still occupied–one gripping the dog tag and the other gripping your ass. But at the slight sting at your nape, you realize you’d completely missed him slipping the gifted necklace over your neck. That he probably with his Evol.

And now he was using it like a leash, pulling you toward him like he owned you.

You gasp when he tilts his head, still gripping the necklace gently, your back slamming into the wall as he fucked into you with renewed vigor. He inhales your choked breath as his own, wanting to consume you entirely.

With his Evol, he holds you flush against the wall, using one hand to guide you with the pull of the silver jewelry, the other cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw.

“I hope you don’t have any more plans this weekend. Especially not with Zayne.”

His hand slides from your jaw to your neck again, squeezing in a way that has not only your throat constricting but also your cunt, in pure thrill.

“We’re going to be here until the only name you remember is mine. Now be a good girl and be quiet, yeah?”

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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certifiedsimpinggalore · 16 hours ago

Note

ABSOLUTELY SCRUMPTIOUS

Hello! I love your writing! I was wondering.. would it be possible to request a sequel to Bitter for all the guys? The angst really got me good, but an end Where they see the Reader move on, whether it be with another LI or another person. Those sorts of fics soothe the angst for me even if they don’t end up together again.

Sour

Pt.1

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: A year has slipped through your fingers like sand, carrying away the sharp edges of bitterness— or so you thought. Yet, the past has a cruel way of resurfacing, and when you stand before your former lover once more, the question lingers: has time truly softened the wound, or does resentment still simmer beneath your skin?

A/N: A lot of you guys asked for a sequel, and I must say - I'm so greatful for all of your support. It feels unreal, knowing that so many people enjoy my writing and get engaged in it. I tried to include every suggestion you gave me in some way. It ended up quite long, because I wanted to make sure they suffer. I really hope it's up to your liking, enjoy!

Xavier

A year had passed—one carved from sorrow, stitched with bitterness. Betrayal, mistrust, insecurities—every fracture in your heart laid bare, every ugly truth dragged into the light.

And yet, in some quiet, inexplicable way, you were grateful.

Grateful for the clarity, for the stripping away of illusions, for the lesson that love—no matter how fervent—could not thrive on longing alone. You had spent so much time searching for a deeper meaning, convincing yourself there had to be one. But sometimes, the truth was simple. Painfully, mercilessly simple.

He hadn’t chosen you.

There had been texts, calls, attempts at conversation. Words typed and deleted, ringing phones you never answered. You knew his tactics too well—the pleading eyes, the soft-spoken apologies, the way he’d paint his regret with honeyed words. But you had learned. This time, you refused to fall.

And so, the city became a vast and empty place, void of Xavier’s shadow. No accidental encounters, no glimpses of golden hair in a crowded street. It was as if the universe had granted you mercy, shielding you from the ghost of what could have been.

And with time, bitter turned to sour. Sour softened into something gentler, something warm. Until one day, you woke up and found yourself unburdened.

You were thriving.

A promotion at work. New friends. Doors opening where once there had only been walls. It was almost absurd, how small your world had been, how much of yourself you had given away for the sake of love that was never truly yours.

Because in the end, one heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world.

And when you finally let yourself step forward, the idea of meeting someone new no longer felt like a betrayal of your past self. It was slow at first—hesitant, uncertain—but why should someone else pay the price for wounds they never inflicted?

You were seeing someone. The phrase alone felt foreign on your tongue, strange in your mind. But it was real. It was different. No silent doubts, no waiting for the inevitable unraveling. Just laughter. Just affection. Just love, in the simplest, most effortless form.

You were distracted by happiness.

And maybe that was why fate decided to test you.

The bell above the café door chimed, a familiar sound that had never meant anything—until now. Until the moment you met a gaze you once knew better than your own.

Blue. Icy, calculating, flickering with disbelief.

Xavier.

He looked different. Sharper somehow, but worn. Dark circles framed those piercing eyes, his golden hair a little unkempt, a crease forming between his brows. There was no laughter in his expression, no easy charm. Just silence—thick, heavy, laced with something you couldn’t name.

Like he was seeing a ghost.

Like, after all this time, he still wasn’t sure if you were real.

He stood from his table, slow and careful, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. You straightened your posture, steeling yourself.

"Y/N..."

Your name left his lips like a prayer. Soft. Tentative. As if he didn’t deserve to say it.

And maybe he didn’t.

Still, you had promised yourself you’d be better than bitterness. That you wouldn’t let the past sink its claws into you.

So you smiled. Small, polite, but distant. "Xavier. Long time no see."

Something flickered in his expression, fleeting but unmistakable. Hurt.

"Yeah," he echoed, glancing down for a moment, hands curling into fists before he exhaled, gathering himself. "Long time no see."

A pause. A heavy, unspoken weight settling between you.

And then—"Would you sit with me?" His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. "Just for a little while? I won’t... I won’t nag you, I swear." A ghost of a smile barely touched his lips.

For a moment, you considered.

Curiosity stirred—how had he been? How had life treated him? And yet, you knew better. You had spent too long craving answers that would never change the past. The Xavier who stood before you was not yours to worry about. Not anymore.

So you inhaled slowly, steadying your heart, and said simply, "I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about."

Blunt. Honest. Kind, but final.

And for once, you didn’t feel guilty for choosing yourself.

The bell rang again, the door swinging open, and warmth enveloped you as familiar arms wrapped around your waist, a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"Love," a voice murmured, teasing and light. "You always make me chase after you." They laughed, and you did too, the sound effortless.

Your partner turned, glancing at Xavier with mild curiosity. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing at all," you assured, slipping your fingers into theirs, warmth meeting warmth. "Let’s go."

And as you walked away, hand in hand with the person who had mended what Xavier broke, you didn’t look back.

But he did.

Xavier stood frozen, watching as you disappeared into the city, just as he had let you slip through his fingers once before.

And this time, there was no note left behind. No final words.

Only silence.

And the weight of a mistake he could never undo.

...

But it seemed fate was not yet finished with him. Seeing you again was a wound torn open, an ache that refused to fade. Xavier realized, with the kind of clarity that arrives too late, that he couldn’t let you go.

Not without trying.

And it didn’t matter that you belonged to someone else now—desperation made a man reckless. He would settle for anything. A glance, a word, a sigh in his direction. Proof that he had not become a ghost in your memory.

So he searched. Called. Texted. Every message fell into silence, his words lost to the void. He wandered through the places you once loved, only to find them hollow, emptied of your presence. It was as if you had evaporated, leaving no trace behind.

But then—when he finally found you, sitting on a weathered park bench beneath the fading gold of an autumn sky—his breath hitched. You looked different. Not just in the way time shapes a person, but in the way peace does. It softened you, made you untouchable.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to seem like a desperate man chasing shadows. But wasn’t that exactly what he was? Obsessed, haunted, unraveling beneath the weight of his own mistakes.

And then you looked at him.

His heart stuttered. Your eyes—once a universe he had called home—held no welcome for him now. There was recognition, yes. But it was distant, indifferent. A ghost of a smile graced your lips, polite but hollow, and something inside him withered.

"I need to talk to you," he rasped, his voice raw from all the words he had never said.

You tilted your head, considering him in that quiet, unreadable way. Then, with a small sigh, you gestured to the empty space beside you. An invitation—not of warmth, but of duty. Perhaps you felt he deserved the clarity he had never given you.

He sat, feeling like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.

"I have no right to ask for forgiveness," he confessed, staring down at his hands as if the answers were etched into his skin. "I know that. But I feel... lost. Lost without you guiding me."

There was silence, heavy as the twilight creeping in around you. And then—

"What’s done is done." Your voice was steady, like the final toll of a bell. "You’re right—some things can’t be forgiven. And actions have consequences. I’ve moved on, Xavier. And you should, too. That’s the only clarity I can give you."

Your words struck like a blade, precise and inescapable. He had braced himself for anger, for screams, for the fury he knew he deserved. But instead, you looked at him with nothing but pity.

And that—God, that was worse.

"Y/N, please," he choked out, his resolve crumbling. "Just give me a chance. I’ll do anything. Anything."

He fell to his knees before you, the weight of his regret pressing him into the earth. Once, he had stood tall beside you. Now, he knelt at your feet, pleading for the remnants of something he had destroyed with his own hands.

You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you exhaled softly. "I’m happily taken…" The words were gentle, but firm. And then, the final blow—"Engaged, actually."

You lifted your hand, and in the dimming light, the diamond on your finger gleamed like the last star in a dying sky.

Xavier’s breath left him in a ragged gasp. No. No, this couldn’t be real.

"Please—" He reached for you, his hands trembling, his world tilting beneath him. "I can’t do this without you."

You smiled then, and for the first time that evening, it was real. Soft, kind, but completely out of reach.

"I’m afraid that’s none of my business anymore."

You rose to your feet, turning away from him, your figure bathed in the golden light of a world that no longer had room for him. He watched, helpless, as you walked away—each step sealing his fate, each breath pulling you further from his grasp.

And when you disappeared beyond the trees, he realized the cruelest truth of all.

Some mistakes don’t come with second chances.

Zayne

A year.

A year since you had stood in the ruins of what you once called love, waiting for something—anything—to make sense. Since the walls of your world had collapsed beneath the weight of neglect, since the name Dr. Zayne had burned like acid on your tongue.

And yet, look at you now.

Thriving.

You had carved out a life that was entirely your own, no longer bending yourself into smaller, more convenient shapes to fit into someone else’s world. Your career—once just a dream, a hesitant whisper in the back of your mind—had become your reality, a space where your talents were not only recognized but celebrated. Your relationships flourished, no longer strained by the quiet loneliness of waiting for a man who always seemed just out of reach.

The girl who once sat by the phone, heart aching for a call that never came, was gone.

And yet, the ghosts of Zayne still lingered.

The recipe he once taught you? You still loved it, the taste laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. The song he always played while driving? Occasionally, you let it slip through your speakers, if only to remind yourself how far you had come. The pain of his absence had dulled into something quieter—no longer a gaping wound, but a faded scar.

You had learned to appreciate what his neglect had taught you.

Because he had shown you exactly what love wasn’t.

And now, you knew better.

...

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.

Your partner—warm, steady, everything you had once begged for—had suffered a minor accident. Nothing dire, but enough to warrant a hospital visit, just to be sure. And so you stood there, waiting near the reception desk, arms crossed over your chest, glancing at the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile linens, the faint beeping of monitors a rhythmic pulse in the background.

And then—

You felt it before you saw it.

A gaze. Heavy. Familiar.

You turned.

And there he was.

Dr. Zayne.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between you and him. He looked... different. Or maybe it was you who had changed. His sharp, professional composure remained, but there was something wearier about him now. The pristine white coat did little to hide the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight furrow of his brows, the way he adjusted his glasses in that meticulous way of his.

And yet, despite it all—he was still devastatingly familiar.

"Y/N?"

Your name fell from his lips like a habit he had forgotten he missed.

There was something almost startled in his expression, as if he hadn’t expected to see you here, hadn’t expected you at all.

"Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He was already stepping forward, concern etched into every line of his face.

There was a time when that look would have unraveled you. When your heart would have stuttered at the mere thought of being the center of his attention.

Now, it felt… strange.

Performative.

Not because you thought he was faking it—Zayne never faked anything—but because it no longer mattered.

You blinked, taken aback for a brief moment before schooling your features into something unreadable.

"I'm alright."

A pause.

Why did he sound as if he had just seen you yesterday? As if a year of silence had not stretched between you like an ocean?

Why was he looking at you like that?

And why—why did it still taste bitter?

His gaze flickered over you, searching for something, before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Then why are you here?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, it’s none of my business," he amended quickly, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses again—nervous. Zayne never used to be nervous around you.

"But since you’re here," he continued, voice carefully composed, "perhaps we could talk? If you wouldn’t mind, of course."

There was something almost hesitant in his tone. Like he was reaching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for.

And before you could decide how to respond—

A warmth wrapped around you.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, baby."

A familiar voice. Soft lips pressed against your temple. A presence that felt like home.

Your partner.

Zayne went still.

You didn’t even need to look at him to know. You could feel it—the way the air between you turned sour, thick with something unspoken, something unacknowledged.

You turned to face your lover, melting into the easy affection they offered, their touch grounding you in a way Zayne’s never had.

"Is that your friend?" your partner asked curiously, glancing at Zayne with polite indifference.

You tilted your head, considering the question.

Friend?

No, that wasn’t quite right.

You let out a soft giggle, shrugging as you intertwined your fingers with theirs. "I guess?"

And then—without another glance, without another word—you turned, walking away.

Zayne remained where he stood, unmoving, silent.

He didn’t call after you. Didn’t reach out.

Because he knew.

He knew that if he had any place in your life, it would have been beside you, not behind you—watching as you disappeared into a world that no longer included him.

And now, the only thing he had left—

Was the taste of regret, bitter and lingering on his tongue.

...

Bitterness clung to Zayne like the aftertaste of a drink too strong, too sharp. And so, he sought sweetness in the only way he knew how—in thoughts of you.

Your touch, the gentle weight of your hand on his wrist. Your voice, quiet yet commanding, soft yet certain. Your presence, steady as the tide, once an anchor, now a ghost.

He had spent too long convincing himself he could let you go. That logic could silence longing, that reason could tame regret. But then he saw you again.

And the moment he did, he knew.

You belonged by his side.

So, it began. A pattern. A ritual. Lingering in the places you once adored, slipping into the coffee shop you used to frequent, hoping—praying—that fate would grant him another moment.

And fate, cruel and kind in equal measure, did.

You were alone, sipping your drink, fingers lazily scrolling through your phone. Every now and then, the corners of your lips twitched into a smile—small, fleeting, devastating. Zayne felt something in his chest splinter.

He wanted to be the reason for that smile again.

With a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, he stepped forward, lowering himself into the seat across from you.

"Y/N."

Your name left his lips like a confession, quiet, careful.

You lifted your gaze, expression unreadable, an eyebrow arching slightly at his sudden presence. But no shock. No warmth.

That alone made doubt creep in. But it was too late to turn back now.

"...That’s unexpected," you said, returning your attention to your phone. "I thought you didn’t like this café."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "I don’t," he admitted, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "But I find myself drawn to places that remind me of you. Old habits die hard, it seems."

A pause. Then—

"Nice."

Nothing more. Not a smile, not a flicker of interest. Just a word, impersonal and distant, slipping from your lips with all the weight of an afterthought.

It caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected warmth, but this? This felt like standing outside in the cold, staring at a window where a fire once burned.

Still, he pressed forward.

"So," he began, voice smooth yet hesitant. "Have you been well?"

"Cut the small talk."

Your voice was calm, but your patience was thin, and when your eyes met his again, he saw it—exhaustion. The kind that settles after a storm, after too many words left unspoken for too long.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He exhaled slowly, as if composing himself. "I see time has made you even more direct," he mused, before his gaze darkened, sharpened. "Very well. I won’t insult you with pleasantries. I came because I needed to speak with you—about us."

A flicker of something crossed your face, too fast for him to name. And then—

"There is no ‘us,’ Zayne."

Your words were soft, but they struck harder than a shout.

"We didn’t work out," you continued, your voice steady, final. "It happens. Move on."

His fingers curled against the table, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying the emotion he so carefully masked.

"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "As if what we were—what we could have been—was nothing more than an inconsequential mistake."

"Not a mistake," you corrected. "A lesson."

He laughed then, low and humorless. "I see. And what exactly did I teach you?"

"That love is not enough."

It was cruel in its honesty. Devastating in its simplicity.

He looked away for a moment, staring at the swirl of steam rising from your drink, as if it held the answers he sought. Then, quieter this time, he said, "And yet, I find myself incapable of learning that lesson."

You didn’t respond. You only stood, preparing to leave.

That was when he reached for you.

Fingers wrapping around your wrist—gentle, hesitant, desperate. And in that moment, neither of you spoke.

Because you both felt it.

The ghost of what once was. The warmth of a memory neither had fully let go of.

His grip loosened, but he did not let go.

"Tell me," he said, voice softer now, raw in a way he had never allowed himself to be. "Is this truly the end?"

Your gaze met his, unwavering.

And then you nodded.

A single motion. Firm. Certain. Unshakable.

He let you go.

And though every part of him rebelled against it, though his heart ached with the knowledge that he would wake tomorrow with the same longing, the same regret, he told himself it was enough.

Because if you were happy—if someone else had succeeded where he had failed—then who was he to ask for more?

At least, that’s what he tried to believe.

Rafayel

A year had passed.

The seasons had shifted, weaving through time like a quiet symphony, their passage marked by sun-warmed afternoons and frost-kissed mornings. Life had carried on, carrying you with it.

And somehow, somewhere between then and now, you had left him behind.

Not in a single, heart-wrenching moment, not in some grand, dramatic farewell. No, you had left him slowly—like the tide pulling back from the shore, retreating inch by inch, until one day you realized there was nothing left to reach for.

And you were okay with that.

More than okay.

You had built something new from the pieces of yourself he had never cherished. A life that felt like yours, untouched by the weight of waiting, unburdened by the ache of almost-love.

And you had found someone. Someone who didn’t make you wonder if you were asking for too much. Someone who reached for you first, without hesitation.

You never thought about him anymore.

Not really.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because today, just as laughter spilled from your lips like honey, warm and golden, just as your partner squeezed your hand in theirs, grounding, steady—

You saw him.

Rafayel.

Standing at the entrance of the café, half-cast in shadow, his sharp gaze locked onto you like a man seeing a mirage in the desert.

Your breath did not hitch.

Your pulse did not quicken.

If there was an ache left inside you, it was nothing more than an old scar—a faint reminder of pain you had long since learned to live without.

But he—

He looked frozen.

Like he had walked into a moment he wasn’t supposed to witness.

Like the sight of you—laughing, radiant, untouched by him—was something he had never considered possible.

You met his gaze, tilting your head slightly.

Oh.

He hadn’t changed much. Still dressed in purple tones, still holding himself with that same quiet confidence, still looking at you like he was searching for something.

But he had changed.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes—once filled with amusement, teasing, always dancing just out of reach—were darker now. Heavier.

You knew that weight.

Regret.

Good.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with things left unsaid, ghosts of words that once sat on the tip of your tongue, always swallowed before they could escape.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips used to feel like the start of something. A promise. A quiet, unspoken longing.

Now, it was just a name.

You blinked at him, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you gave to distant acquaintances, to strangers who mistook familiarity for significance.

“Oh,” you said, as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Rafayel.”

The casualness in your voice was deliberate.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did—just the slightest shift, just enough for you to know he felt it.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

It had.

A lifetime had passed in that year.

“Yes, it has.”

You didn’t ask him how he was. Didn’t give him the opening he was waiting for.

The silence stretched between you, long enough to feel like a choice.

The café smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of sugar melting into warm pastries, but the only thing you could taste was clarity—light, crisp, sweet.

Then—

“Who’s this?”

Your partner’s voice, gentle yet firm, cut through the stillness.

You turned to them, your gaze softening the moment it met theirs.

And that—that was what made Rafayel’s breath hitch.

The way you looked at them.

The way you had never looked at him.

“They’re an old friend,” you said simply.

Not a lover.

Not someone who had once left you waiting in the dark, sifting through the scraps of his affection, trying to find something whole.

Just someone you used to know.

And you knew he heard the finality in your voice.

For a second, just a fleeting second, something flickered in his expression.

Loss.

Too little, too late.

You turned back to your partner, your fingers still laced with theirs.

The conversation resumed. Effortless. Unbroken.

And Rafayel—who had once believed you would always be there, lingering like an unfinished story—stood there, realizing he had become nothing more than a footnote in yours.

You didn’t look back.

And the only taste he was left with—

Was bitter.

...

Regret clung to Rafayel like salt on skin—persistent, inescapable, a reminder of tides that had long since receded.

And he remembered—oh, how he remembered.

The scent of your skin, like the last breath of summer before the waves stole the warmth away. The way your hair moved with the wind, as if it carried secrets only the ocean knew. The way your voice curled around his name, a siren’s call that had once lured him home.

How you understood him without words, how you indulged his recklessness, how—for once—someone had seen him for more than his name, his face, his fortune.

He still knew your favorite color, the way your smile tilted just slightly to the left, how every imperfection only made you more devastatingly perfect in his eyes.

And he couldn’t forget.

He tried, but he was a drowning man, reaching for driftwood, for anything that could bring him back to shore. So, he watched from a distance, fingers hovering over your name on his screen, refreshing, searching. Checking where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

Love makes fools of men. But obsession—obsession turns them into ghosts.

And when he had mapped the rhythm of your days, he found himself drifting into them. Hovering at the edges of your world, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you back into his gravity.

When it finally happened, he caught you off guard.

You were walking, earphones in, humming a tune under your breath, lost in a world where he no longer belonged.

His hand found your shoulder.

Startled, you swung your bag on instinct, and it hit him square in the arm. He winced, clutching it dramatically.

“Ow, cutie! First, you break my heart, and now you try to break my arm?” His grin was lopsided, but his eyes betrayed him—searching, desperate.

You barely spared him a glance before rolling your eyes, turning away.

“No—wait.” His fingers caught your wrist, hesitant but firm.

You turned back, leveling him with a stare. "What? Want to get hit again?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faltered under the weight of your indifference. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

"I would much rather prefer just to talk to you." His voice softened, no longer laced with teasing, but something closer to pleading.

Then, quieter—more deliberate—

“Y/N, take me back.”

You blinked. For a moment, silence stretched between you, the space between each breath vast as the horizon.

Then, you took a step back. And he felt the distance like an undertow, dragging him deeper.

“Absolutely not.”

There was no anger in your voice, no bitterness. Just finality, as gentle as a wave washing over forgotten footprints in the sand.

His throat bobbed. “…No?”

"You heard me."

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Cutie, please reconsider—”

“Oh god, don’t call me that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing.

He hesitated, but then his gaze turned serious, the teasing stripped away. “I know I made mistakes—”

“You broke us, Rafayel.”

His breath caught. The truth of it cut through him like cold water, merciless and clear.

“Y/N.” His voice was lower now, quiet in a way that made the world around you feel too loud. “I know I ruined things, but you can’t tell me we weren’t great. You can’t tell me what we had wasn’t—”

“It was.” You interrupted, your expression unreadable. “Until it wasn’t.”

Something inside him cracked.

"I've moved on," you said simply, shifting your bag over your shoulder. And then, with a ghost of a smirk—mocking, cruel in its lightness—

"You should too, fishie."

It should have made him laugh. It should have made him tease you back, call you something equally ridiculous.

Instead, it felt like the tide pulling him under.

He said nothing, only watching you, searching your face for something—anything—that might mean he still had a chance.

And then you turned.

He caught your wrist again, more desperately this time. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me on my knees?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

"I just want to see you out of my sight."

The words landed like crashing waves against stone.

His grip loosened, and you slipped away like water through his fingers.

"Have a great life, Rafayel."

And you walked away.

He should have followed. Should have thrown pride to the wind, should have fallen at your feet and begged like a desperate sailor praying to the sea.

But something in your voice—calm, unwavering—told him the storm had passed. And all that was left was the wreckage.

So he stood still.

And for the first time, he let you drift beyond his reach.

For now.

Sylus

A year had passed since you walked away from Sylus, but time had done nothing to erase the ache in your chest, nor the memory of how effortlessly you had disappeared from his life. You had left as silently as a forgotten dream, taking your heart with you, and leaving him behind to rot in the wreckage of his own actions. The decision had seemed like a balm in the moment, a clean cut. But as the days turned into months, the absence had become a ghost. It hovered in the corners of your mind, a constant reminder of the man you thought you knew, the man who had ruined you. And yet, despite it all, you had learned to live again.

You had rebuilt yourself, piece by broken piece. You embraced the ordinary—the quiet routine of your life, the peace that had once seemed so elusive when he was around. Your life was no longer tangled in the complexity of him. You began to explore things you never had the courage to before, tasting freedom in ways that filled you with pride. The world, without Sylus, was kinder—gentler. You smiled more, laughed more, and found comfort in the simplest of things: a cup of coffee on a rainy day, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot in autumn, the glow of a sunset you hadn’t shared with anyone. You had learned to live for yourself.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, a part of you still wondered what he was doing.

The knock at your door shattered the quiet peace you had so carefully built.

You hadn’t expected visitors—especially not him.

Standing there, on the other side of the threshold, was the man who had once been your whole world, the man who had broken it. Sylus.

His appearance was jarring. His usual immaculate self was ruffled, as though the weight of the world had been wearing on him in ways he never allowed anyone to see. His sharp features were drawn, eyes darker than you remembered. There was something unfamiliar in the way he held himself—no longer the man who walked into a room like he owned it, but someone who had been worn down by the passage of time, by regret. And yet, his eyes, the same eyes that had once mesmerized you, still held that magnetic pull. Only this time, they were haunted.

“Sylus,” you breathed, the name slipping out of you before you could stop it.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you moved. And then, his lips parted—just slightly—and a flicker of something like amusement touched his face.

“Missed me, kitten?” His voice was smooth, but there was an unfamiliar hesitation there, something raw in the way he spoke to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still playing games, or if this was something else entirely. You studied him for a long moment, trying to read him, trying to figure out why, after everything, he still seemed so... familiar.

But you no longer cared.

The words came out before you even thought them. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was soft, there was no venom, no fury. Only confusion. And a quiet indifference that was worse than anything you could’ve said.

His gaze faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smirk was tighter than usual. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me.”

His words were like a knife to the gut, but you felt nothing—not anymore. It was like you had been hollowed out over time, and there was nothing left inside you to give.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes cool. “Ah, where are my manners?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that slipped out, though it wasn’t playful—more a shield against the weight of his presence. “Oh, how I missed my favorite liar! The one who broke my heart and threw me away like a piece of trash.” You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

The words should have stung, but somehow, you found relief in saying them out loud. For so long, you had kept the hurt buried beneath layers of careful silence, and now, here it was—raw, unapologetic.

Sylus’s face flickered, a faint shadow of hurt passing through his gaze before he regained his composure. “The kitten has grown some claws, I see.” His voice was flat, but there was a trace of something in it, something he was trying to mask.

He took a step closer, as if expecting you to let him in, but you quickly moved to block the door.

“Don’t,” you said simply.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at your sudden resolve, but you didn’t care.

“You’re not welcome here,” you said, your tone final.

Sylus’s eyes softened for a split second, and in that brief moment, you saw the desperation that clawed at him. The weight of his regret that he never allowed to surface. “You’re hurting me, sweetie,” he said, though it was far from playful. It sounded like a plea.

Your heart didn’t twitch. It didn’t soften. It just felt... heavy.

“Good,” you muttered, looking him up and down, and for the first time, you saw him clearly—not the man you had once adored, but a man who had lost everything and had nothing left to offer.

Just then, a voice came from inside your home.

“Darling, what’s taking you so long?”

You didn’t need to look back to feel your partner’s arms slide around your waist from behind, their presence warm and secure, a reminder of the love you had found after him.

“Hmm, who’s this?” Your partner asked lazily, looking past you to the man who once consumed your every thought.

Sylus’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the newcomer, but you weren’t going to offer him any answers. Not anymore.

“He got the wrong address,” you replied evenly, your voice indifferent as you turned back to face Sylus, daring him to challenge your words.

And just like that, the man who once held your heart in his hands realized the weight of his own failure. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, as if he were choking on his own grief.

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you felt no anger—only a quiet, final resolve. “I think it's time for you to leave, sir.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His heart, once so certain and confident, now shattered under the weight of your indifference.

“Have a good night.” you whispered, the finality of the words slipping from your lips. And with that, you closed the door on him—on the man you once thought you could never escape.

Sylus stood there, staring at the wood that now separated you from him, as though hoping it would open again. But it wouldn’t.

He swallowed, hard. The man who had always prided himself on his control was now nothing more than a broken shell of his former self.

And it was all his doing.

For the first time in his life, Sylus had lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.

...

Sylus was not the kind of man who accepted defeat.

Not when you were so close, so painfully out of reach, like a forbidden fruit dangling just beyond his grasp.

He couldn't—no, he wouldn't—let you go so easily.

His mind clung to thoughts of you, obsessions blooming in every corner of his brain: your laughter, like the chiming of delicate bells, your playful words that always teased, always challenged him, your defiance that had once felt like the spark that kept him alive. You had been his equal, his match—two stars circling in an orbit of shared chaos and fire.

But now? Now you were slipping from him, dissolving into someone else’s arms, and that realization felt like a knife being twisted into his chest. He couldn't bear it. He could never bear it.

Bitterness seeped into his soul, a slow, insidious poison that clouded his thoughts. The feeling of helplessness was foreign to him, suffocating him in ways he had never known before. He had always been the one in control—always the one who commanded the world. And now you were gone, out of his reach, and it tore at him like a storm.

The thought of another touching you, breathing in your scent, seeing the soft glow of tenderness in your eyes—Sylus couldn't abide it. No. Not when he had once owned that gaze, that touch, that part of you that was his.

He needed one more chance.

Maybe it was for the peace of his mind, maybe it was his selfish longing, his desire to reclaim what he believed was his. Or maybe it was because he couldn't let go of the idea that you were a treasure meant for his eyes alone—his to hold, his to keep, like a rare, delicate jewel locked away.

And so, like the predator he was, Sylus followed you, carefully, subtly. With Mephisto keeping watch over you, it was easy to know where you'd be, when you'd be there.

Each time, he approached, his presence lingering just at the edges of your world—watching, waiting. But you rejected him. Rejected him with biting sarcasm, with icy silence that seemed to pierce his skin like a thousand knives.

It drove him mad.

The chase was maddening. The only thing that consumed him was the desire to have you in his arms once more, to feel the heat of your skin, the sweetness of your breath, the intimacy that he had once thought was infinite.

And then one evening, when he could no longer take the ache, he made his move.

You were walking home from work, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The quiet satisfaction of surviving the day was tempered by the exhaustion that clung to you. But as you turned the corner, a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, yanking you into a shadowed alley. Your heart pounded in your chest, a burst of adrenaline flooding your veins. You opened your mouth to scream, but before the sound could escape, a hand pressed over your lips.

"Relax. It's just me."

His voice—his damn voice—sounded like a lure, familiar and dangerous. Your body froze, not out of fear, but out of recognition. You knew it was Sylus, and despite everything, despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a twisted part of you felt… safe.

When he felt you relax, he let go. You spun around to face him, heart still hammering, but now tempered with anger.

"You’re crazy," you spat, your voice sharp and unforgiving. "What do you think you’re doing?"

His gaze, that unnerving mix of calm and intensity, bore into you. His expression was disturbingly relaxed, too casual for someone who had just dragged you into an alley against your will.

"Getting your attention," he said, his tone smooth, almost mocking. "Seems like it worked."

The words hit you like a slap. Your fists clenched, your anger bubbling over.

"You can’t just pull people into a dark alley, Sylus! You’re actually insane!" You jabbed your finger at his chest, each word punctuating the fury that burned through you.

Sylus didn’t flinch, though you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"...I apologize," he said softly, his voice taking on a tenderness that was so unlike him. He reached out to touch your cheek, but his hand stopped halfway, as if he was still unsure whether he had the right.

The vulnerability in that simple motion—something so un-Sylus, so raw—stirred something inside you. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You sighed heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "What do you want?" Your voice was laced with frustration, your patience wearing thin.

"I thought that would be obvious by now," he said, a faint smirk curling at his lips, the teasing edge still present despite the darkness in his eyes. "Guess you’re not as sharp as I thought, kitten."

The bastard. Even now, he played with you like a cat with its prey.

"I swear, I’m going to file for a restraining order against you," you muttered, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"You can try," Sylus responded smoothly, his words dripping with a dangerous calm. "But you know well enough that such things won’t stop me."

You clenched your fists, your resolve hardening. The walls you had so carefully built around your heart in the past year came crashing down in a flood of anger and pain. You had moved on, healed—didn’t he see that?

"I want you to come back to me," he said, his voice now serious, his gaze earnest, though still haunted by the traces of his past mistakes.

But you wouldn’t crack. Not now.

"Never in this lifetime," you said, the finality of your words a heavy hammer to his chest.

Sylus’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile. "Then, in another?" His words were light, but they carried a weight that you both felt. It was his way of hiding the hurt, the pain that had followed him like a shadow.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence hang between you, thick and suffocating.

"I’ll pray that I never have to meet you again," you said softly, the words filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. "Not in this life, and not in the ones after."

And with that, you turned, walking away from him, leaving him shattered in the cold, empty alley.

Sylus watched you go, his chest tight with regret. His heart—something he had long kept locked away, something he had never truly allowed himself to feel—was breaking in ways he had never imagined. The storm inside him raged, but he couldn’t stop it.

You were gone, and this time, he knew—he knew—there would be no coming back.

Caleb

It’s been a year since you last saw Caleb.

Well, not really. Sometimes you caught glimpses of him in the crowd—just a silhouette, a shape that might be his. Your heart would catch in your throat, and for a fleeting moment, you’d swear it was him. But the figure would turn, and it would be a stranger. Your imagination had been cruel to you, conjuring up ghosts from your memories and stitching together faces from your longing. Perhaps it was just your mind showing you what you wished to see, like a cruel twist of fate reminding you of what had slipped through your fingers.

A year filled with growth. You learned to be soft with yourself, to breathe through the pain instead of suffocating in it. You allowed yourself to be bitter—let the sadness claw through your chest and the anger burn through your veins. You let yourself crumble, and when the dust settled, you gathered the fragments and made something beautiful from them. A mosaic of healing. You thanked the universe for the lesson, no matter how brutal it had been. Whether it was God, fate, or simply the chaos of life, you accepted it. You learned that you were the only constant in your own story—the one thing that would always remain when everyone else faded to whispers.

In those months, you blossomed. You breathed in the world with new lungs, filling your soul with every small moment that once went unnoticed. The way sunlight painted golden patterns on cracked sidewalks, the way the ocean waves whispered secrets to the shore, the taste of ripe fruit on a sweltering day. You poured your energy into your work, rebuilt neglected friendships, and found comfort in the warmth of those who remained. You taught yourself that it wasn’t your fault—none of it had been—and that loving him too much was never a mistake. Only, you needed to love yourself first.

And when you finally felt steady enough to open your heart again, love found you. They were calm where Caleb had been chaos, steady where Caleb had been a storm. A lighthouse guiding you back to yourself, reminding you that love wasn’t meant to break you. Their hands held you like you were fragile, but their love made you feel strong. You didn’t compare them—Caleb was a different life, a different story. But maybe that’s what you needed. You were happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in what felt like ages.

The train station buzzes around you like a hive of restless energy, travelers weaving past each other with hurried steps and heavy bags. Your lover has gone to grab snacks for the journey, leaving you alone on the worn wooden bench. The air smells of old books and fresh coffee, tinged with the metallic scent of steel tracks. You lean back, glancing at the faded timetable, feeling content in the hum of life moving around you.

And then, like a phantom stepping through the fog of memory, you see him. Caleb. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in that singular moment. He’s standing on the opposite platform, hands shoved into his coat pockets, head bowed as if weighed down by the past. A bitter wind pulls at his hair, and for a second, he lifts his gaze. Your breath catches as his eyes meet yours, recognition dawning like sunlight cutting through rain. He hesitates, lips parting, and you see the flicker of regret, raw and unguarded.

The hurt surges up unexpectedly, but it’s quieter than it used to be, muted by time and acceptance. You don’t flinch when he takes a hesitant step forward, his mouth opening as if to call out to you. A thousand words hang between you—apologies, confessions, explanations—but none seem to find their way into the open. You see the yearning in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you as if trying to remember every detail he once took for granted.

Your lover appears at your side, offering a small smile as they hand you a paper bag filled with snacks. Their presence grounds you, pulls you back to reality from the haze of memory. Caleb sees them too, and the pain that flashes across his face is like a knife carving regret into his bones. You watch as he realizes what he’s lost—how you’ve moved on, how you’ve found happiness that doesn’t depend on him.

He lingers there, stranded on the other side of the tracks, unable to cross over to where you stand. You almost pity him—the way his shoulders sag, the way his jaw clenches to swallow whatever plea was forming. But the ache that once ruled you has softened, transformed into something quieter. You’re not angry anymore. You’re not shattered. You’ve built something new from the ruins he left behind.

Caleb lowers his gaze, as if surrendering to the weight of his own choices. And as the train pulls into the station, you take your lover’s hand, intertwining your fingers like roots that hold you steady. You feel Caleb’s stare on your back as you step onto the train, but you don’t look back. There’s nothing left to see—just the remnants of a past that no longer defines you.

As the train moves away, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. It’s not triumph, not victory—it’s closure, as quiet and gentle as a sunset slipping beneath the horizon. You made it out the other side. And that, more than anything, is the proof that you are whole again.

...

But the peace you felt wasn’t the same for Caleb. Seeing you again after what felt like a lifetime was like being thrown into the depths of the ocean—lungs burning, heart pounding, utterly helpless. He hadn’t known he was drowning until he saw you sitting there, your feet dangling off the edge of the bench, lips parted in a soft “o” of surprise. You looked at him with that same curiosity, that gentle tilt of your head, and it struck him just how far away you felt—like a dream that had slipped through his fingers.

It wasn’t his place to feel this way. Not anymore. But he couldn’t help the ache that gnawed at his ribs, nor the desperate urge to reach out and pull you into his arms, to whisper apologies into your skin until his words sunk into your bones. Yet even from a distance, he could see how your shoulders were relaxed, your gaze steady and unburdened, and it only made the chasm between you widen.

When another person’s hands found your own, threading fingers together with the ease of familiarity, his heart cracked open—raw and aching. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t care. But he did. Too much. More than he thought he still could.

He wanted to run after you, to say something—anything. But what would he even say? That he missed you so much it hurt? That he had spent a year convincing himself he’d made the right choice, only to realize how profoundly wrong he’d been? It all felt pointless now, tangled in regret and longing.

Endless scenarios crashed through his mind like waves against rock, and somewhere in that turmoil, he decided he needed to speak to you—one last time. He needed your attention on him, just once more.

He waited for you outside your workplace, nerves coiling tighter with every second that passed. He wondered if you’d be angry—if you’d tell him to leave and never come back. But when you appeared, you only offered a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You looked at him with the calm detachment of someone who had long since made peace with the past.

“Hey...” he murmured, forcing a boyish grin that looked so out of place on his troubled face. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to wring out the nerves clinging to him.

You smiled again—gentle, unbothered, and heartbreakingly kind. “Hi.” Your voice was soft, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, and it was that tenderness—free from bitterness—that made his chest ache. He had prepared himself for anger, for hurt laced in your words. Instead, you were kind. You always had been, like a flower that bent but never broke, even under the harshest of storms.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” he said finally, hesitating as if the words themselves might shatter.

You didn’t move, just nodded your head. “Talk, then.” Your tone was steady, as if he was just another passerby in your life, not the storm that once tore it apart.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke, words stumbling over one another. “I guess... I didn’t realize how much I missed you—until I saw you at the station. I just—” He took a shaky breath. “I wanted to know if you’d ever consider forgiving me. For how foolish I was. For being so... selfish.” His eyes, those familiar, pleading puppy eyes, bore into yours, searching for a sliver of the past warmth.

You glanced at him, and he saw the flicker of something unreadable in your gaze before you answered. “Forgiveness is too much to ask for,” you replied softly, but your voice held a quiet strength that hadn’t been there before. “But I’ve learned to accept what happened. You should too, Caleb.”

His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept it.”

You gave a sad, wistful smile, the kind that hurt more than any cruel words could have. “That’s on you,” you whispered, eyes glistening with a tenderness that had nothing to do with him anymore. “I’m happy now. I’ve built something beautiful out of the pieces you left behind. And I won’t let you take that from me.”

He lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

Your smile faded, replaced by a quiet, unyielding resolve. “Intentions don’t erase consequences. Live a life without further regrets, Caleb.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked away, each step decisive and unwavering, leaving him rooted to the spot—drowning in the knowledge that you were truly, undeniably gone.

And Caleb just stood there, feeling the hollow ache where your love used to be, realizing far too late that he had destroyed the only good thing he’d ever known.

@rubyrubyruuu / @browneyedgirl22 / @valentine-n-ragnarok / @whimsiecat / @esylwen / @crimsonmarabou / @we-rice-boi / @mitchelbr1 / @animegamerfox / @chgumji / @jeondyy / @rafayelridesfisheatsfish

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kissandtellus · 1 day ago

Text

Over the Skyline

Synopsis: Caleb, ever the strong and compassionate husband, takes on his hardest mission. Fatherhood.

Warnings: Mentions of smut, self-deprecating talk, Caleb refers to himself as ‘Daddy’ in a cute and cringey way, pregnancy, talks of birth.

Caleb hates his strict schedule, especially when it didn’t revolve around you. When he finally gets home from a long mission, his penthouse is dead quiet. He kicks off his boots and tries to strip as much of his uniform away as he can before he reaches the softness of your shared bedroom.

The bedroom is dark of course. You are curled up, clutching his pillow against your chest. He sits in the edge of your bed, back aching. His age was beginning to catch up with him quickly.

You let out a quiet noise as soon as his weight hits the mattress. “Sorry Pips, did I wake you up?”

You roll over to the edge of the bed, the oversized shirt of Caleb’s you wear is bundled up under your breast, exposing your pregnant belly. “Mm…? No…no im still ‘eepin’…” you murmur.

He’s smiling fondly, watching you as the faint light of the lamp from the bedside table highlights your exposed belly. His hand continues the idle caress, moving along the swell of your stomach, his gaze softening as it traces the curve of your silhouette.

“Go back to ‘eepin’, honey,” he says, his tone teasing, voice softens. He shifts slightly to give you more space under the sheets, allowing you room to adjust if needed. “I just want to lie beside you, that’s all.”

You murmur something under your breath, tucking your head under his jaw. “How was your mission…?”

He hums, his free hand comes up, fingers running through your hair, untangling some of the loose strands. His chest rumbles as he speaks, voice still low, a whisper, "Long and tiring. But right now? Everything feels just fine.”

His face inches closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the affection in the gesture a testament to his exhaustion. “You?”

You move his hand down to the lower part of your belly where a strong kick hits the palm. “That’s how it’s goin’, thanks for asking.”

His lips curl into a small smile as he feels the kick, and he lowers his head, whispering softly, "Seems our little one's as energetic as always, huh?"

He lets his hand rest on your bump, gently soothing it, feeling the movement against his palm. Turning his face, he murmurs into your hair, "They've got quite the kick there. Must be excited to see their old man, huh?”

You take a sharp inhale without ever opening your eyes. “Mmhm…I’m excited to see their Daddy too…” you whisper against his lips.

A soft laugh escapes him, a warm, rich sound that he tries to contain. “You’re half-asleep, sweetie,” he says, his hand still on your stomach, feeling the life within. “And you’re adorable when you’re like this.”

He presses another soft kiss to your forehead, his eyes full of affection. "Go back to sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

“Mm but you woke me up, n’ now you have to take care of me…” you whimper against his mouth, throwing one leg over his hip. The small fabric of your panties doing little to hide the wetness.

His breath hitches, the sudden, bold move taking him by surprise. His hand moves to your waist on instinct, steadying you as his gaze locks with yours.

"Is that right?" His voice drops an octave, his tone teasing as he moves closer, his lips grazing yours, "And how would you like me to take care of you, my love?"

He doesn't wait for a response, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, his hands roaming over your body.

His calloused fingers pull your panties aside and-

You whimper —only to pause mid-motion, his hand halting as a particularly forceful kick from your belly meets his wrist.

His breath stutters into a chuckle against your lips, pulling back just enough to glance down between you both. "Well," he murmurs, amusement thick in his voice as he rubs the spot where tiny feet protested, "Someone's very opinionated about bedtime."

His thumb swipes over your hipbone teasingly. "Guess we'll have to save that for when the little commander isn't on duty, huh?"

But the whine you let out, accompanied with the frantic, lazy kisses on his throat tell a different story. “Please…? You haven’t touched me in days…”

The whine that escapes you pulls a low, rumbling laugh from his chest, his grin wide and affectionate. "Days, huh? I didn't realize you kept track." A kiss in response to your own, his lips trailing a hot path down your jaw, your throat, and back up again, never quite reaching the destination you so clearly want.

"Needy tonight, aren't you?" he teases, finally giving in and capturing his lips with his own, his hand on your hip pulling you tighter to him even as his knee slots between your thighs.

Your hips buck against him and you groan into the kiss, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth, before letting it pop out. “Jus’ want Daddy to take care of me…”

The way your voice is just so pretty— sleep drunk and determined all at once—would be endearing if not for how distracting you are. The slow grind of your hips against his thigh is doing nothing to ease the ache that hasn’t left since he first touched you tonight.

“‘Sides… baby likes when you touch me too… They get all excited,” You whisper sweetly, like that isn’t enough to break whatever resolve he had left.

"Touch meee," comes out in a breathy whine as one of your hands travels under his shirt, up the defined planes of his stomach before tweaking a nipple harshly through the fabric with two fingers.

His groan catches in throat when teeth follow where fingers had been, his back arches into it on instinct while yours presses closer below him; both moving like magnets pulled by gravity itself (and maybe they were).

And just as suddenly as everything started, there's stillness again but this time filled only heavy breaths mixing together between kisses stolen here-and-there until eventually even those stop.

His breath hitches sharply as your teeth scrape over his skin, fingers tightening reflexively against your hip. "You—" A ragged laugh escapes him when you tweak just right, the sound dissolving into a groan as he arches under your touch.

For a moment, he lets himself savor it—your weight pressing him down, the heat of your mouth on his chest, the way every shuddering breath between kisses is laced with impatience. Then suddenly he flips you onto your back with effortless strength (gravity manipulation has perks), looming over you while cradling the swell of your belly protectively in one large hand.

"You're lucky I adore you," he murmurs against panting lips before sealing them together again; slow and deep like molasses dripping from honeycomb—all sweetness until teeth catch on bottom lips teasingly to punctuate each word: "Every. Damn. Time."

The hand not safeguarding baby dips lower beneath fabric already soaked through for him, calloused fingertips dragging torturously slow up inner thighs before finally giving exactly what was begged for: two fingers curling inward just so while thumb circles lazily around that bundle nerves driving maddeningly closer towards edge without ever quite letting go... yet.

The morning after, you don’t wake up with a sticky mess between your thighs like expected. Caleb has cleaned you like normal, and the smell of breakfast looms from the kitchen.

You blink awake to sunlight streaming through the curtains, your body pleasantly sore in all the right places. The sheets smell faintly of Caleb’s cologne—fresh and warm—and there’s a lingering tingle where his hands had been last night.

Stretching lazily, you catch the rich aroma of pancakes and sizzling bacon drifting from the kitchen. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips just as Caleb appears in the doorway, balancing a tray with one hand while adjusting his necklace (your gift) with the other. His hair is still damp from a shower, shirtless under an unbuttoned flannel that does nothing to hide those unfairly sculpted abs.

“Morning,” he croons, setting the tray over your lap—stacked high with golden-brown pancakes drizzled in syrup, crispy bacon arranged like sunrays around them... and fresh orange juice because he remembers how much you craved it lately. “Sleep okay?” The smug grin says he already knows exactly how well you slept—but then his gaze softens when baby kicks under his palm as if answering for you both: More than okay.

He leans down to press slow kiss against temple before murmuring playfully:

“Round two after breakfast?”

You can't help but giggle at the sight of him, your sleep-induced haze lifting just a bit more at the realization he's prepared a feast fit for a queen this early in the morning—the morning after you practically mauled the man.

"Good mornin’..." your voice still sounds a bit raspy from sleep, and you clear your throat, "I slept just fine, thanks to someone who insisted on taking care of me last night," You say teasingly while leaning up to press a soft kiss on Caleb’s cheek. "And what's this? Are we celebrating something today?"

His smirk only grows wider with your teasing, but there's a softness in his eyes that betrays the truth. “Well, if someone hadn’t been so damn adorable last night, it probably would've been just another Tuesday,” he says, giving you another kiss before stepping away to pour himself some coffee. “But seeing as how I’ve clearly outdone myself this time—” He pauses by the door again, shooting you a playful wink over his shoulder. “Maybe we could call it ‘Y/n Appreciation Morning’. What do you say?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, balancing your glass of orange juice on your belly. “Hmm…I see.”

He chuckles warmly, leaning against the doorway, sipping coffee, watching you navigate that glass with amused curiosity. “Oh? You’ve got your thinking face on,” he ribs lightly, tilting his head, one eyebrow quirked in his own question mark. “Something brewing in that brilliant mind of yours?”

You reach for his coffee, a cute pout upon your lips but Caleb swiftly moves it out of your reach.

He moves with that feline grace he has, keeping his coffee just out of reach while wearing a self-satisfied grin. “Ah, ah. This is not part of the Appreciation Morning menu,” he chides playfully, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Unless… there’s some negotiation table we can arrange?” He takes a casual sip, his gaze never leaving you.

You pout with a mouthful of pancakes and turn your head stubbornly. “I guess someone doesn’t want to go see the Lantern Festival tonight with me-“

The smug grin instantly falters.

“Lantern festival?" His coffee cup lowers slowly as he processes this information—and the fact you just dropped it like a tactical bomb. "You never told me there was one tonight," he accuses, though his tone is more exasperated than annoyed, already calculating how fast he can shift his evening plans.

Two strides later and your husband has abandoned both coffee mug and pride to crouch beside the bed, resting chin on folded arms near your pancake plate with pleading purple eyes

"...Was that my negotiation table all along?"

You glance at his pitiful puppy-dog eyes, taking a slow sip of your orange juice before letting a sly grin tug at the corner of your mouth.

"Maybe," you say, reaching over to run fingers through his hair. He practically melts under touch, making it all too hard not to laugh. "You know I play to win, babe. So, is the festival worth our ‘Y/n Appreciation Morning’?”

You quickly snag his cup, giggling as he chases after you on the mess of blankets. “Cmonnnn! One sip won’t hurt!” You whine.

He chases you across the bed with a mock growl, catching the side of your shirt with one hand while trying to reach the coffee cup with the other, grinning. "One sip will lead to another, and then next thing I know, you're finishing the whole damn thing!"

His laughter bubbles up when he finally catches your wrist, then he yanks you forward into a kiss that starts off playful but quickly turns passionate. "Mmm...I see what you're doing now," he murmurs against your lips, stealing a sip from your glass, grinning. "Sassy lil’ thing."

“You promised round two right?” You giggle, chasing his mouth to slip your tongue inside that taste like coffee beans and the faintest hint of-

“You’ve been smoking.”

The grin drops off his face instantly.

For half a second, his expression freezes—like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar—before he exhales slowly through his nose and leans back just enough for you to see that telltale flicker of guilt behind purple eyes. "...One cigarette," he admits quietly after another pause, hand running through messy brunette strands as if physically wrestling down excuses before finally settling on honesty. “Needed it after last night’s debriefing."

A thumb swipes over your lower lip gently while gaze searches yours carefully; voice low but firm: "Don’t look at me like that. I know better than making habits stick around now.

Especially with the baby.

And because deflection is always more fun than lectures? He steals another kiss—this time deliberately slow and lingering until breathless—then murmurs against your mouth:

"...Still up for round two?"

You narrow your eyes momentarily, hand reaching down to palm him through the pajama pants slung low on his hips. “Can I be on top this time?” A blush flares across your face. “Feels good…takes pressure off of…you know…”

His breath hitches at your touch, pupils dilating instantly as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes. "Yeah?" The word comes out rough, throat bobbing when you press just there-his hands finding your hips in answer, squeezing gently before guiding you to straddle him fully.

"Anything," he rasps, kissing the flustered blush on your cheeks as if savoring it. "However—wherever-you want me." That possessive grip tightens slightly when his fingers trace slow paths along bare skin beneath oversized shirt (his shirt), voice dropping into something deeper: "...Just say the word."

And because Caleb Xia has never been able to resist teasing even at own expense? A smirk tugs lips against shell of ear while grinding up deliberately once more:

"Pleasures all yours now...Daddy’s gonna let you drive this time."

Caleb worships you no matter what. The moment you brought him that tiny plastic stick, it because even worse. When he slides inside you from this angle, your hips stutter and your hands shake as they grasp to his shoulders. “C-Caleb…”

His name spills from your lips in that breathless, shaky way he loves, and the sound alone nearly undoes him. His grip on your hips tightens—part restraint, part encouragement—as he lets you set the pace at first, watching with rapt attention as pleasure flickers across your face with every slow roll of your body against his.

“Look at you-“ he rasps, voice thick with reverence as his thumbs trace circles into soft skin. The morning light catches every flutter of your lashes, every hitch in your breath when he angles himself just right inside you. “So fucking perfect—ngh!”

Then suddenly hands are sliding up to cradle both sides of swollen belly tenderly while smirk turns wicked:

“…Think they can feel how much Mommy loves Daddy too?” The tease is punctuated by a deliberate thrust upwards.

The blush spreads to your ears and one hand flies up to hide your face, your wedding ring glinting. “Y-you are such a perv…”

He laughs, deep and rich and full of warmth even amidst the heat simmering between you both. “Guilty as charged,” he grins, gently tugging that hiding hand away by intertwining fingers: palm to palm, finger to finger until the glint of your shared vows are all that’s visible under the golden morning light.

"I love making you flustered," he confesses softly, tracing patterns on the back of your hand with his thumb as he pulls you closer still, eyes never leaving yours. "Makes me realize why I married you again."

Unfortunately being pregnant means your stamina was cut in half. Despite being so close to the edge, you fold over onto Caleb, tears of frustration beading in your eyes. “Feels s’good but I can’t- I’m too fat n’ slow…”

Your words break his heart just a little—but he holds on tight, pressing soothing kisses along your spine while still keeping that gentle rhythm. "Hey," he murmurs, voice dropping low as though telling you a secret. "This is about you, remember? We go at your pace today."

His free hand slides down to where you both are connected, gentle touches designed to tease without pushing too much while his lips brush against the side of your neck

"You feel amazing just like this... let Daddy take care of making you feel good..."

He plants his feet flat on the bed and- “Caleb!” You yelp at the hard thrust that sends you bouncing in his lap.

His smirk is unapologetic as he watches you recover from the surprise that reaction enough to make him do it again.

"Too much?" he asks teasingly, eyes glinting mischievously. When he gets no response besides ragged breathing and heavy-lidded eyes—yeah… no words needed.

He braces himself against the mattress again, starting up a firmer rhythm that matches the grip he has on your hips. "C’mon Pips, let go f’ me…" He rasps out every word between thrusts, watching helplessly as pleasure coursed through your veins.

When you cry out beneath him, thighs trembling, nails biting deep into his shoulder. he knows it's his name filling the silence between you two. And it might be his favourite sound ever.

He holds on tight as you ride the current of pleasure, hands never leaving your hips even after the after tremors subside. His breath is ragged too now, face pressed into the crook of your neck.

"Love you..." He whispers against your damp skin.

Caleb is in the kitchen, collecting snacks for the Lantern Festival hours later. He’s humming to himself, adjusting the collar of the red shirt you’d picked out for him.

It was peaceful-until a cry rang out.

“Caleb!”

The spoon clatters into the sink as his head whips toward your voice, already moving before fully registering why. His footsteps are quick and heavy down the hall, throwing open the bedroom door with a worried frown that softens immediately when he sees you standing there in front of mirror.

...holding up what was clearly his stolen sweater.

"You're wearing my clothes again," he accuses playfully, leaning against doorframe with arms crossed, though adoration is written all over face when eyes trace how oversized fabric drapes over curves especially around belly. “Not complaining but uh… did we need an emergency alert for this?"

When you turn to him, your face is streaked with tears. Because even your husband sweater, the man twice your height, the sweat still didn’t cover the entire swell of your belly. “M-my sweater didn’t fit a-and yours doesn’t either-“

There's no teasing in his expression anymore, only raw empathy. He closes the distance between you both, wrapping his arms around from behind to pull you close against him.

"Honey..." His voice is soft, full of understanding, "You're growing a person. That's kind of a big deal." He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "And don't think I can't see how beautiful you are every day because believe me" –he trails kisses down to your neck– "I do."

You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes with balled fist. “I-I don’t have anything to wear.”

His fingers are already working the buttons of his own shirt free, shrugging it off without hesitation before draping it over your shoulders, big enough that even if it doesn’t close all the way, you're wrapped in his scent.

"Here," he murmurs against your temple, kissing away stray tears with quiet tenderness before stepping back just enough to survey his handiwork, then grins like he's struck gold. “Now we match." He's down to undershirt and pants now but could not care less.

A beat passes as hands settle on your hips gently. “Wanna go pick something out together? Bet there’s at least one store still open before festival starts."

You both find the cutest red sweater with gold accents at the Maternity store. Your face lights up as you twirl in the reflection, tears dried to your cheeks. “It fits!”

He doesn't hide the admiration shining in his eyes as he watches you twirl, the way new top fits your curves perfectly—beautifully.

"Looks even better on you than I could've imagined," he says sincerely, stepping closer to brush some loose hair behind your ears. There's pride in his smile now, mixed with love. "I didn't realize we were going for a ‘heart-stealingly adorable' look tonight."

With Caleb’s shirt returned, the cold breeze nips at your cheeks as you walk through Skyhaven. The lanterns light up the sky and the sound of squealing children and laughter fill your ears.

His arm stays snug around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you both stroll through the festival crowds—his hand occasionally drifting down to rest protectively over the swell of your stomach when someone brushes too close.

"You warm enough?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before nodding toward a vendor selling spiced cider. His eyes glint with amusement when he catches you eyeing it already, “Thought so."

He orders two cups (one decaf for obvious reasons) and presses yours into cold fingers with exaggerated care.

You shiver in delight, the scent of cinnamon and apples making your stomach growl. The warmth seeps into your fingers as you sip. “Mmm…it’s perfect.”

Caleb chuckles beside you, sipping his own before suddenly stopping mid-step at a stall nearby. His grip on you tightens slightly his attention snagged by something in the display.

Tiny red-and-gold onesies.

“We have to get this,” he declares immediately as if it wasn’t already obvious from his face lighting up like he just discovered gravity for first time “Look—” He holds one up excitedly against where the baby currently kicks beneath fabric; purple eyes practically sparkling. “Matches Mama.”

Before you can protest, saying the baby had far too many clothes, Caleb was already handing the vendor money.

He turns to you with a boyish grin that stops you cold. Those violet eyes are practically sparkling and, well, how can you say no to that?

"Best purchase ever," he declares proudly, folding the tiny onesie with great care into his bag. Then he leans over to whisper conspiratorially against your ear: "You know... I may have another idea too..."

Before you can question him further, his hand is sliding into yours again, guiding you through the crowd until you find yourself standing before a small wooden stall: Little Skyhaven Toys.

He gestures proudly at the array of hand-crafted wooden toys inside, each one carved with love from cedar trees grown within Farspace Fleet lands: birds and horses, boats and blocks.

"What do you think?" He asks, arm slipping around your waist again. "For the little one. Something special to welcome them into our world."

Your eyes land on the little plane model, carved perfect into an aircraft you don’t recognize- “What’s that one supposed to be?” You asked your Colonel Husband who no doubt knew every aircraft there ever was

He follows your gaze, smile widening further when he sees what you're looking at. "Ah, that would be the Aesculapius-“ a slow roll off his tongue—"my first command."

His eyes flick upwards to meet yours again, pride glinting there alongside affection. "It was where I really found my wings, quite literally," he adds with a wink. "And now... " He gestures towards your belly, hand resting over yours. "They'll find theirs too."

You cradle the toy in your hands and nod softly. “We’ll take this one,” You tell the vendor.

The toys are tucked away into Caleb’s bag with care, alongside the onesie, before you both head back out to see lanterns dancing across the sky like fireflies made of wishes.

His hand drifts to rest against your swollen stomach again as you lean into his side, watching those glowing lights rise higher until they blur together amidst countless stars above Skyhaven City…

Only then does realization dawn on him. He has already begun collecting stories—pieces of himself—to give them when they arrive.

Your quiet sniffle doesn’t go unnoticed—he glances down, hand lifting to wipe at your cheeks with gentle fingers. "Happy tears?" he asks softly, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

When you nod against his shoulder, his arm tightens around you just a little more securely as if trying to hold this moment forever between shared warmth and whispered promises beneath lantern light.

And somewhere amidst all those glowing wishes floating upwards? There’s one with your baby’s name written on it, one that says simply ‘Come home soon’.

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