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anto-pops · 5 months ago

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The Mirror's Heartfelt Reflection - Sylus x Female!Reader

Summary: In the wake of helping Sylus deal with a few Wanderers terrorizing the N109 Zone, you find yourself neck deep in self-loathing. It isn’t his fault you’re insecure about your lackluster abilities, and it definitely isn’t his fault that you’re so hard on yourself. But he still takes it upon himself to prove just how incredible you really are, and when all is said and done, you find yourself forced to accept that maybe- just maybe- he's telling the truth.

Alternatively summarized as Sylus reverently worshiping you in front of a mirror with his fingers, then with his mouth, then with his... y'know...

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, self-esteem issues, body worship in front of a mirror, size difference, overstimulation

Full fic is now up on Ao3 here (with more diverse tags, as per usual)

It almost seemed cliche for the N109 Zone’s weather to always be dreary, but evidently rain, fog, and more rain was the norm for the danger riddled region. The steady pattering of water hitting the ground was all you could hear as you trudged through puddles towards Sylus’ house in the no-hunt zone, your fists clenched at your side as you did your best to will away your indignant anger. The crime lord of Onychinus was somewhere behind you, likely still bleeding from using himself as a human shield on your behalf, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at present.

After all, it had been his great idea to step in front of the Deluge Wyrmlord earlier.

Sure, Sylus might be hard to kill. He might even be immortal, but that didn’t mean he was immune to pain. Yet for some unfathomable reason, he had opted to take the tail swipe the Wrymlord had aimed at you, leaving you to watch on in horror as his shirt was torn to shreds and an array of lesions and bruises alike blossomed across his chest. He had taken the hit without so much as a grimace, much to his credit, but you had fought the remainder of the fight riddled with frustration and fury.

In short, you were pissed.

The gargantuan mansion swam into sight through the unrelenting downpour, and you doubled your pace at the same time you heard Sylus’ even footsteps getting closer to you. You didn’t want to talk to him– you didn’t want to talk to anyone. The emotions that gnawed at your stomach were borne of insecurities that you didn’t want to face right now, and with that somber thought in mind, your main priority was taking a hot shower to fend off a potential cold from taking root.

With more force than was probably necessary, you shouldered the front doors of the house open, not bothering to look behind you when you heard the massive slabs of wood slam against the wall and groan on their hinges. Something moved in the sitting room to your left, and you saw Luke and Kieran jump up into defensive stances before relaxing slightly at the sight of you.

“Jeez, what’s going on?” Kieran asked incredulously, his hands hovering inches away from his hip where you knew his weapon was hidden. “Where’s Boss?”

On cue, Sylus crossed the threshold of the doorway, made evident by the way the twins looked behind you in unison. Luke spoke up this time, his tone laced with obvious concern as well as surprise. “Holy… what happened? Where’s the Wanderer?”

“Dead,” Sylus stated nonchalantly. You stopped in your tracks, halfway to the hallway leading towards the guest room, and turned to finally gauge the source of your irritation.

He was covered in blood, but the deep gashes you’d seen on him earlier had long since been healed by his Evol. You couldn’t see any bruises beneath the frayed tethers of his shirt– just dirt that streaked down his skin due to the rain. His hair was dripping water onto his shoulders and down his cheeks, but aside from all the superficial damage, Sylus was well and truly fine.

That only served to anger you further.

The silver haired man turned his ruby red eyes on you, his scrutinizing gaze laced with curiosity as he silently tried to figure out what had led to you storming away from him in the wake of defeating the Wanderer. You pursed your lips and jerked your chin up in a stubborn act of defiance, keeping your expression icy as you met his unwavering stare.

“Did something else happen out there?” Luke asked cautiously, joining his twin and his boss in staring at you from across the room. The airy laugh that slipped from Sylus was devoid of any humor, and he shook his head in disbelief as he traced his fingers over the massive tear in his button up.

“Aside from the Wanderer trying to use its tail as a battering ram, no. Although one might think Miss Hunter over there wanted to have her ribs caved in, what with how much hissing she did after the fact.”

Your blood thrummed in your ears as you began to shake with obvious rage. “I was not hissing. You were completely careless jumping in front of me like that. You’re always doing those sorts of things– why?”

“Because I can handle it, sweetie.” His matter-of-fact tone did little to quell your vexation, and the way Luke and Kieran both seemed to look away in embarrassment didn’t help matters, either. Having this discussion in front of them was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. Besides, it wasn’t their fault you were angry. If you were being honest, it wasn’t even Sylus’ fault that you were so upset either.

No, the person you were the most disappointed with was yourself.

You threw your hands in the air, exasperated with the situation as a whole, and turned around to continue on to your assigned bedroom. “Fine, whatever. Keep using yourself as canon fodder, see if I care.”

“Where are you going?” Sylus called after you, sounding more tired than he had moments prior. “There’s still two more Wanderers near the eastern border that need killing, kitten.”

“I’m going to shower,” you retorted sharply.

“A little rain and you want to call it quits? I thought you agreed to help me with this–”

Almost to your room, you shouted down the hall, “The Wanderers will still be there when the rain stops. Go change your shirt or something while you wait and leave me alone.”

The resounding slam of the guest room door echoing down the corridor spelled the end of the conversation. You didn’t stop to listen through the walls to see what else Sylus and the twins were discussing, instead heading straight for the bathroom and cranking the shower knob to the highest setting. The cold, soggy clothes that stuck to your skin were peeled away swiftly and left on the floor before you stepped under the scalding water to begin scrubbing, your own mind tormenting you all the while.

The loudest thoughts that seemed to reiterate themselves over and over again were the ones that had been hounding you for as long as you could remember.

You’re a liability. You’re weak. You’ll always need protection.

Even the rush of water cascading down your head couldn’t drown them out.

—

“Again.”

Although Kieran had his mask on, you could practically see the disbelief on his face through his posture alone. His shoulders sagged, and the kickboxing pad he had clutched in his white knuckled grip dropped to the floor in exasperation. “We’ve been at it for hours. How many more times do you plan on doing this? My arm is going to fall off pretty soon.”

“Again,” you repeated sternly as you wiggled your fingers, the dull ache in your knuckles barely noticeable through the wraps that protected your fists. “If you want to take a break, give the pad to Luke.”

The twin in question immediately swiveled away from the weapon stand in the corner, raising his hands in front of himself as though to ward you away from him. “No way,” he said tightly. “You already missed the pad and kicked me in the ribs twice. I’m done being your sparring dummy.”

Kieran threw his free arm up before letting himself fall backwards onto the floor of the sparring ring. The other arm he still had looped through the back of the boxing pad fell beside him with a heavy thud, and you sighed with obvious frustration as you stood straight and planted your hands on your hips. Sweat dripped down your temples and soaked through the loose workout clothes you had on, but you hardly paid it any mind as you glanced around the room for an inanimate object to use for training. Evidently the twins were a lost cause, and you didn’t feel like tracking Sylus down to ask him to practice with you.

In truth, you were kind of avoiding him.

After your outburst earlier in the morning, he had disappeared from the house entirely. You’d emerged from the guest room freshly showered and ready to head back out to finish dealing with the Wanderers, but upon entering the living room, you had found only Luke and Kieran. They had been annoyingly tight lipped about where their boss had run off to, but had assured you that he would be back in a few hours. Four hours had passed since then, and since you hadn’t particularly felt like trudging through the rain in search of him, you’d decided to make use of the twin terrors and work on your hand-to-hand in a bid to feel less… useless.

You hated that you even thought of yourself in such a way, but it was a hard habit to break. Your Evol couldn’t serve you by itself in a fight, and unless you were fighting alongside someone with an offensive Evol of their own, all you had was your martial training. Anytime Sylus or any of your other companions accompanied you on your hunts, all you could do was resonate with them to empower… well, them. You felt like a glorified battery half the time– charging them up while you stood in the backline with your measly pistols.

You knew it was unreasonable to feel that way. You knew you could stand on your own two feet and be a threat on the battlefield regardless of your Evol. Hell, you had been selected to join the Hunter’s Association Alpha Team immediately after graduating. That had to count for something.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

Another agitated sigh slipped through your teeth as your fingers flexed of their own accord. Kieran was still an unmoving lump on the floor, and Luke warily went back to polishing the collection of blades propped up on the weapon stand. Neither one of them could be persuaded– you were already acutely aware of their stubbornness– so you fixed your eyes on the punching bag strung up from the rafters. It wasn’t sentient, and it couldn’t hit back, but it was as good a target as any for your internal turmoil.

Just as you were about to duck through the ropes that surrounded the sparring ring, Sylus’ gravelly voice drifted through the dimly lit workout room, halting you in your tracks and drawing the immediate attention of the twins. “Don’t tell me you broke my henchmen,” he teased, his crimson eyes taking in the sight of Kieran sprawled across the floor with blatant amusement. “I know you’re supposed to do your reps until failure, but he looks half dead already.”

“He’s lazy,” you muttered as Kieran threw aside the kickboxing pad, pushing himself to his feet as quick as his shaky limbs would allow. “They both are. Like fat house cats, content to nap all day.”

“Excuse me?” Luke chimed in, his hands perching on his hips indignantly. “Say that to my bruised ribs, you tyrant. Why don’t you take your vendetta out on someone who can actually keep up.”

His pale finger pointed straight at Sylus, who was still leaning leisurely against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. He looked remarkably better than he had when you’d last seen him; no cuts or blood, no bruises, and no torn clothing. His simple black button up was tucked into matching black trousers, and his hair was once again effortlessly styled without a strand out of place. He looked more inclined to attend a business meeting rather than spar with you, but despite that fact, Sylus surprised you by shrugging and striding towards you, already rolling the cuffs of his sleeves up to his elbows.

“You don’t have to,” you started to say, jerking your thumb over your shoulder towards the punching bag you’d decided on using. “I was going to make use of the other equipment–”

“Living targets make for much better practice, and I can promise you that I won’t tap out like a… what was the term? A fat house cat?”

Luke and Kieran both scoffed and shook their heads simultaneously, mirroring one another so perfectly that it unnerved you. Kieran swung his legs over the nylon ropes of the ring and landed next to Luke, the two falling into step easily before heading for the door without another word to you or their boss. A tiny, barely there part of you wanted for them to stay to eliminate any awkwardness between you and your newfound partner, but the unspoken challenge in Sylus’ eyes quelled the words before you could utter them.

The silver haired man hoisted himself up over the ropes effortlessly, bending down to snatch up the abandoned kicking pad from the floor before tossing it haphazardly over the edge of the ring. He waited until Luke and Kieran’s footsteps had disappeared completely from within the hallway before he spoke. “Think you can walk and talk, kitten?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you messed with the wraps on your fists before assuming your usual fighting stance. Shuffling your feet apart, you tested your balance as you murmured, “Why do we have to talk? There’s nothing to say.”

A hint of a smirk pulled at the corners of Sylus’ mouth as he copied your movements, distancing his feet a healthy distance apart and dipping his chin below his raised fists. “I beg to differ. We could talk about your little temper tantrum earlier, or about how you’re being uncharacteristically snappy with Luke and Kieran. We could even talk about the weather if you’d like– it stopped raining, by the way.”

You said nothing, instead grinding your molars together hard enough that your jaw ached. With Sylus too busy talking, you seized your opportunity and swung your leg out in a wide arc, narrowly missing his head when he smoothly dodged the blow with a wicked grin etched across his face.

“I see, I see…” he taunted, glancing down obviously enough that you knew he was going to try sweeping your feet out from under you. Sure enough, Sylus dropped into a feline crouch, throwing his leg out as he pivoted himself around on his other foot in a dangerously fast circle. You jumped backwards– avoiding his outstretched limb completely– then dove back in for an immediate counter-attack. He was already standing when your fist connected with his palm, his massive fingers curling over your pathetically small hand as he threw you to the side painlessly, chuckling to himself all the while. Your blood thrummed in your ears, humiliation burning your cheeks from how easily he fended you off. Condescendingly, Sylus mused, “This is all because I jumped in front of you earlier, isn’t it?”

“Stop talking,” came your disgruntled reply. Desperate to have one of your hits connect, you feinted left before darting back to the right, throwing out a jab-punch combo that grazed his neck at best and missed entirely at worst.

After humorlessly avoiding your attacks, Sylus began moving, drinking in the sight of you panting and flushed in the middle of the ring. He circled you like a predator corralling its prey, and through the flurry of emotions that wracked you, mortification seemed to be the most prominent.

“Am I to understand,” he started gruffly, “that you wanted the Wanderer to kill you?”

“Of course not–”

“Because that’s exactly what would have happened had I not stepped in. You’re upset because I saved you from an agonizing, bone-breaking end, and I have to be honest, kitten, it makes absolutely no sense to me.”

“That’s not why I’m angry,” you barked at him, wanting nothing more than to lash out with your fists again. Even if the hits didn’t meet their mark, you needed to expel the humiliation that coursed through your veins.

Suddenly, Sylus was in your face. His overwhelming presence surrounded you, his inquisitive eyes boring into yours as he tried to search your mind for the real reason you’d been so put out all day. Quick as a whip, you shoved against his chest and turned your head away in a bid to protect the dreary thoughts that had plagued you for the bulk of the day.

“Talk to me,” he half-commanded, half-implored you. “Tell me what thoughts are whipping around through that head of yours.”

You scowled, turning away from him completely as you strode to the other side of the sparring ring. Sylus followed you easily, unwilling to let you mope your way out of his interrogation, and he planted himself squarely behind you as you started to undo the wraps protecting your fists. “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing new, anyways…”

The dejected tone lacing your words didn’t escape Sylus in the slightest, and in the reflection of the mirror straight ahead, you saw his brows furrow at the same time his lips formed a straight line. “Sweetie, if it’s nothing new, that’s all the more reason to talk about it. I know I’m not great at playing the role of a therapist, but if whatever’s bothering you is this serious, I’d like to help.”

A deep, relenting sigh escaped you at that moment. You unwound the wraps around your hands and let the bandages flutter to the floor listlessly before hesitantly turning back around to face the silver haired man. Sylus’ striking eyes were narrowed with concern, his expression conveying his worry for you plainly enough that you felt your heart trip over itself in your chest. He didn’t deserve to deal with the moodiness that came with your insecurities. Kieran and Luke didn’t, either. Even though it was embarrassing and disappointing to admit, you figured you could at the very least be honest about your diffidence.

“You can’t help. That’s the thing. It’s– well, it’s stupid.” Sylus gazed at you expectantly, his eyes silently conveying that he would be the judge of that. Looking down at your feet, you forced the rest of the admission from your lips, even though it pained you to do so. “I just want to be able to protect myself. The same way you and all my friends can. I don’t want to have to rely on other people to defend me in a fight, but I don’t think that will ever be possible.”

Sylus cocked his head to the side in confusion. “You do a pretty good job of defending yourself, kitten. You’ve come a long way since I found you kneeling all alone in the N109 Zone.”

“It’s not that. I just…” For crying out loud, why was this so difficult? Maybe it had to do with Sylus quite literally being the strongest person you knew. Confessing your insecurities to the leader of Onychinus, the most wanted man in the world, wasn’t exactly child’s play in your mind. Still, you endeavored to try. “My martial training is all I’ve got. My Evol isn’t any good on its own. I can’t conjure fire or ice, I can’t manipulate gravity to lob boulders at enemies. I just… boost other people. I strengthen others, but on my own? I’m a liability.”

Sylus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his heel, tapping his fingers against his bicep thoughtfully. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your ability incredibly rare? Anhausen Class Evols aren’t common. You’re actually quite valuable.”

“Only if I’m fighting with someone who has an offensive ability,” you helpfully supplied, pointing at him for emphasis. “I don’t stand a chance against a Deluge Wyrmlord by myself. I have no choice but to rely on my partners for help. Even though I know it’s irrational and silly, I’ve always resented that. I just… I don't want to be weak.”

Sylus took in your admission quietly, nodding to himself as his otherworldly eyes bored into yours. To say it left you feeling vulnerable was a monumental understatement. You felt raw. Laid bare before the one person you trusted most. It scared you to think he might think less of you for the revelation, even though deep down you knew Sylus would never judge you for it.

Fidgeting uncomfortably, you bent down to snatch your wraps off the floor of the sparring ring, pausing before leaving as you tried to come up with what to say next. Sylus beat you to the punch, however, his gravelly voice drawing your attention back to him. “I know it’s subjective, but I’ve always thought you were a skilled fighter. Your Evol aside, you’re invaluable on the battlefield. Quick thinking and clever planning have gotten you far when we fight together. You aren’t a liability, sweetie, and you’re definitely not weak. I think you’re selling yourself short.”

Your stomach lurched as you realized you’d heard similar placations in the past from your grandma. As worried as she had been when you’d passed your Hunter’s Exam, she was supportive of your career choice and had always done her best to encourage you. She had never wanted your heart condition to slow you down or influence your decision making, and you had convinced yourself a long time ago that she’d played a monumental role in you having made it this far.

Unfortunately, self-doubt had been a nagging, longtime friend of yours.

Flashing him a small but grateful smile, you nervously twirled your used wraps around your fingers before jerking your thumb over your shoulder towards the doorway. “Thanks. It’s not a big deal though, I’ll be fine. I’m, uh, going to go shower. Sorry for being a brat earlier, I’ll… I’ll work on the whole confidence thing later.”

You were relieved that he didn’t stop you as you ducked under the ropes of the sparring ring. As grateful as you were about how he’d handled your admission, you needed some alone time to sift through your thoughts, and another piping hot shower was the perfect opportunity to do so. Reaching for the towel you’d left slung over the weapon rack in the corner, you tossed it over your shoulder and started to make your way to the exit, sneaking a quick glance at Sylus in one of the massive mirrors that lined the wall.

He was still standing in the center of the ring, gazing straight ahead with a curious look playing on his features. It was an expression you’d seen many times before, usually when he was concocting a scheme of his in the spur of the moment. While part of you was appreciative of Sylus’ natural inclination to flock to your aid and try to make everything better for you, you sorely doubted that this would be one of those times.

Unless you magically found a way to rid yourself of years worth of self-depricating introspection, you were convinced you would be stuck with these thoughts for the rest of your life.

—

You had been reading for so long that you were certain your eyes were on the brink of falling out of your head.

Having long since finished your shower, you’d taken to going over the datapad Sylus had given you the day prior. It was chock full of information on the Wanderers he had asked for help dispatching; where they were, previous reports of attacks linked back to them, their weaknesses. Most of the information was redundant. As a Hunter, you had intimate knowledge about the creatures and their habits. But following your uncomfortable confession earlier in the gym, you were curious as to whether or not it would be possible to handle killing the damn things by yourself.

Not that you were going to try. You weren’t that stupid. Just… wondering.

So far, the answer was no. It was suicide to go up against Wanderers of this calibre without an offensive Evol. That, or a good old fashioned, coordinated aerial strike.

You had neither of those things.

Sighing in annoyance, you set the datapad on your lap and shoved the heels of your palms into your eyes, rubbing hard enough to see shapes. It had been a couple of hours since you’d last seen Sylus, and you felt bad that your moping had gotten in the way of finishing the job he had brought you along for. There were two more Wanderers that needed killing; an Ignitus Wyrmlord and a Luminivore. Both were high ranking threats, so you doubted that the Onychinus leader would have gone out on his own to deal with them.

But maybe he had. Maybe he had been staring off into space as you’d left the gym because he’d realized that you were right, and he was better off handling the creatures by himself. He wasn’t the type to wait for approval, much less your own, so the possibility wasn’t too outlandish to consider.

You were hurting your own feelings thinking as much, though.

With a muffled thump, you slapped your hands down on the bed and tossed your head back against the pillows. Maybe you needed therapy. Your dejected thoughts weren’t getting you anywhere, and they weren’t going to change anything. At the end of the day, you were who you were, and everyone else was… who they were. You brought plenty of value to the Hunter’s Association just by being yourself. Wishing to be stronger, faster, and more powerful wouldn’t make it happen. Those were traits acquired through hard work, dedication, and pure chance.

Not by lying in bed reading.

Just as you were about to shove the datapad off your lap to jump up from the bed, a knock sounded at the door. You nearly tripped over your duffel bag on your way to undo the lock, but once you yanked it open, you were surprised to find Luke on the other side. Or was it Kieran? Sometimes it felt like you were guessing who was who.

“Sorry to bother you.” Ah, it was Kieran. “Boss asked me to send you up to him. He wants to talk with you.”

Your brows furrowed and your eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious of the crime lord’s intentions. He had never sent for you before. “Okay…” the lone word was drawn out, your hesitation evident in your tone. “Where is he?”

It was impossible to tell what kind of expression Kieran wore behind his mask, but his shoulders did stiffen a little in response to the question. He was as uncomfortable with the situation as you were. “He’s in his room. He didn’t seem mad, but I can honestly never tell with him. Good luck.”

As suddenly as he arrived, he was gone. Literally. You blinked and Kieran had just vanished. He and his brother were as odd as they came, but you steeled your nerves and did your best not to seem rattled as you exited the guest room and padded your way towards the staircase.

The last time you had stayed with Sylus, he had set you up in a different room on the second floor that was now home to a slew of antique weaponry that had yet to be unboxed. You didn’t mind the room change, but you were beginning to think Sylus had a shopping addiction. Sure, he had the money and never batted an eye at the exorbitant price tags attached to the items. But he never even used half of the things he bought. He really was like a crow. Or maybe a dragon was a better analogy, since he had a tendency to hoard everything he acquired from antique shows and business deals.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the double doors leading to the master bedroom. The ornate entryway stood tall and forebodingly at the end of the hallway, illuminated by the dim lights that lined the walls. You rapped your knuckles against the dark wood softly, only deigning to let yourself in once you had confirmation from the owner of the chamber.

“It’s open,” came Sylus’ silk-like voice from the other side.

Tentatively, you pushed open the door and stuck your head through the crack, unsure of what to find waiting for you. It turned out to be nothing more than Sylus looking over a stack of papers, hunched over the desk in the corner with a clear glass of amber liquid pinched between his long fingers. Perplexed, you slipped inside all the way and shut the door behind you, watching and waiting for the silver haired man to acknowledge your presence.

There were a few beats of silence as he reorganized the paperwork with one hand before finally turning to face you, bringing his drink to his lips as he did so. It was strange to see him drinking when there were still Wanderers lurking in the N109 Zone. You would have guessed he’d called for you so the two of you could finish the work you had started earlier in the day. Unless…

“Did you deal with the Wanderers already?”

The only show of surprise on Sylus’ face was the elegant lift of his brow, and he acknowledged your tense posture near the door with a subtle dip of his chin. “You’re really worried about being deemed unnecessary, aren’t you?”

It was a slap in the face to have the truth so boldly thrown back at you, but the truth did have a tendency to hurt. You nervously clasped your hands together in front of you, wringing your fingers together as your gaze swept across the room. “You disappeared for a while today. Then we never went back out to kill the other two Wanderers… I thought maybe you’d taken care of it yourself.”

“Then you would be wrong, kitten.” Turning back to the desk, Sylus fluidly beckoned you towards him with one simple curl of his finger. You had half a mind to be stubborn about it, but with how you were feeling right now, you decided to just be obedient. Shuffling over to him, Sylus plucked the piece of paper at the top of the stack back up and held it out to you, watching you over the rim of his glass as he took yet another sip of his drink.

“What is this?” You didn’t need to ask, as it turned out– you recognized the logo adorning the page instantly. It was a copy of the Hunter’s Association exam records. More specifically, your exam records. How the hell had Sylus gotten his hands on them? Your eyes roved up and down the parchment as you took in the familiar marks, then looked back at the crime lord expectantly. “Why do you have these?”

Tapping the side of his temple closest to his eye, he mused, “I have my ways. But I felt inclined to show you, because I found something interesting about your records.”

He balanced his forearm on your shoulder as he pointed at the paper you held, and the smoky cologne he wore flooded your senses instantaneously. “Right here,” he pointed to the column on the far right of the page, “are all the divisions that exist within the Association. Scores that are high enough in each section open doorways into possible careers with the agency. Am I right?”

You nodded. The scoring method allowed for everyone that took the test to have a high likelihood of getting a job, even if it was a lower level position. Only a select few individuals scored high enough to qualify for upper division roles, which was one of the main reasons why the Alpha Team was so small. Quality over quantity, Jenna had told you.

Sylus continued on, sweeping his finger all the way down the page to where your scores were recorded. “You, my dear, sweet Hunter, managed to pass in every single category. There wasn’t one division you didn’t qualify for. You went straight to the top of the podium because they knew your worth, but to meet the requirements for all of it? That’s nothing to turn your nose up at.”

Sylus’ motives were all beginning to make sense now. He had said it himself earlier; he wasn’t a therapist, but this was clearly his attempt at making you feel better about your self-critical thoughts. It was… nice of him. Really nice. Moreover, it was news to you. You had hardly looked at your exam results once you’d heard you had been selected to join UNICORNS, because that was all you had ever wanted. But to hear that you had passed with flying colors? Well…

“That doesn’t seem possible,” you muttered, flipping over the page to keep reading.

Sylus chuckled under his breath and took another sip of his drink before setting the glass down on the desk. “It’s possible. I have it on good authority that it’s happened a few times in the past, but only a few. You could count on one hand the number of times a brainiac was admitted into the Hunter’s Association in the last five years.”

The paper in your hands went limp as you craned your neck to the side to stare up at him, a slew of emotions racing through your mind and imbuing you with the desire to understand. You wanted to grasp the why, more than anything. Why was Sylus going out of his way to make you feel better? Why did he care so much? Why, why, why?

He seemed to understand the unspoken question based on your expression alone. The arm he had perched on your shoulder slid away, and he gently took the paper out of your hands and waved it tellingly beside his head. “You’re a far cry from a liability, sweetie. Just because your Evol works well with others doesn’t mean you bring nothing to the table, and believe me when I say that I’ll keep reminding you every chance I get.”

That burning, one word question finally escaped you, sounding airy and uncomfortably meek as it was whispered between the two of you. “Why?”

Something shifted in the air then. A level of bone-deep understanding, of yearning, of unfathomable craving, sparked to life in Sylus’ eyes, and the sight had your breath catching and your lips parting. The leader of Onychinus tilted his head to the side as he took in every detail of your face, one lone strand of his silvery hair falling into his field of view, but it hardly deterred him from drinking in the sight of you before him. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a sly smirk, and he set the parchment back down on the table while maintaining eye contact with you all the while.

“Because you’re worth the effort,” he evenly proclaimed.

You damn near broke into tears.

“Sylus…” you didn’t know what to say– what to do. It was unbelievably soft, the way he said the statement. Gentle and thoughtful and full of intention. He meant every word, and it wasn’t until he’d uttered the statement that you realized just how much you had needed to hear it.

Taking note of your turmoil, Sylus swiftly captured your hand in his and began guiding you deeper into the room. You followed him dumbly, primarily because you were still processing the utter devotion you had seen glimmering in his ruby red eyes. When the two of you stopped, he released your hand and moved to stand behind you, placing one hand on your shoulder while the other gingerly clasped the underside of your jaw and angled your head straight ahead. “What do you see?”

It took you a moment to realize that he had positioned you in front of a full length mirror propped up against the wall beside his bed. In the reflection, you could see his luminescent eyes peering at you from over your shoulder, the stark difference in your heights made all the more obvious with how the glass cut off the top portion of his head. Beyond that, though, you weren’t entirely sure what you were meant to be looking for.

“You’re very tall,” you mumbled obtusely. That earned a throaty chuckle from the man behind you, and you watched as he shook his head to himself.

“Not me, kitten. You. What do you see when you look at yourself?”

Swallowing thickly, you forced yourself to cater to his line of questioning. Your eyes zeroed in on yourself, scanning your own image from head to toe as you took in every last detail of your appearance. Your hair had dried by now and looked to be rather frizzy, and your nostrils flared as you drew in a deep, steadying breath. Your breasts rose and fell in response to the action, and your toes dug into the carpet on the floor as you tensed nervously. This felt like a test that you were quickly failing, and the thought made you anxious. All in all, you had no clue what part of yourself to focus on. You were just… you. A woman unsure of herself with quite possibly the world’s most confident man standing behind you.

The irony of that fact didn’t escape you.

“I don’t know,” you muttered under your breath, and Sylus withdrew his hand from your jaw and trailed the appendage to grasp your other shoulder. “I just see me. Messy hair, pretty eyes, shorter than you.”

Sylus smirked at you in the reflection, his hands dancing away from your shoulders to skim their way down to your biceps. “Do you want to know what I see?”

Yes. No. Maybe? Your lips pursed, and you looked at him with a timid sort of anticipation.

“I see a strong, capable woman,” he emphasized the statement with a subtle squeeze of your arms, drawing your attention to the toned muscle hiding beneath your t-shirt. “I see someone who’s put her entire heart and soul into bettering herself, both physically and mentally. I see a woman who pushes herself to improve constantly, even if she’s already doing a great job to begin with.”

His fingers slid under your arms to trail along your ribs, ghosting one of his hands up your torso to place his palm over your quickening heart. If he heard your breathing stutter, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he bent down and nestled his chin in the crook of your neck from over your shoulder, murmuring his next words directly against your ear. “I see a talented Hunter who refuses to let her heart condition interfere with her goals. She remains headstrong, dutiful, and loyal to a fault, no matter the circumstances.”

The muscles in your stomach flexed instinctively as Sylus dragged his hands sensually down your front, placing them over one another to allow for him to pull you flush against him. Your body reacted of its own accord, flushing hot at the close proximity and making you acutely aware of every dip and curve of the larger man’s body. Unconsciously licking your lips, your eyes flicked back to his in the mirror, your mouth slightly parted around shallow breaths. “I see a resilient human with a mildly concerning, seemingly bottomless appetite, but who somehow always goes out of her way to share her snacks. I think her love language might be gift giving, but it’s hard to tell. She’s got wit that’s so sharp that I’m convinced it’s a weapon in and of itself. She’s compassionate, caring, and annoyingly selfless.”

“Sylus–”

“Ah,” he squeezed you tighter to him, silencing your objection before it could be fully expelled. “I’m not finished, kitten.”

Maybe not, but you were coiled tighter than a spring. You genuinely didn’t know how much more of his hedonistic touching and breathily whispered sweet-nothings you could take. A salacious sort of desire was flooding your veins, compelling you to turn around and act on your urges, but Sylus’ ironclad hold prevented you from doing so. He smiled smugly as though he was aware of your internal thoughts, nestling his chin deeper into the crook of your neck while his hands traversed lower, encroaching dangerously upon your nether region.

“To get superficial, she’s unbelievably beautiful. She gets this certain look on her face when she’s really concentrated, and her nose tends to scrunch up like a cat hissing when she’s angry. Watching her fight is one of the most satisfying things on this planet. She’s fluid, graceful, and can drive home a killer roundhouse kick.”

Ever so gently, Sylus turned his head so he could press his lips against your thundering pulse point, delivering a passionate but equally chaste kiss against your skin that made your eyelids flutter and your knees buckle. You were suddenly immensely grateful that he was holding you upright against him. He murmured huskily against your throat, “She might kill me if she hears this, but I love to watch her walk away from me. Her hips sway in this hypnotic way that drives me crazy, and she’s got these perfect legs on her that I love to imagine hanging over my shoulders.”

Fuck.

When Sylus looked at you in the mirror through his lashes, you swore up and down that he was channeling some transcendent sex demon from another world. He looked carnal. Wholly and unequivocally erotic. The hunger that shone in his eyes had heat pooling rapidly between your legs, and you found yourself unconsciously clenching your thighs together to ease the growing ache there– a move that did not escape Sylus’ attention in the slightest.

You could see the smile in his eyes as he toyed coyly with the hem of your pants, tracing his long, dexterous fingers along the elastic band and dipping the tips of his digits between the fabric and your skin. It was maddening– absolutely torturous– and all of it left you wanting more.

More of his praise, more of his touch, more of his attention. More of Sylus. You had never felt so seen and desired in your entire life. Part of you didn’t even care if it was all lip service. You would gladly choose to believe Sylus’ pretty lies if it meant he would keep the veiled duplicity coming. The way he held you, touched you, spoke to you, commanded a feeling within your body that was addicting, and you desperately wanted more of it.

Sylus broke your sinful train of thought with a lewd motion of his own; he boldly slipped his fingers under your waistband, tugging the material down your hips testingly but only daring to expose the outline of one of your hip bones. A shiver rolled down your spine as he caressed the uncovered bit of skin with his thumb, watching you like a predator from over your shoulder with unrestrained appetite.

When you twitched your hips up a little to spur him onwards, he hesitated. You met his inquisitive gaze in the mirror once again, your flushed, riled appearance a stark contrast to his controlled, put together one. “Sylus,” you whispered breathily. “Please?”

Ever the gentleman, Sylus obliged you with a throaty chuckle. He sensually dragged his fingers to the other side of your pants, tugging the attire lower and revealing inch after inch of your soft flesh. His long arms gave him the reach necessary to push the clothing all the way past your thighs, and it pooled in a disheveled heap around your feet with a barely there noise. Your underwear went next, and the anticipatory breaths you sucked down were the only sound that filled the otherwise quiet room.

Bare from the waist down, your eyes flicked between your own body and Sylus, who seemed to be eating you alive with his lust-riddled gaze. He snuck one hand under your shirt, just below your breasts, as the other situated itself under your navel, and he held your gaze as he turned to take your earlobe between his teeth. The delicate feeling of his teeth clamping over it was entirely too delectable to admit, but you showed your approval in the form of a tiny, raspy moan.

Releasing your lobe, Sylus pressed his lips against your ear, whispering seductively against you, “Now what do you see?”

You watched helplessly as your face flushed an impressive shade of crimson, spreading down your neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of your shirt. The hand Sylus had hidden under there crept higher– skimming between your breasts as though seeking out the warmth that radiated there. Wide-eyed, nervous, and incredibly self-conscious, you struggled to bite out, “Me.”

“I’ll tell you what; if you can be more specific, I’ll up the reward factor. How’s that sound?”

You were positive you were going to die of embarrassment. Your mind was slow to process that this was actually happening– that Sylus had you held tight to him, his hands just inches away from two of your most intimate areas. How you had gone from being frustrated with him this morning to putty in his hands now was a mystery to you. What you did know for certain was that you wanted more of what he was offering. A lot more, if you were being honest with yourself.

“I see you holding me,” came your shaky description. “With my pants around my ankles.”

Humming his approval, Sylus began to move his hands to where you craved them. His fingers scraped along the light dusting of hair below your navel, sneaking ever-so-close to the wetness gathering between your legs. The other moved to cup one of your breasts, the pads of his fingers flicking over your hardening nipple and drawing an unsteady gasp from you. “Tell me what I’m doing, kitten. Be as precise as you can.”

Silver hair flashed in your peripheral vision as Sylus ducked his head to mouth wetly under your ear, peppering a collection of noisy kisses along the slender column of your throat. At the same time he brought his mouth into play, his hands upped the ante; he simultaneously began rolling the peak of your breast between his fingers as the other, lower appendage started to explore between your folds, sliding easily through the slick that gathered there. The feeling was almost enough to keep you from answering him, but then you remembered his bargain.

“You’re touching me. Kissing my neck. You’re playing with… with my breasts, and your hand is–” a strangled sound slipped past your lips as Sylus pressed the pad of his fingers to your clit, causing your legs to give out for a split second. “S-Shit…”

Acting as your steadfast anchor, Sylus held you tighter to him as he backed up a few steps, sitting down on the edge of the bed with you firmly balanced on his lap. He made sure to keep you facing the mirror, much to your dismay, and he lifted his head from your neck to grin wickedly at you in the reflection. “Don’t stop now, kitten. You’re doing great…”

The attention he bestowed upon your bundle of nerves didn’t relent as he encouraged you, and your head fell back against his shoulder at the same time your hips bucked up into his touch. “I can’t, Sylus, I can’t–”

“You poor thing,” he murmured against you, and you could feel his lips curl into a self-satisfied smile. “At least tell me how I’m making you feel.”

You weren’t sure if that was a better alternative or not, but you closed your eyes and let yourself focus wholly on the movements of his hands, relishing in the sensations that washed over your body in response. The fluttering ache in the pit of your stomach ebbed and flowed as Sylus pinched and tugged on your nipple, your toes curling as his long fingers danced around your clit and smoothly slid through your soaked slit. He teased the tips of his hand closer to your entrance, and your desire to feel him inside of you was overwhelming.

“It feels good,” you managed to wheeze out through your teeth. “It feels really good– I feel hot.”

“Hot, huh? Should I stop and give you a chance to cool off?”

The deviant behind you made a point to withdraw his fingers away from your wet heat, and you whimpered disapprovingly. You shook your head against his shoulder, cracking your eyes open to stare at him pleadingly in the mirror. “N-No, please– I want more. I want to feel you inside me. Please, Sylus?”

Beneath the swell of your rear, you felt Sylus’ cock twitch against you, your begging evidently acting as his undoing. He tittered to himself shakily, the fingers that played with your nipple splaying to cup your entire breast, and the testing squeeze he gave the soft flesh had you melting against him even more. “I like the way you sound when you beg, kitten,” he rumbled, teasing his middle finger against your hole just enough to leave your hips trembling with barely contained want. “So well mannered, so polite.”

The praise left you boneless in his arms, amplified tenfold by the feeling of his digit pressing into you. You moaned fervently, your thighs instinctively sliding farther apart to give him more access. Your hands came to grip the forearm Sylus had wrapped around your waist, and you blearily watched as he buried his mouth into your neck again to sink his teeth into the junction of your throat, laving his tongue over the bite in-between his efforts to suck his mark into your skin.

“Sylus…” you sighed, twitching your hips into his palm in a bid to derive friction against your clit. He catered to your attempts, pressing the heel of his hand against the bundle of nerves deliciously as he took to languidly pumping his finger into you. It was exactly what you’d been searching for, and he mindlessly squeezed your breast as you arched into him and let loose a deep, rumbling groan.

Ruby red eyes met your half-lidded ones in the mirror as he broke away from your neck, the love-bite he’d left behind glowing bright against your skin. Venereal hunger emanated from him, his lips parting ever-so-slightly as he took in the sight of you falling apart on his lap. The blatant passion he gazed at you with was enough to make your head spin, your eyes fluttering shut once again. It was one thing to let yourself be overcome with such profuse pleasure, but it was a whole other thing to watch it be bestowed upon you. It was a level of intimacy you had never considered– never imagined– and you couldn’t decide if you found the entire display erotic or embarrassing.

Maybe it was a little bit of both. A lot of both, actually.

The hand that cupped your breast slid down your torso to escape the confines of your shirt, reappearing under your jaw to allow for Sylus to angle your head exactly where he wanted it. Your eyes snapped back open at the feeling, watching mutedly as he pumped his finger deeper into you and roughly ground his palm against your clit. Your breathing hitched around a strangled croak, and a sinful smile split Sylus’ face.

“Look at how pretty you are, kitten,” he whispered against your ear. It shouldn’t have been anatomically possible, but the flush that decorated your face darkened immeasurably. “Spread wide for me, taking my finger like it’s nothing. Do you want more?”

You nodded, Sylus’ hand following the movement since his fingers were still gripped snug beneath your jaw.

“I need you to say it. Use your words, sweetie. I know you can do it.”

“I… want more,” you said huskily. “I want more, Sylus. P-Please?”

“Good girl,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder, red eyes glued to yours all the while. He watched you rapaciously as he eased out his middle finger, then returned with his index finger added alongside. There was mercifully no teasing to be found as Sylus pressed both of the digits into your soaked, eager hole, the stretch taking nothing more than half a second to get used to. The hitched, keening noise that escaped you reverberated off the walls of the bedroom, and your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to keep your eyes open and focused on Sylus. “So tight, kitten… does it feel good?”

You nodded brainlessly, digging your nails into the skin of Sylus’ forearm as he angled the tips of his fingers up. “Y-Yes, yes,” you whimpered, left with no choice but to watch your reflection in the mirror as Sylus worked to undo you.

The heady flush that stretched across your skin coupled with your messy, undone hair had you looking positively wrecked already. Wrinkles covered the shirt you still wore, and through the material, you could see your pert nipples jutting against the fabric. Sylus still looked remarkably put together, but there was a telling flush growing across his own cheeks that clued you in on how affected he was beginning to get. That, and you could feel his growing erection pressed up against your backside.

With what little movement you could muster, you shifted your hips in his lap to press down hard against his cock, and the instant result was by far the most gratifying thing you’d ever seen. Sylus’ head fell against your shoulder, a guttural moan sounding from deep within his chest, and the hand he had wrapped snug around your jaw tightened enough that your next breath was stolen from you. Those plush lips of his parted around a shaky exhale, and the fingers he had stuffed inside of you tensed. When he looked back to meet your awaiting stare in the mirror, you flashed him a coy smirk that ignited a spark of mischievousness in his eyes.

“You… you’re a daring little minx, you know that?”

Before you could respond, Sylus recovered in record time and increased the tempo of his fingers, pumping them faster and curling them dexterously within you as though the insistent pressing would reveal something to him. You had no clue what he was aiming for, but the quicker pace had his palm rubbing insanely good against your clit, and a fire seemed to catch in your veins.

“F-Fuck, Sylus–” your babbling was cut short by the hand around your jaw tightening again, your back molding to Sylus’ chest as he guided your head back to rest against his shoulder. You panted shallowly as he worked his wrist harder, plunging the digits deeper into you, until eventually a sharp pang of arousal shot through you. “Fu– ah!”

Your body tensed against him, and Sylus groaned in abject satisfaction, pressing the side of his cheek against yours as he quickened his pace and aimed for that same spot again and again and again. It was insane– it felt staggeringly intense– enough so that you found it hard to breathe through the waves of ecstasy that crashed over you. The larger man continued to fuck you with his fingers until you began to writhe in his arms, your muscles trembling and your chest heaving with uncontrolled panting. The wet sound of his palm rubbing against your swollen clit filled the air, accompanying the strangled sounds of your labored breathing.

Sylus panted hot and heavy against your jaw, watching eagerly as your climax reached its boiling point in the pit of your stomach. “You’re close, aren’t you, kitten? I can feel it… do you want to come?”

Your voice was shrill and desperate as you sobbed, “Yes!”

“I want you to look,” he implored you, working you so close to the edge that you were prepared to do anything he wanted if it meant he would carry you over the teetering brink. “Look at yourself– watch how perfectly you come on my fingers, kitten. Show me that pretty expression.”

Words were beyond you at this point– you were a shaky, noisy, needy mess in Sylus’ arms, the metaphorical cord in your gut wrought tighter than a wire. Still, you obeyed his request, lifting your limp neck off his shoulder to gaze into the mirror straight ahead, and it was the sight of Sylus watching you ravenously that finally sent you careening into the abyss.

You came with a hoarse cry of Sylus’ name, tightening impossibly around his fingers as your hands flew to dig into the sides of his legs beneath you. Your vision flashed white and your ears rang as he continued to fuck you open, thrusting his fingers harder and rubbing that one spot that left you gasping and choking on nonsensical pleas. The wetness that slid down your thighs and dampened Sylus’ lap barely registered to you– not until your body finally went lax against him and you proceeded to shake violently. He stifled a moan of his own as your weight settled directly on his throbbing, neglected cock, but he paid it no mind as he slowed the pace of his fingers and continued to work you through your orgasm until you were nothing but a twitching, whining mess in his arms.

It took a while for you to approach anything resembling a functional human. Eventually, the feeling of Sylus withdrawing his fingers and peppering soft kisses along your neck roused you from your post-coital state, and you cracked your eyes open to find him staring fondly at you from over your shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against your heated skin. “So gorgeous. I love the sounds you make.”

The amount of sweetness that Sylus exuded was quickly approaching unnatural. Especially because you could feel how hard he was beneath you, and thus far, he had made no move to relieve himself in any way, shape, or form. It couldn’t be comfortable, but his attention had been unwaveringly fixed on you from the moment you’d entered his room.

“Sylus…” you breathed his name gently, shifting your hips a little so you applied added friction to his cock. He grunted in response, his eyes pinching together slightly as he stared warily at you in the mirror. “What about you?”

“This isn’t about me, kitten,” he rumbled, sliding his hand away from your jaw and trailing the appendage down to splay atop your thundering heart. “I wanted to do something for you. Trust me, getting to watch you fall apart on my lap was plenty fulfilling.”

While you didn’t doubt that he’d derived some sort of second hand enjoyment from fingering you, you had reservations about the fulfilling part of his statement. Nothing about his twitching, throbbing cock seemed ”fulfilled” to you, and now that you had gotten a taste of what Sylus had to offer, you found yourself wanting more.

Much, much more.

“I…” your voice trailed off as you struggled to find the right words. Sylus watched you intently all the while, his fiery gaze making you shiver. “What if I want it to be about you?”

His brow rose a fraction of an inch, his shaft throbbing tellingly beneath you. His hands traversed your pliant body reverently, coming to rest on your hips so his fingers could ghost along your jutted hip bones suggestively. “I wouldn’t let it be about me, sweetie. But if it’s what you want, then I’d be thrilled to oblige.”

Without giving yourself time to question whether it would be overstepping, you mustered up the strength to angle your body sideways so you could face Sylus fully, not in the reflection of the mirror. The smile he gave you once you turned around was lofty and full of male pride, but you really didn’t care how pleased with himself he was. If he wanted to keep things all about you, then you would gladly be selfish.

When you leaned in to kiss him, it was delicate. Exploratory and testing. You wanted to gauge just how much you could get away with before Sylus drew a line in the sand. If he drew a line in the sand. It was obvious just how much he was affected by you physically, but in the event there was something he didn’t like or wouldn’t be interested in, you wanted to give him the chance to make it clear to you.

As it turned out, kissing wasn’t something he had an issue with.

One of his hands rose from your waist to the back of your neck, holding you fast to his incredibly soft mouth as an approving moan sounded from deep in his chest. Your tentative pace was replaced almost instantly with a more urgent one as Sylus leaned into the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue so he could sweep the inside of your mouth with the muscle. The hand on your hip tightened, and the one on your neck curled into a loose fist as he gathered a handful of your hair in his grip. The cautionary kiss you had instigated quickly turned into one of passion driven forward by Sylus, and your heart soared with satisfaction.

Every minute sound that left you was swallowed up greedily by Sylus. He wasn’t kissing you so much as he was devouring you. The restraint he had practiced earlier had officially manifested into a voracious, insatiable version of the man you knew, and you went weak in the knees when it dawned on you that it was all for you.

“Tell me to stop now, kitten,” Sylus panted roughly against your lips, having finally withdrawn to catch his breath. Your lust-dark eyes were pinned to him as he let go of your hair to brush a few stray strands out of your face, then cupped the side of your cheek to return your intense gaze. “Because if you don’t, I won’t ask again. I won’t be able to later.”

Your breasts rose and fell in quick succession as you sucked down greedy breaths. Placing your own hand over his, you bit your lip and shook your head timidly, whispering softly, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Something halfway between a sigh and a growl came from Sylus then. His eyes darkened as his pupils dilated, their usual crimson hue replaced almost entirely by black. His fingers twitched against your cheek, and your stomach lurched with arousal as he licked his lips eagerly.

In one swift motion, he rose to his feet with you held fast in his arms, then turned around to roughly deposit you in his original spot on the bed. The speed with which he moved spoke volumes of his excitement, and you matched his pace by immediately reaching for the hem of your shirt. He aided you in hurriedly yanking the material over your head, your breasts bouncing as you threw the attire to the floor and scooted closer to the center of the bed. Sylus watched as you situated yourself against the pillows, his hands moving in quick succession over the buttons holding his own shirt together. The row of clasps parted to reveal creamy, toned muscle underneath, and you found your mouth watering in anticipation as he shed the fabric over his toned shoulders and moved on to his pants.

As soon as your eyes settled on the outline of his cock in his briefs, you knew you were in for it. He was huge. Even through his undergarments, he looked strikingly thick and equally as long, a pronounced wet spot evident near the head. The crime lord drank in your expression with glazed over eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he teased the tips of his fingers between the waistband and his hips.

“Scared, kitten?”

You didn’t miss a beat, “That’s not normal.”

Sylus let out a sharp bark of laughter, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Remind me again what about me strikes you as normal.” When you opened your mouth to respond, then snapped it shut with an audible crack of teeth, he smiled. “We’ll go slow, don’t worry. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

After being so heavily spoiled by him and finding yourself craving more, the absolute last thing you wanted to do was take things slow. You wanted him inside of you now– your still-soaked center throbbing with blatant need. You wanted Sylus to take you by your hips and drive his cock into you fast and hard and leave you a drooling, lust-drunk mess. You wanted more of his praise, more of his attention, more of his scorching touch and intoxicating kisses.

You wanted it all. But you were willing to be patient if that was what he felt you needed.

Chewing the inside of your cheek nervously, you nodded up at him. His eyes crinkled at their corners as he started to slide his briefs down his toned legs, revealing inch after inch of his insane member until it was fully freed and arching proudly against his taut stomach. Gravity seemed to be struggling to drag the thick appendage down, and your eyes went wider than saucers as you silently questioned just how the hell he would fit inside of you.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t eager to find out, though.

Sylus somehow managed to make tossing underwear over his shoulder look graceful, and you blinked at him in awe as he knelt on the mattress and began crawling towards you. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart to make room, expecting for him to situate himself between your thighs to jump right into what you’d been looking forward to. He took you by surprise, however, when he looped his arms under your knees and yanked you down the pillows closer to him, ignoring your yelp of alarm as he settled onto his stomach and tossed your legs over his shoulders, his face mere inches away from your sopping wet center.

You started to object, “What are you–”

“I told you earlier, didn’t I?” He fixed you with a sultry look that had your mouth drying up instantly, and you audibly gulped. “I said I’ve always wondered what your legs would look like hanging over my shoulders. Let a man indulge a little, sweetheart.”

The tips of his fingers ghosted lightly over the tops of your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as he exhaled against your folds. You shivered at the deferential way he seemed to look up at you, his sharp, angular features conveying a degree of tenderness that made your heart lurch. As quick it appeared, though, it vanished– replaced by an unquenchable zeal that had your breath hitching and your muscles tensing.

Nothing could have prepared you for the animalistic way Sylus sealed his mouth over you, however. There was no warning before he dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit, taking exceptional care to circle your still-sensitive bundle of nerves in spite of your writhing. Your body jerked of its own accord, your stomach flexing as you unconsciously shifted your hips in some vain attempt to escape the onslaught of overstimulating pleasure the man bestowed upon you– all for naught. Sylus tightened his arms around your legs to hold you still, groaning with delight as your spine bowed off the mattress and in turn forced more of you on his tongue.

“S-Sylus, shit–” you gasped breathlessly, your hands gathering up and yanking at fistfuls of the satin sheets that adorned the bed. Your eyes rolled back into your skull when you felt Sylus probe at your entrance with his tongue, and you mewled pitifully when he plunged the soft, wet muscle into your equally wet center. “God, Sylus–”

You heard and felt him chuckle against you, his otherworldly eyes fluttering open to stare up at you as you crumbled in his arms. His hands curled tighter around your thighs, holding you in place with a sort of casual ease that spoke volumes of his innate strength, and he waited for you to meet his gaze before he brazenly tilted his head forward to rub his nose against your clit.

The shrill cry that tore from you echoed off the walls, and your hands flew to his hair before you could stop yourself. If the feeling of your nails scraping against his scalp was unpleasant, he didn’t show it. Instead, Sylus continued his never-ending assault against your soaked core with unabashed vigor, his sporadic groans accompanying the wet, sordid sounds he made with his mouth.

There was no way you were going to survive. It was too much. Your nerve endings were scorched beyond capacity, and the blazing inferno that burned in your gut threatened to melt you from the inside out. First his hands, and now his mouth? Was there any part of him that didn’t possess such… talent?

The irrelevant thought was banished from your mind as Sylus decided to focus his efforts on your clit once again, sucking the swollen nub into his mouth and laving his tongue over it incessantly.

He was trying to kill you.

Digging your heels into his back, you tugged at his hair harder and lolled your head from side to side, struggling to form a coherent sentence to warn him that you were close. Sylus angled his head so that he could watch you come undone beneath him, his eyes taking on a heady, bewitching quality that had you thinking he could see into the depths of your very soul. Almost hesitantly, he pulled away from your brutalized center, reaching over your thigh so he could replace his mouth with his thumb as he said, “One more time, kitten. Let me see you come again. You’re being so good– just one more time for me.”

Fuck.

It wasn’t like you could say no, much less stop yourself from careening over the edge for the second time. Especially not when Sylus’ mouth dove back on your clit, licking maddeningly over the nub as though he were a starved animal. You spasmed against the sheets, a raspy cry ripping from your throat as you climaxed again, blind and mute to the world as your legs clamped down on either side of Sylus’ head. The crime lord didn’t seem to care in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the feeling immensely, a gruff moan resonating from his chest and reverberating against your puffy, overstimulated center.

When your body finally sagged into the mattress, Sylus was still lapping up the evidence of your arousal with persevering gusto. You were beyond words at this point, your tongue serving as nothing more than a lead weight in your mouth, so all you were able to do was shove weakly at his head in your attempts to get him to stop.

Thankfully the man still retained a sense of mercy, because he pulled away swiftly and immediately began stroking your legs comfortingly, his red eyes boring into yours as he licked the remnants of your pleasure from his lips. You were certain you had never seen such a depraved sight in your life, and a feeble whimper slithered its way from your sore throat.

“I knew it,” Sylus mused thoughtfully, breaking the thick silence that permeated the air. Still struggling to work your vocal chords, you furrowed your brows at him questioningly. “You taste sweet. I had a hunch, and you proved me right.”

If anymore blood pooled in your cheeks, you were sure your head would explode.

“And your legs are just as perfect as I thought they’d be,” he gently slid your boneless limbs off of his shoulders, sitting up just enough to give himself the range he needed to move over you fully. Crimson eyes scanned you hungrily as he asked, “Think you can wrap them around my waist, or are you too far gone?”

In the throes of ecstasy, you had forgotten that Sylus wasn’t tormenting you with his mouth for nothing. He was preparing you. The thought of experiencing more didn’t scare you as much as it excited you, and you wordlessly lifted your knees off the bed in response, doing your best to keep them steady as they trembled against your will.

The way you obediently waited for Sylus seemed to be his breaking point, because all of his prior restraint vanished in an instant as he gripped your knees and held them steady, helping you so that you could hook your quivering ankles around his waist. Once he let go, he moved to capture one of your hands in his, taking care to place a chaste, tender kiss to your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours and pinning the limb to the bed above your head. You panted and wiggled closer to him, shivering when you felt the thick head of his cock fall heavy against the sparse collection of hair below your navel, and then you watched through your lashes as Sylus lined himself up with your wet, waiting heat.

He stopped himself a moment before he pressed in, leaning down to kiss you softly– delicately– then rested his forehead against yours to stare unblinkingly into your eyes. “Last chance, kitten. You’re sure about this?”

Despite your spent state beneath him, you huffed out a laugh and smiled warmly. “I thought you said you weren’t going to ask again.”

He gave you a lopsided shrug, then smirked and squeezed your hand tighter in his larger one. “I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Without thinking, you closed the miniscule distance between the two of you and kissed him again, your unrestrained hand curling around the back of his neck to hold his mouth securely to yours. Sylus returned the action with equal fervor, inhaling sharply when he felt your hips wiggle tellingly against his throbbing manhood. Breaking away just enough to murmur breathlessly against his lips, you said, “I’m sure.”

With a quick, parting peck to your kiss-swollen mouth, Sylus kept his eyes glued to yours as he slowly began to press home. The initial breach was jarring, even with how wet and pliant you were in the wake of his preparation. The tip of his cock entered you incredibly slowly, your nails digging into the back of his neck as you willed your body to breathe through the momentary discomfort. Sylus halted his hips there to give you time to adjust, pressing his lips to yours again and tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours and letting loose a contented groan. The kiss felt electric; so perfect, so slow, and so messy that you couldn’t help but welcome the wave of affection that washed over you for the Onychinus leader.

There was no way you could be content with this remaining a one-time tryst. Not with the powerful emotions that swept through you in response to Sylus’ words and actions. He had effortlessly wormed his way so deep into your heart that you doubted you would ever be able to rid yourself of your sentiments. Even before now, he had gone out of his way to cater to your every desire, helping you with anything you asked and looking out for you when you didn’t. Today had only solidified the feelings you had felt for a long, long time, and you didn’t want to give that up. You wouldn’t give that up.

“Sylus,” you breathed in-between kisses. “Sylus, I like you. I like you a lot.”

He chuckled against your mouth and drew back slightly, just enough to get a good look at your flushed, timid expression. “I like you a lot too, kitten. I always have and I always will.”

The way he said the declaration hit you with the force of a train. It was as though a lifetime of devotion had been unearthed with those few words, and a deep, profound attachment settled hot and heavy in your chest. You loved this man. You loved Sylus, and part of you felt like you had loved him for lifetimes.

Words weren’t enough to convey what you wanted to say, so you settled for sliding your hand away from his neck to splay your fingers over his sternum, his heartbeat thundering wildly beneath your palm. A shiver worked its way over him, his free hand coming to cover yours as his muscles rippled with restraint, and then he exhaled loudly. That was the only cue you needed to spur him onwards, encouraging him to pick up where he had left off.

You nudged his lower back with your heels, then groaned softly when he started to press more of himself into you. This time there was no discomfort. Only a slick, easy slide that left the two of you gasping one another’s names into the humid air. Once he was fully sheathed within your heated, pulsing walls, you found yourself nearly breathless. His cock twitched eagerly inside of you as he gave you yet another moment to gather your bearings, somehow managing to keep his composure, which was more than could be said for you.

Your mind was fucking blown. Sex was one thing, but this was sex with Sylus. The same ruthless, calculating crime lord that turned his enemies into mist and brought his rivals to their knees with a thought. The same man who commanded attention and respect just by walking into a room. The same man who withstood bullet wounds and Wanderer attacks like they were nothing more than irritating bug bites. That was the same man holding your hands now, being so strikingly gentle and waiting so incredibly patiently for you to adjust to the perfect, thick cock that filled you up so deep and so good.

When you finally relaxed and stopped clenching your thighs around Sylus’ waist, he removed your hand from his chest and intertwined your fingers with his, then pinned the appendage above your head to mirror your other arm. Being so close to your face again allowed for him to begin trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing at the junction of your shoulder to suck lightly at the salty skin there. “Tell me when, kitten,” he muttered roughly, his own need evident in the gravelly tone of his voice. “You’re running the show here.”

You angled your head to the side to give Sylus better access to your throat, and he nipped playfully at your collarbone before drawing back enough to glance at you. You had to look a special brand of fucked up, because Sylus let loose a groan laced with blatant yearning, and his hips twitched forward slightly.

As if the sheer width and length of his cock wasn’t enough, you could feel every mouthwatering vein that pulsed along his shaft. The subtle drag through your innermost walls had you arching suddenly– that one spot he had previously assaulted with his fingers now being wholly enveloped by his length. “Yes,” you gasped, digging your nails into the backs of his hands. “M-Move. Feels insane…”

Sylus chuckled under his breath, withdrawing his hips cautiously before pushing back in faster. It was still a tentative pace, but unmistakably swifter than before. The feeling of his cock sliding past that magic place inside of you had you gasping around a keening moan, and your head flew back in response to the sensations that washed over you.

Bliss, euphoria, ecstasy. Whatever it was, it was addictive, and you wanted more.

Sylus didn’t need to ask. Your body language was enough for him to go off as he worked to set a steady rhythm, pumping his hips languidly as his hands tightened almost painfully around yours. Your breathing quickly became labored as the head of his cock reached deep inside of you, seemingly punching the air from your lungs every time he bottomed out. Needy, desperate noises fell from your lips, and when your eyes snapped back to ruby red ones, you found Sylus watching you with rapt focus, unwilling to look away for fear of missing the way your lips parted with each, assessing thrust.

When your heels dug into the small of his back again, he exhaled roughly and dropped his head closer to yours. “Think you can take more, sweetie?”

You nodded brainlessly, so drunk on the feelings he was giving you that you would have agreed to anything. The fact that you did actually want more just so happened to be a happy coincidence.

Sylus grunted and wedged his knees further beneath you, giving him the support and leverage he needed to draw his hips back again before spearing his cock into you harder, the force from the action causing you to cry out with unrestrained rapture. It hit so deep, the slight angle change allowing for him to reach so unbelievably far inside of you that it felt like he was stirring up your very insides.

From that point on, things shifted from testing and exploratory to frantic and ravenous. Having been given the green light, Sylus pumped his hips into you with unleashed vigor, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin reaching your ears as your mouth fell open. You were moaning, wheezing, gasping, and crying Sylus’ name over and over again, your mind going blank in lieu of his cock effectively muddling your brain’s ability to think. All you could do was take it with your legs hooked around him and your hands pinned by your head, entirely at his mercy as he worked the tip of his shaft past that pleasure inducing spot within you.

The sound of Sylus groaning your name pulled you back down to the present, and your eyes cracked open to find silver strands of hair falling into his face as his head hung heavy between his shoulders. “You feel incredible, sweetie. So good, so wet. You’re a work of fucking art.”

“S-Sylus,” your hands flexed in his hold weakly, your legs quaking from the effort it took to keep them wrapped around his narrow waist. Between the unrelenting slam of his hips against your ass and the mounting pressure building in the pit of your stomach, your body felt like it was being pulled in a million different directions. You were fairly certain drool spilled from the corners of your mouth as you senselessly babbled, “Sy– fuck– c-can’t, I can’t–”

Sylus picked up on your struggle and quickly readjusted your positions; he released your hands to coax your legs off of his hips, guiding the boneless limbs down to the mattress before coiling his fingers under your knees. You were utterly indisposed as he hoisted one leg up and draped it over his shoulder yet again, then pushed the other one far to the side to spread you wide open while simultaneously giving you the reprieve you had desperately needed.

The newfound angle, in turn, served to drive you higher than you had thought possible.

When Sylus reared his hips back to continue hammering his cock into you, you found that his thrusts had transformed from deep to cervix-kissing. Your spine arched clean off the bed as you threw your head back and wailed Sylus’ name, your hands clawing at the sheets so violently that your nails caught on some of the threads and tore them apart. Sylus was growling above you, his rough, panted breaths punctuated by his equally rough thrusts, and his eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his lips to the inside of your knee over his shoulder, biting and sucking at your skin hard enough that you knew it would bruise.

His control was slipping, though. Through the overwhelming ecstasy that threatened to boil over within your core, you could feel as Sylus’ pace began to falter. The snapping of his hips became more erratic, his teeth clamped down harder on your leg, and the fingers he had dug into your thigh spasmed as he fought his release with everything in him. If you could get your tongue to function, you would ask him what the hell he was waiting for.

But then he cracked those luminescent eyes of his open again, letting go of the leg you had stretched out on the bed so he could reach between your thighs.

“Come on,” Sylus implored you, his fingers rubbing relentless little circles against your swollen clit. “Come on, kitten. One more time for me. Let me feel you come on my cock– come for me.”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The shaky groans that rumbled through you quickly turned into shrill cries of Sylus’ name as you came, your hands tearing vehemently at the satin sheets as your walls clamped down on his cock. Through the ear splitting ringing that echoed around your skull, you managed to make out the sound of Sylus groaning your name loudly, the feeling of his fingers digging into your thigh registering alongside the wavering pumping of his hips. His quick, pounding pace quickly deteriorated into something sloppier, more irregular, until he buried himself deep inside of you for the last time, then proceeded to shake.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two of you lay there gasping for breath. Sylus’ grip on your leg was still ironclad, and every muscle in your body continued to quiver sharply. The clouds in your mind refused to let you focus again, still blown away at the intensity of everything you had experienced in just one day. Sylus’ cock pulsed as the last of his spend emptied into you, and you were still so unbelievably sensitive that every tiny twitch of his shaft had you jolting and shivering against him.

Before long, Sylus gingerly slid your quivering leg off of his shoulder, taking exceptional care to set the limb down gently before he began the god-awful process of pulling out. Without him filling you up, you felt incredibly empty, and your lower half spasmed unconsciously when he finally left the warm, wet confines of your folds.

“Fuck,” Sylus finally managed to speak, trailing his hand up your calf to tenderly ghost over the bright, purple-red blotch that he’d left on your leg. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“Mmhng,” came your garbled response. The speech part of your brain was still struggling to turn back on.

“Oh no,” Sylus drawled sarcastically, crawling closer so he could loop his arm under your back and haul you towards the headboard alongside him. “Don’t tell me I broke you, Miss Hunter. The Association will double my bounty if they find out.”

You let Sylus manhandle you against his chest as he leaned back against the mountain of pillows, sighing softly when you felt his hand brush against your flushed cheeks. Glancing up at him through your lashes, you muttered, “I’ll make them triple it as punishment for the sarcasm.”

That earned you a chuckle from the crime lord, and he gazed down at you thoughtfully while he continued to smooth your hair out of your face. The fondness with which he stared at you was enough to bring a shy smile to your face, and you numbly wrapped your fingers around his wrist as you relished in the attention. “Ah, the tired kitten returns with her fangs bared. Triple the original price of my bounty is flattering, I’ll give you that much.”

You hummed your agreement, doing your best to fight off the bone-deep fatigue that seemed to be sneaking up on you. Your whole body exuded an ache that felt strangely… nice. Compared to how sore you tended to get when you trained throughout the night, this was pleasant by comparison. The thought of training, however, had you thinking back to your earlier discussion with Sylus, and you pursed your lips as you contemplated whether or not to voice the burning question that reiterated itself over and over in your brain.

“What are you thinking about that’s making you look so glum?” Sylus dexterously twirled his wrist out of your grip so he could intertwine your fingers with his again, and he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to your knuckles that made your heart swell with even more affection. “Do I need to put you in front of the mirror again?”

“What you said earlier,” you muttered against his chest timidly. “Did you mean all of that?”

“I would ask you which part you’re referring to, but that would be pointless since I meant everything I said tonight, kitten.” He moved your joined hands so they were held fast to his chest, directly over his heart. “I’ve always believed that it’s best to say what you mean and mean what you say. Lip service is pointless. And with you? I would never lie.”

“So all that talk about me being a great fighter, being smart, cunning… you were telling the truth?”

“Of course I was. Don’t forget the part about your legs,” he helpfully supplied, his red eyes narrowing with interest as they flicked down to the limbs in question. “Because they truly are incredibly perfect, sweetie.”

You huffed out a dry laugh, lifting your conjoined hands to lightly thump against his sternum playfully. “You’re incorrigible.”

In a flash, Sylus shifted so he was laying flat on his side with you wrapped snugly in his arms, the sudden change enough to pull a startled yelp from you. The familiar, red mist that accompanied his Evol manifested and enveloped the bed, pulling the covers over the two of you and cocooning you both in a silky haven that instantly amplified the fatigue you felt. You looked back at him from over your shoulder in time to watch as he nestled his chin into the crook of your neck, a radiant smile playing on his perfect face before he pressed a soft, sweet kiss against your lips.

“And you’re exquisite,” he countered easily, tugging you closer against him so your back was flush to his chest. Once he had you situated how he wanted, he used his Evol to plunge the room into near darkness, the only source of light coming from the dim lanterns that flickered on his desk. “Get some sleep, kitten. Tomorrow we’ll head back out and deal with those Wanderers together. I’m eager to see you in action again.”

As you nestled deeper into the cool pillows, you found your mind blissfully quiet and at ease. No rampant feelings of self-doubt plagued you, and the warmth from Sylus pressed up against you soothed your body and worked to lull you into a peaceful slumber. For the first time in a long time, ‘together’ actually sounded like something you could get used to.

Especially if together meant you and Sylus.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus smut #love and deepspace smut #lads fanfic #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace fanfiction #lads fanfiction #love and deepspace oneshot #sylus oneshot #my writing #I had absolutely no intention of making this thing so long but things just kind of happened #I am but Sylus' humble muse as I channel his essence into my writing so if he wanted to fuck for 14 pages that's what he gets #my contacts are drier than ever after proofreading all day so take it and GO

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n0cturnalflesh · 8 months ago

Text

The One Where Sylus Turns Into A Wanderer

Synopsis: Sylus gets hit with an attack that not only turns him into a wanderer but also makes him really horny??? Oh nooo what will you do? (wink wink nudge nudge)

Characters: Sylus x Reader

tw: Dragon Sylus, smut, p in v, breeding kink, praise, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex, oral, tentacles

wc: 8.3 k

A/N: I'm a BIG fan of the theory(is it confirmed?) that Sylus is/was a wanderer at one point but I wanna see more content of him looking kinda scary. Love the idea of Sylus with cute horns and a tail but I'm thinking more like the wanderers we fight in deepspace trials - big, scaly monsters that barely look human. (I’m not not even a Sylus main lol sorry Zayne but duty calls)

“It recovered. Be careful.” Sylus charges forward, his evol twisting the wyrmlord wanderer and redirecting its fiery assault just out of the way from hitting you.

“I know, I know.” Your voice comes out hoarse, throat parched from the hour-long battle against a horde of mechanically enhanced Wanderers—an unwelcome gift from one of Sylus’ enemies. It wasn’t anything the two of you couldn't handle, but their durability in the field was at least 4 times that of regular wanderers. This was an endurance test.

“This better be the last one.” You grumble, Harrier 700s aimed at its maws as you dump Evol-enhanced bullets into its rocky flesh.

“It is.” Sylus warps to its side, taking a vicious hit before striking back just as hard. “Look at the fluctuations around it, they’re weakening. Anything that might come after this will likely be too weak to stand. This is their last card.”

It’s true, now that you take a closer look; the translucent shimmer that had been protecting every wanderer before this is now no more than a simple sparkle. Cocking your gun in your hand, you level the barrel to its heart, giving a brief glance to Sylus.

“Let’s finish this.”

Blood-red swirls of energy coil around your hands, leaving little tingles on your knuckles as the cold mist kisses your knuckles. With each shot fired, a shard of energy follows the bullet, driving it deeper into the Wrmylord. Sylus stays close to the beast, striking each bullet wound as his evol amplifies the force of your resonate-enhanced attacks. A powerful gust from its panicked wings nearly knocks you off balance, but you hold firm, standing against the wind. Your hair slaps across your face, nearly covering your vision but the red energy around your hands helps keep your aim. It’s almost dead— it has to be.

With each bullet, the wanderer staggers; each punch leaving it closer to the ground in defeat until the final shimmer of its enhanced defense shatters.

“Now!” You yell as you close in the distance, running until you’re side by side with Sylus. His evol energy swirls begin to coil stronger, wrapping around your entire body before channeling directly into your gun. With the dragon in your sights, gun up and facing its weakened body, you pull the trigger. At the same moment, Sylus charges forward, winding up his final strike and landing a crushing blow where your bullet landed.

The wyrmlord lets out a final, piercing scream before collapsing to the ground.

“Damn, I don’t want to see another wanderer for at least a month. Maybe more. Thoughts on a mini vacation Sylus?” You ask, wiping off your gun as you place it back in its holster on your waist.

A few seconds of silence go by. With no response from Sylus, you glance up from your holster just as it all goes wrong. A vibration on your wrist draws your attention, red letters glowing above your watch that read “Extreme Fluctuation - Evacuate Vicinity Immediately”. A low grumble shakes the ground, the sound echoing through the ground and reverberating so powerfully that you feel it rumble in your chest. Before you can react, a blinding flash of energy fills your vision.

“Fuck off!” You shake your head and reach for your gun, squinting against the brilliance but all you can make out are the wyrmlord’s glowing crooked eyes peering through the glare.

“Get back!” Sylus’ low voice cuts through the rumbling, and in an instant he’s standing in front of you, shielding you just as the light directs into a beam and strikes his chest. The moment it hits, everything stops. The beast collapses on the ground, its limbs going limp as dust creeps up its disintegrating form until nothing remains.

“Sylus!” Your voice breaks the silence, hands pressing against his sturdy shoulders until he turns to face you. “Are you alright?”

Despite the attack, he appears none the worse for wear, aside from tired and dirty from the battleground dust. His eyes are downcast, staring at his chest where the beam hit.

“Yes, I’m fine kitten. Must’ve died just before the beam could hit me.”

“Are you sure?” Worry laces your voice, “I could’ve sworn I watched that weird beam hit your chest.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Your eyes must be deceiving you. You should head on home quickly, book that vacation on my card. I’ll…” he trails off, looking back to where the wyrmlord disintegrated. “Stay behind to make sure no other wanderers come.”

Sylus’ eyes narrow as he looks around, his tone low and calculated. He shifts from foot to foot, unusually stiff as you notice the way he draws his shoulders in stiffly.

“Sylus?”

He bows his head down, turning to face away from you.

“Sylus, that beam did something to you didn’t it?”

An audible sigh escapes him, his breath slow yet his upper torso rises rapidly like its breathing entirely separate from his breaths.

“It… did. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t you worry about me. Just leave me to deal with this on my own, you should go rest.”

He stands awkwardly, posture just a bit too stiff - like he doesn’t quite know how to hold his limbs. You lean towards him, eye glancing over his body to check for hidden injuries or changes. There has to be something, he wouldn’t be sending you off so easily if there wasn’t.

“Sylus, I’m not just going to leave because you said so. I’m a top hunter, why don’t you think I can help you?” You take a step forward, hoping for a closer inspection but he takes a step back as you do, keeping his face turned away.

“Excuse me?” Betrayal strikes you; how dare he go through months of coaxing and bonding just to leave you when he finally needs help for once? “Look at me.” You speak firmly, snatching his wrist so he can’t flee.

His body tenses at your touch, a quiet gasp escaping his lips. He could pull away if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move at all. He’s frozen still, his gaze fixed on the ground. You slide your hand down until you can squeeze his fingers; they feel unusually cold at the tips yet hot toward his palm.

Following the heat of his palm, your fingers trace back up his wrist, gliding along his forearm until they reach the edge of his sleeve. A wave of warmth pulses beneath his skin, following his veins, though the surface remains cold to the touch.

“Kitten,” His voice draws out low and raspy, leveled like he’s holding his composure just to talk. “Please, let me deal with this on my own. You don’t need to see this.”

Testing the waters, you caress over his chest and up until you hold his chin in your palm. He resists only for a moment as you tilt his head until his vibrant, glowing red eyes face you, laced with evol.

With brows drawn and tense, he shutters under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles deeper into your palm. For a moment, he seeks comfort there, but he pulls away sharply as if your touch suddenly stings. His eyes reek of evol, the glowing red so bright that it becomes hard to see his pupils. Yet the sensation of his evol never comes. You don’t feel that deep pull from within; don’t hear the voices of your deepest desires.

“Whatever that wanderer did to you, I won’t let you suffer alone. We’re in this together.”

He stares back, almost animalistic in nature, like he’s calculating how to react to your next move. His drastic change in personality becomes increasingly unsettling.

“Why are your eyes glowing like that? I don’t feel your evol.” You question, hoping a direct question might be an easier approach.

It seems to work, his gaze refocusing on you as he blinks a few times.

“It is…” he lowers his head, avoiding eye contact as he speaks, “returning me to a form I had hoped you’d never see in this lifetime.” Running a hand through his hair, he tilts his head up to look at the night sky, worries etched onto his face. The light of the moon shines on his pale skin and you can see a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead as he pushes his hair back.

“What does that mean?” Hundreds of questions pop into your head but that’s the one that comes out first before you can even think harder about what he said. A form? Form of what?

Sylus hums, voice uneven and hoarse as he keeps his head turned towards the stars. “Some time ago, which does not matter when, I was something else. Not… entirely as I am today.” He keeps his head tilted but lowers his glowing eyes to meet yours. “I’d since been able to restrict it, but it seems as though that wanderer’s attack was able to affect it.”

You stand your ground, holding eye contact. That’s not a complete answer, and he knows that. You stare back, not moving as he awaits a reaction that you won’t give him.

“I’ve never wanted it to come to this, because I know you won’t leave my side no matter what I say.” He continues, sad gratitude flashing on his expression for a moment, “You really won’t leave me to deal with this, will you?”

He’s not making sense. His words have told you nothing of the situation or his weird behavior. But raising your voice or pressing him further might escalate his behavior. Your heart aches at the thought of whatever is going through his mind as he loses his collected mannerism. He has done so much for you these past few months; proven your opinion of him wrong from the start and treated you so well. You will not let him be alone for this, whatever it is.

“No, I won’t.” You reply firmly.

“You never do.” He sighs, before doubling over to pull his arm close to his chest, hiding the skin from your touch.

“Sylus!” You cry out, taking a step towards him but he moves away as you come close.

“No.” His tone comes out calm despite the strain in his voice, “Don’t get close, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, Sylus.” You pause, observing the way he carries his limbs in towards himself like he’s trying to make himself look small. An impossible feat for such a large man. “I know you won’t because I know you would never dare to hurt me. I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you mean by this ‘form’ you’re reverting to, but I know that if it is still you at the core, you will not hurt me.”

It’s a lie. Sylus is a very scary man if you don’t know him well. Whatever he’s talking about clearly has him worried about hurting you, and if that’s something he’s concerned about, it absolutely gives you every reason to be alarmed. But you can’t just admit that. Not after everything he’s done for you —risking his life, taking hits meant for you, following you on pointless expeditions that far exceed the duties of the N109 Zone leader, even letting you hurt him. No, it’s your turn to take a risk for him. Prove to him that you trust him wholeheartedly.

Assuming a (hopefully) confident-looking stance, you hold eye contact with him and take a step forward, leaving no room for debate as you press into his personal space. He gasps at your touch, eyes glued to where your hand grabs at his arm.

“Please,” He grunts, “be careful. I don’t want to hurt you. Not…” His voice trails off just as you make contact with his skin. But it’s not skin. It's hard, rocky almost in texture but still molds to your touch as you squeeze it.

Not ready to look down, you raise your other hand up and cradle his cheek. “It’s okay.” Your voice comes out as a hushed whisper, and finally, you look down.

His arm below the elbow and hand are not human. The skin is jagged, flesh turned black and grey while red light seeps out from the lines of his veins. His fingers are longer than they should be, joints extended and bony as they lead to talons at the tips. These are the hands of a wanderer.

“Sylus, your form? A wanderer?” The look of raw insecurity in his eyes stops you from questioning. With his brows knitted and eyes glistening, his lips tremble slightly, parted as if struggling to form words. His chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths. He looks like he’s seconds away from breaking down.

“So you’ve figured it out, Miss Hunter.” He speaks, emphasizing the nickname like he’s pointing out how your job is sworn to killing monsters like him. He’s spiraling, slight tension tugging through his body like he wants to break away from you but doesn’t want you to leave him at the same time. You need to show him that you’ll remain ever at his side.

“This doesn’t change my statement, I won’t let you go about this alone.”

He lets out a small laugh, although there’s no humor or joy behind it. “I appreciate your help, but you don’t deserve to have to be exposed to this side of me. You've seen enough wanderers to last you at least 5 missions in the last few hours alone. You said it yourself, you need a vacation away from us horrid monsters.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because that wasn't you! You’re not just some beast that runs wild! Regardless of your form, there’s a ‘you’ deep inside. If you lose control, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t get caught. If anyone finds you, I’ll make sure they don't hurt you.”

“And if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.” Staring into his glowing eyes, you stand your ground. He needs to know this is a hill you’re willing to die on. “Listen, I don’t understand any of what’s going on, and you will explain everything to me when the time is right. But please, just shut up and let me be here for you.”

His jaw tightens before relaxing into a sigh. You run your fingers up and down his hardened palm, hoping to reassure him that this change does not change how you view him.

“If you won’t leave me, you should at least distance yourself from me. At least for the time being. I don’t if the attack has altered my state of mind.”

“Alright.” You give his hand a light squeeze, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles before turning to retreat to a nearby tree. Only he doesn't let you. As you turn to leave, rough talons grasp onto your wrist. He pulls you close to him, your back pressing up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist. They feel… different.

The rough, rocky texture has continued up his forearms. He’s hidden from your line of view, only his arms visible as they wrap your torso.

“Sylus?” Your voice trembles with uncertainty, but the only response is a low, guttural growl from behind you. In the stillness that follows, you notice the next sudden change; he’s growing. His hands, already massive compared to yours, now seem to dwarf you entirely. As he splays his left hand across your abdomen, his claws extend effortlessly to the back of your torso. His palm alone envelops your entire stomach.

The sharp rip of fabric echoes from somewhere along his back, followed by the rush of warm, heavy breaths against your neck—slowly, far too slow for any human. Wrapping your fingers around just one of his now enormous claws, you strain to fully grip it, prying his hand away with deliberate caution.

“I’m going to turn around now. And then you can tell me if you still want me to distance myself, okay?”

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn’t stop you from pulling out of his grasp. Gently, you free yourself from his hold. Drawing a deep breath, you prepare for what awaits. If he truly is a wanderer, is this his true form?

As you turn, there’s a deep, resounding thud—Sylus stepping back, perhaps anxious for you to see him like this. Finally, in the pregnant silence, you open your eyes.

He’s… gigantic. Towering close to nine feet tall, his presence is overwhelming. At first glance, not much seems to have changed—his face, his torso, still familiar; aside from the darkened, rocky skin leading from his hands and now his feet upwards. Through the tears of clothing struggling to hang off his growing body, the skin beneath remains a softer hue, though roughened, textured like stone.

Your gaze travels upward, from his exposed chest, straining beneath shredded buttons, to his face. Aside from the glowing red eyes and his change in size, the only new and noticeable changes are the two massive horns shooting out from behind his ears. —black as night, laced with swirling red energy tapering into sharp white tips. They curl around his face gracefully, flaring outward before narrowing into points that end near his chin. For such a beastly figure to cower, avoiding your eyes, almost elicits a strange tenderness—were it not for the seriousness of the moment.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You murmur, stepping closer and offering your hand. He doesn't take it, but he doesn’t pull away, allowing the space between you to close.

When he speaks, his voice is even deeper than normal, rasping out hollow as though unused to forming words in this form. “I’m holding back... slowing the transformation.” His eyes shut, pained. “But the attack... it may have triggered some... side effects.”

He kneels down until he’s level with you, large eyes roaming over you like he needs to memorize your body. “I wanted this to be different. You deserve better—dinner, gifts, a proper evening to show you how much I—”

“Stop deciding for me.” You cut him off. “You’re not making sense. What side effects? What dinner? What’s happening?”

His chest rises and falls heavily, beads of sweat forming along his brow. “I need you.”

“You have me.” you reply. He lets out a shaky breath, gaze slipping from your face to your body, over every curve you have and back up. He looks back to your face with a carnal, unrestrained desire.“No. I need you in ways that I should not take from you. I can endure this.” He groans. The side effect he mentioned is starting to make sense – an aphrodisiac.

But it doesn’t shake you. Stolen evenings and unexpected gifts, whispered messages between meetings and surprise plushies left just for you—this isn’t for nothing. You want him. You want to be the one who helps him.

“And I’m saying you have me.” you whisper, “however you need me.”

In an instant, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss, nearly knocking you off balance. His claws steady you, holding you close as heat floods through you, every nerve alive under his touch. This wasn’t what you expected, but the rush is undeniable. After weeks of tension, playful flirtation, and stolen moments, you undeniably want this. The circumstances don’t change the feelings that you’ve harbored for him.

His pace is feverish, lips crashing against yours with a desperation that steals your breath. With inhumane sharp teeth, he pulls at your bottom lip before releasing, his tongue brushes lightly over your mouth, hesitant, seeking.

Your hands, trembling slightly, move to his jaw before drifting upward, fingers curling around his horns. The moment you tug gently, his breath hitches, a low gasp escaping him. His control slips further, the weight of his form heavy in the air between you as he slowly pulls away, panting, eyes squeezed shut. His hands, shaking, rest on your waist, still fighting against the wildness threatening to consume him.

“Sylus, it's ok. You can let go, show me your true form.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, face buried in the curve of your neck as he lets out a hushed groan, panting heavily as you feel his weight around you.

“Ok, my love.” He whispers, voice trembling, giving you no time to respond before his body begins to shift. The sound of bones cracking reverberates through the space, jarring and raw. He cups your chin gently, pulling your face to his, and kisses you deeply. Your eyes flutter shut as you cradle his tear-streaked cheeks in your palms, the damp warmth of his tears smearing against your skin. Whether he’s trying to distract you from his changing body or himself from the pain, you can’t be sure—but you return the kiss with equal passion, willing the world outside to fade away.

The sounds of his transformation— clothes ripping, bones snapping, joints realigning—begin to echo about louder and louder. Yet you ignore them, clinging to the heat between your lips, in hopes that the connection you share distracts him from the painful shift. After what feels like a small eternity, you pull away slowly, lips tingling from the heat of his breath. Steadying yourself, you take a step back, ready to take in all that he has become.

Words cannot do justice to his new form. You stare in awe, committing his new body to your memory as he stands completely bare in front of you. Before you stands no trace of the human you once knew—only a towering, fearsome beast, the living embodiment of draconic ferocity. His body is a fusion of taut muscle and hardened scales, rippling with untamed power. Long, white hair cascades down his back, swaying like a mane as it frames his draconic face, a mix of humanoid and bestial features. His maw, lined with razor-sharp fangs, juts forward like that of a great dragon, yet his eyes still carry the familiar glint of Sylus—recognizable, despite the terrifying transformation.

His legs are thick and clawed like that of an animal, hoisting his massive form even higher above you. While he moves with the mannerisms of a bipedal creature, this is no man—this is something far more primal, more dangerous. Behind him, a long, jagged tail swings low, its blade-like ridges sharp and lethal. Higher up, leathery-red wings point upwards and wrap around his waist, covering himself up as modestly as he can. The horns that once subtly adorned his head have grown monstrously large, curling menacingly around his skull, nearly outsizing his monstrous, animalistic visage. His arms, though almost human in form, are colossal—each muscle encased in a thick, armor-like scale, protruding with strength at every joint as they swirl around his chest, where the beating thump of his heart stands out.

He is immense; a creature of both beauty and terror, and you can't help but feel both in awe and mesmerized in his presence.

You must look off-put, as Sylus bows his head, once more avoiding eye contact. Before he can move away, you take the initiative to reach out and grab his hand. Your fingers barely make a dent in his thick flesh, but still, you tug him towards yourself hoping he’ll understand the motive.

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, voice quiet as you reach your hand out for his face. He takes the hint, hesitantly stepping forward with a loud thud that shakes the ground nearby, bending down to place his jagged jaw into your hand lightly.

“Don’t,” His voice comes out with a groggy, half-growl tone, “Lie.” He finishes. Each word seems to have winded him, sighs escaping through sharp talons.

“I’m not.” You answer, and before he can protest, you push your lips against what would be his lips in this new form. It’s awkward, your lips barely covering a quarter the size of his mouth, his large teeth pushing up against your mouth as you try to kiss him. But awkward as it is, he returns the passion as delicately as he can.

“I still want you Sylus, like this, or in any form. You have me.”

He must finally give in to his desires, ignoring whatever reservations were holding him back as he realizes your devotion to him. He takes your body in his giant hands, cradling you gently as he lifts you up so he can stand at full height. As you sit like a pretty doll in his palms, nearly 9 feet above the ground, he brings his head close to yours until his forehead and horns rest against your head.

“Thank you.” He growls through softly bared fangs, “But… don’t know how much you can help me…” he trails off, “ like this. Don’t want to.. to hurt you.”

As he leans away from you, a brief flicker of his eyes downwards gives him away. You shift a little in his grasp, hoping to peer down at one body part of his you hadn’t considered might also change.

“Are you certain…want to see all of me?” Sylus nuzzles his sharp snout into your neck, subtly preventing you from looking further.

“If it will help you, then of course. I know this isn’t how you wanted things to play out, but under different circumstances, I would still want to see all of you.”

Sylus lets you squirm out of his firm hold on you, allowing you to look past his scaled rocky chest and down to where the red tapered tip of his cock rests against his torso. And it's thick. The tip alone must be fatter than your fist. You can’t see beyond the tip from the angle you’re being held at but if it reaches this high up his body, it must be massive. Maybe you can’t help him the way he needs.

The expression on your face must give away your shock at his size, as Sylus looks down to his cock and back up to your face, awaiting a reaction.

“What exactly do you need from me to help you?” You ask hesitantly, gauging the severity of his need to fuck you.

Sylus groans at your questions, low and deep, hips bucking forward like the mere thought of what you’re offering makes him throb. As he leans back to rest on a nearby tree, his hands tighten around your waist, just slightly, as he responds.

“Need to fuck you,” he huffs, “To eat you,” he presses his face against your neck, “to breed you,”, saliva drips down from his scaly maw, landing hot and wet as it slides down the front of your shirt. “Mine.”

“Mmph.” You moan, a warm wetness beginning to form between your legs at his words. “I’m not sure if you’ll fit, but we can try. Whatever will help you.” Your voice is flakey, shaking with each breath as you try to contain your arousal.

“Will fit,” he licks at your neck, right where your pulse is, “spit will help, will numb, stretch.” As he slides his tongue up, the sheer size of it alarms you and reminds you of how much bigger he is. Its heavy weight feels like a compression around you as it wraps once around your throat. The tip of it drags across your chin, soaking your face in his wetness, stopping before your lips, awaiting your approval.

As he holds you so close to him, his hands the only thing supporting your body as his mouth pants at your chest, you give in. Accepting that whatever will come, Sylus will not hurt you.

Opening your mouth, his tongue pushes in, stretching your jaw slightly before it flattens to fit better. Even with only the tip of it in, you’re overwhelmed as it thrashes around your cheeks, saliva beginning to drip down all around your face.

Yet as it continues, as his tongue soaks your neck and fills your mouth, pleasure begins to stir within you. As his sharp talons hold you above his head, you start to crave more. As his scaly snout pokes into your chest, the feeling of being overwhelmed dissipates. The weight of his touch lightens. The awkward wetness feels comforting.

And your arousal heightens. The fear that has been holding you back from fully indulging in him is gone, replaced by a carnal need to be used by him. Without even realizing it, you’ve gathered his heavy head in your hands, his tongue almost entirely down your throat as you swallow around it with ease. Face to face with his heavy maw, you finally let loose and moan into his mouth.

He pulls back slowly, unwinding his tongue from its place down your throat. He growls, keeping you eye to eye with him. “Ready?”

Jaw still sore, soaked from spit, you nod dumbly.

“Good.” And as soon as the words escape his mouth he’s using a claw to rip apart your clothes, just barely leaving a mark on your skin as your tattered outfit falls to the ground. The cool air hits your body hard, nipples hardening in the wind as the saliva dries quickly. You tremble in his hands, partially due to the wind, and partially due to the way your body is out on display for him; the first time he’s seen you naked.

Any insecurities you may have had begin to melt away as he stares at you like he holds the world in his hands. “Beautiful.” He groans, gently caressing your skin with his claws. Despite his beastly exterior, he cradles you as though you are his most treasured possession.

Your skin is taut under his grasp as Sylus lifts you higher until you’re above his head. Staring directly at your exposed cunt, he clasps his maw against it before you can even blush at his forwardness. Gasping at his reaction, every touch seems to set your body aflame with desire. As his scaled lips touch your pelvis, his tongue begins to swirl around your pussy.

“Divine.” He croaks, words muffled by your wetness between his lips. He drags his tongue between your folds once more before diving deeper, the tip poking at your entrance. As his saliva mixes with your slick, your desire heightens. You need him in you now.

“Please, Sylus, fuck me already.”

His eyes snap from their view of where his tongue plays with your entrance, slit pupils dilating as he makes eye contact with you. He takes a deep breath in, then plunges his tongue deep inside.

The sensation is immediate, pleasure taking over your body as his self-lubricated muscle pumps into you, poking around at your gummy walls like it’s looking for room. No, like it’s making room. It’s almost terrifying, watching as his long and thick tongue penetrates deeper and deeper. It shouldn’t fit, but somehow, inch after inch it disappears further until you’re sat entirely on his sharp face.

His hands hold your body up in the air as he tilts his head back to keep you in an upright position. Your feet, dangling on either side of his head, wrap around his horns to use as some kind of leverage to contrast the penetrating feeling of his tongue pushing against your cervix. “Mmm, Sy-!” You whine, his name the only word you can form as he pumps into you repeatedly. The coiling of his tongue pushes against all your inner walls, all the hidden spots you didn't know could be touched.

His fingers shift, one hand sliding slightly upwards, unintentionally grasping your loose tits between them, while the other wraps lower around your ass. It gives you a better view of his face - and the bulge protruding from your lower stomach every time his tongue flicks forward.

Sylus must catch your gaze, as he withdraws his tongue slowly until just the tip is inside, and he pushes on the bulged area, distending it to lengths that must made possible with the use of his aphrodisiac-like saliva. It hurts, but it hurts good.

“Carvin’ out my place in you.” He slurs as best he can without proper use of his tongue. He gives one last squeeze to your breasts, before withdrawing until he’s back to holding you up at chest height to him - still at least 9 feet above the ground.

“Ready?” he pants, “Sweetie?”

Missing the feeling of being filled already, you nod rapidly. Sylus smiles, scales glistening in his smirk, and then lowers himself until he’s lying on his back, keeping your body close to his chest. Feeling the base of his heavy cock rest on your ass is enough to get your body subconsciously moving, humping your hips forward helplessly, looking for any kind of stimulation. The hard texture of his skin beneath you catches against your clit. You lurch forward, hands steadying yourself on his defined abs to get yourself.

A purr-like noise radiating from beneath you causes you to open your eyes which must’ve closed in the chase for release. Sylus’ head is tilted low to watch as you use him and despite the desire in his eyes, he holds an expression that’s entirely human.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and suddenly, the world around you seems to still. His eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something deeper—infatuation. Relief washes over his face, softening his features as if the weight of years has been lifted in a single breath. It’s as though he’s finding solace in your acceptance of him, releasing the fears he’s long held about how you would perceive this form. He looks at you as if this moment is something he had once dared to hope for but never truly believed would come—an unspoken dream, now realized. His expression speaks of a man who has waited a lifetime for this, for you, and for the peace that comes with being seen and accepted completely.

“Sylus,” your voice comes out dripping with desire. The hardened skin beneath feels good, but you need more. There’s an aching emptiness within you, now that you’ve felt his tongue carve out a place in you. “Need you inside me. Now.”

He tosses his head back, throat exposed as he arches his back like you’re words alone pushed him closer to his release. His hands fondle your body before gently raising you up and back so you're sitting with his cock in front of you. And it is indeed massive.

From where it rests against his stomach, you can see now why it felt so heavy when it was behind you. The base alone is almost as thick as one of your thighs. It shoots up at least a foot before tapering off to a tentacle-like tip that’s almost sized like a normal penis.

There’s no way that’s fitting inside of you.

“There’s no way that’s fitting inside me.”

Sylus huffs in what could be considered humour, before his expression softens. “It will… Some of it. Trust me.” He lets go of his grab on you and offers a hand. As your tiny palm slides around one of his fingers, just barely able to grasp it entirely in your hand, his wings wrap around your body like a shield of privacy.

“Trust. Please.” His voice comes out more breathy than before, his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath. It’s then that you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way they bunch up is different than a human body but still noticeable. He must be suffering, holding himself back.

You turn your head to the side, nose brushing against his taut wing. “Ok.” And with confidence, you lean forward and grab his cock. Holding it with both your hands, the girth is barely contained between your fingers. It’s moist all over, self-lubricating, slippery, and heavy. Sylus gasps under his breath and before your fingers can even reach the tip, he’s sliding you forward and upward.

Hands flat against his shoulders, your face to face with him once again as he reaches to guide his cock towards your entrance. The anxiety of how he’ll fit must be evident in your face as he leans forward and licks your cheek.

“I’m ready.” You whisper, and Sylus slowly slips his tip inside your dripping cunt.

Fitting a literal monster cock inside you is not something you can easily prepare for, mentally or physically, for that matter. But somehow, with a mix of whatever is in his saliva and his earlier ministrations, you now sit with almost half of a monster cock deep in your gut.

The stretch of your gummy walls accommodating his girth is not as painful as you would have imagined.

It feels like a reward, as if you’re fulfilling a purpose your body was made for.

Because it was, wasn’t it? Isn’t your body destined to take him inside you and milk it until you’re full? Weren’t you made for this?

The feeling of his tip working its way inside you reveals a hidden will of its own, pulsing and writhing around despite Sylus not thrusting into you yet. He slowly works you down his cock until it seems you’ve hit your limit. With just barely half his length inside, your cunt split open wider than you thought possible, the thumping tip pushes out into the area he fucked open with his tongue.

“See?” He growls. “Fits. Just need tip.” At his last word, the tip inside pokes out into your belly, a protruding bulge in your front. He takes your hand in his much large hand and pushes back against it, and you nearly cum at the sensation. Based on his reaction, he nearly does too.

It’s becoming too much and he’s not even fucking you yet. The widening of his girth from where it sticks out of you is lined with rocky scales that hit exactly at your clit, like they were made for your pleasure. The tense bundle of nerves ache for stimulation. You squeeze your legs around the base of his cock, and slowly thrust yourself forward in hopes that he understands what you want.

He does. Using gentle hands, he holds you up in place before slowly starting to thrust his hips upwards into you. With each movement, his cock pushes through your gut leaving you feeling stuffed and full of desire. Your legs loosen from their grip around his base and instead, hang freely below you as he uses you like a personal flesh light.

“Fuck.” He growls, hands tightening around you like he’s using your body to keep himself alive. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck.”

You can’t reply, at least not in words. The combination of his fat girth and poking tip render you speechless aside from a few moans of pleasure. “Sy…” you attempt his name, but it’s useless. You can’t focus on anything other than the way he fucks up into you.

“Mine. Mine. Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, fingers finding their way to where your body holds him inside, splaying across your belly to feel the weight of his cock inside you.

The build-up of pleasure grows and grows as he brushes his cock against your clit and insides. Your edging closer and closer to release, but just as you feel your physical pleasure start to take over your mind, everything flips.

The mossy ground is beneath you as you’re softly placed on the ground. With Sylus still inside your pulsing cunt, he now hovers above you, thick arms holding himself up on either side of your head. His wings flap around, shielding your body beneath him.

“Mine. No one else’s.” He shouts, not taking his eyes off you as he raises an arm and holds his hand up in a direction away from you. Between the folds of his wings, you see movement: more wanderers. A few gnaves, they’re launching in your direction but a red whirling mist surrounds them before they can reach you.

“Mine!” Sylus screams out, sharp fangs agape as he bares his teeth in the direction of the gnaves. From his position, he starts lightly thrusting his hips forward into you. The sharp pang of pleasure as he fucks into you draws your mind away from the looming threat of wanderers.

You close your eyes, hands out grabbing for his chest, his arms, anything to ground you. A splattering of wetness across your face forces your eyes open in shock. Sylus stares down at you, his face and yours dripping in wanderer blood. Beside you, the dead bodies of the beasts disintegrate leaving only their protocors. Sylus fucks back into you.

“Mmmph! Fuck - M’ yours!” You scream out, pulling his horned head towards you again and diving into his mouth. His long tongue laps at your mouth in anticipation before you let it slide in and down your throat once more, the numbing of the saliva still in effect as it mixes with the blood across your face.

“Mine. Mine to protect. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed.” Sylus pants into your mouth, words obstructed by his tongue down your throat.

“Mmhmm.” You whimper, unable to form words between the harsh fucking of his cock in you and his tongue in your mouth.

”I’m…” he groans, “here.” He lowers a hand to your stomach, the bulge less visible than the previous position but still just as deep in you as he fucks forward.

“My place.” The tip of his cock squirms around and fucks up into you at a pace faster than his hips, smooshing against the thing wall of skin separating it and his hand on the other side. It feels like being fucked twice, one thick and slow, stretching against your clit. The other, thin and fast, pumping around against your cervix in whatever space has been molded to take it.

“No one else.” His gaze is animalistic, hungry, desperate. With each thrust his hardens torso twists and twitches, your tiny body beneath him rocking back and forth on the ground. It hurts, it’ll definitely leave bruises on your skin, but the pleasure overtakes you.

He slides his tongue out of you and it slithers to wrap around your throat. He looks over you, head nearly twice as big as yours with his sharp horns dangling over either side of your face. This shouldn't be as enjoyable as it is. You should be scared. The leader of Onichynous is splitting you open on the floor of a wandered infested forest after turning into one himself.

But the way he stares at you overrides all of those things. He looks down at you with such a longing mixture of emotions. He looks down at you like you’re the most precious and dear thing to him in the world, like he’s been waiting for this, like he needs this like he needs to breathe air. Like he can’t believe it’s finally happening.

His red eyes widen at your eye contact as you raise a hand to rest against his scaled cheekbone. Not entirely human. Not entirely wanderer. Completely Sylus.

His eyes glaze over, whether from the pleasure or the intimacy of the act, you’re unsure. But it moves you to speak. “Yours. Forever.”

That pushes him over the edge, wings flapping violently behind him, horns scraping into the dirt beneath you without care as he leans his head down beside yours. His tongue squeezes at your throat, his breath and pace quickening as he fucks sloppily into you.

“Fuc- mmph...” he stutters into your ear, trying to form words. And then he whimpers, a high-pitched, voice-cracking cry right into your ear. And then he cums. And you can feel it happen.

You can feel a sudden warmth spread through your lower half, feel each spurt and twitch of his cock. The pressure increases as it pumps into you and pushes against your walls, making you feel even more stuffed as he stays inside you.

It must be some kind of wanderer, monster anatomy but you can feel the base of his cock tightening as he cums. It swells and grows, pushing further up against your clit. With each twitch of his hips, the base rubs on the nerves until you finally come undone on him.

“Fuck! Sylus! I’m-!” You cry out.

“I know, Sweetie,” he moans, voice hoarse, “Keep cumming. For me.”

You close your eyes, whole body tensing as release tingles through your muscles like a spell. Each pulse of pleasure quivering throughout your body; a blanket of white taking over your every thought. Your legs wrap and tighten around Sylus’ waist as he rocks forward into you, slowing down with every hump as you slowly become overstimulated.

“Nnph. Sylus, too much. Can’t.” You whimper out, eyes squeezed shut as you paw at his torso to slow down. He doesn’t reply, but his body comes to a halt until he’s still above you. His breath is warm against your chest in slow, warm puffs. Time seems to come to a stop; your body feels heavy, and your mind floating above. There’s nothing besides you, the ground beneath you, and Sylus deep inside you.

After what feels like hours (but could very well be minutes), Sylus shifts. A sharp claw slides gently under your back, supporting your weight as it picks up you. You keep your eyes closed in a heightened state of bliss, trusting Sylus as he moves until you are chest-to-chest with him while he lays on his back. The leather blanket of his wings rests on your shoulders as they wrap around you, keeping you warm and protected from the outside world. His cock remains nestled deep inside you, your stomach feeling tender - used. As if sensing your awareness to the discomfort, Sylus runs a sharp finger down the crest of your back, humming a cracked and hoarse tune. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He just sits in the silence with you.

With the strength of Linkon’s most powerful hunter, you lift your tired head off his chest and peer up at him to find his ruby eyes already staring back at you. He looks unsure, almost vulnerable, an expression that a giant horned wanderer shouldn’t be able to express. His hand steadies on your waist, keeping a light hold on you like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

“You mean the world to me Sylus.” You say, eyes glimmering with intent and honesty. He doesn’t respond but his chest stops rising for a moment, a baited breath like he needs a moment for the words to set in. You can see the thoughts racing in his mind as he stares back at you and for a split second, his eyes shine with unshed tears.

He looks away before you can comment, a smile returning to his face before looking back at you with a soft gaze. “And you are my world.” He says softly. He pulls you tight to him in an embrace that feels like more than just a hug, nuzzling his scaled-maw to your cheek. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

“Of course.” You smile, care seeping into your voice. “How are you feeling? Are the side effects… gone?” You ask, unsure of how to approach to topic.

“Yes, thanks to you. I don’t know where I’d be without my feisty little kitten.” he teases, but there’s no bite to his tone - It’s filled with appreciation and truth. He smiles and as he does the tips of his scales begin to crumble to dust.

“You never cease to surprise me, Miss Hunter. I thought I walked this unforgiving road alone. You’ve proven me wrong, I’m sorry for doubting your trust in me.” He picks up your hand in his now considerably more human-sized palm and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll answer all your questions once we’re back at the base. But for now, let me tend to your body. Rest. Stop that wired train of thought in your pretty little head.”

“I don’t think -” you start in protest, but he pushes a no-longer taloned finger to your lips and hushes. “I’ll play kitty cards with you all night long if you wait until we get back.” He bribes, and you can’t find it in you to deny his offer.

“Pinky promise?” You ask with a small voice, suddenly alerted to the feeling of Sylus’ monster cock shrinking within you and leaving you feeling empty even though he remains within.

“Pinky promise.” He replies, locking his finger around yours and sealing the deal with a spark of red evol energy swirling between you two. He notices your brief discomfort, holding you closer to him with a look nothing short of true love for you. “Thank you for this. You’ve given me a support that I don’t deserve.” He whispers into your ear. You tear your gaze from where your hands are intertwined and are met with human Sylus once again.

“Don’t insult yourself like that. What we think we deserve and what others see in us are rarely the same—sometimes, we just have to accept the kindness offered.” You say in a stern voice. He looks at you with utter respect, eyes glowing like you’re his queen. “As you wish.” He hums, and it finally seems like everything you’ve said sinks in. “Now let’s get you cleaned up. As stunning as you are, I don’t think dried wanderer blood is a healthy fashion statement.” He lulls as he begins to unwrap his arms from you.

“Rest, kitten.” Sylus smiles as he smudges dried blood away on your cheek.“Although we’ll need to find where our phones fell to. And new clothes.”

#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds sylus #l&ds sylus x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #sylus smut #Love and Deepspace #Reader insert #lads smut #sylus x mc #lads sylus smut

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jjungkooksthighs · 2 months ago

Text

Zenith

♊︎–Pairing: (X-02) Caleb x fem reader

♊︎–Genre: Angst, fluff, and smut

♊︎–Rating: 18+/ nsfw (mdni)

♊︎–Word Count: 17,200 words (31 pages y’all are in for it)

♊︎–Summary: After being torn away from you, your lover finally comes home to you after a mission alone and without you. You soon realize he hasn’t been taking care of himself in his separation from you and take it upon yourself to fix that in the ways that only you can.

♊︎–Warnings: Possessive!X-02/Caleb, obsessive!caleb, soft dom!Caleb, sub! reader, mentions of blood, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, dirty talk (lbr I love that shit), praising, handjob, grinding, cunnilingus (oral f), creampie, breast worship (just a tad), breast/nipple play, nipping, sucking, begging, muscle kink, scratching, cum eating, manhandling, cursing, wet and messy sex (he’s hungry alr), size kink, face riding, pinning, lots of marking, fucked against the wall

♊︎–A/N: I humbly present my first offering to fellow LADS and Caleb enthusiasts that was made with excitement following his myth release and then horniness when I started ovulating this week. I was extremely horny and this…well, this happened.

The ticking of the clock, once a sound that elicited excitement in the promise of his return, now grates on your ears like the engines of the spaceship that has become a prison rather than a home to you. The clock’s sound, after years of longing fiercer than the sun, was harsh and unforgiving in its continual, ceaseless passing that waited for no one.

Least of all the love of your life.

It had been a blue moon the last time you’d been separated from him, but this mission that the higher ups had given you both had been unlike anything either of you had been assigned.

It had come after your paired scouting of the ruined planet of Philos, the life and greenery of the planet now a wasteland of death and scraps.

You both had been tasked with discerning if the planet were habitable after years of quiet desolation, and after only a single moon on Philos, you had determined that the anger and sorrow of the system had harvested too deeply into the very soils to sustain more than the weeds that grew sadly from the split, fractured soil.

You try to sleep, the dark canvas of space and array of stars offering you their respects in the dim, slow blinks of the white balls of light that colored the endless expanse before the glass panes of the viewport that act as bars between you and the limitless freedom of darkness beyond.

That damn ticking. It doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even muffle itself in apology when you throw a pillow over your head as your thoughts fly to the terrible, cold abyss of the worst that could have happened to the only person who held your heart in his hands.

You toss and turn, body sore and aching from being launched too hard into the metal of the training room walls when the training bot, who had taken the form of a large, mechanized Hoartfrost Wyrmload, had taken advantage of your momentary lapse of action when your lover’s face, twisted in pain, had flashed through your mind when you’d let it wander.

Had it not been for the powered exosuit you’d worn, you surely would have had bruises, much less broken bones.

To punish you for your failure to clear the training floor unscathed as Ever’s most finely crafted and battle-hardened weapon, you had had to fight for hours in that fluorescently lit room, the loud clangs and broken whirrs of the bots slicing through the air as the black, blade-like extensions of your power cut them through. Sent out in waves, it had been relentless monotony, but you’d had no choice.

The organization’s manipulative, calculating leader would never allow you to see your lover-much less protect him from their malevolent experimentations-if you did not do their bidding.

Only after 202 monsters and a decapitated Wyrmlord had the thick, heavy automated door risen and you’d all but run to your chambers, heart racing in excitement.

Asta, the ship’s commandant and head of Ever, had told you that the he who your heart desired would finally, finally be allowed to rendezvous with you there after he debriefed the highest ranked officers on his mission that he’d been sworn to keep hidden even from you.

It’s been 2 days, 20 hours, and 2 minutes since his departure and each second feels like a decade in the excruciating torment of his absence.

You curse under your breath, the sharpness of worry curving your nails inward toward your palm as the blanket your other half had made for you slides from your shoulders when you rise from your bed. Its warmth fails to offer even half the amount that your lover does, but you still cover your shoulders with it, imagining that it is him that envelops you as you pad forward toward the biggest of the translucent panels that overlooks the infinite space of the darkness.

The brightest of the hot, white orbs of light of the stars looks like two joined stick figures, forever together in each other’s embrace as the two twin bodies who you’d named Pollux and Castor study you.

It is the Gemini constellation– one that you find your attention drawn to in your lover’s absence. You press your hand against the glass, peering up at the star sign he was created under and praying to it to watch over him while you cannot.

You liked to think that the stars knew when your lover was near and tried to commune with you in your bottomless worry whenever you were apart from him, for the glow of their light always seemed so much brighter when he was near. When he held you in his arms under them and spoke sweet, wonderful promises into your ear that he always, always kept.

Right now, Castor and Pollux flare fiercely, almost as if to mock you in the biting, gnawing loneliness that only your lover could soothe.

His name flits between your lips like an atom through space–quiet but there, refusing to be relinquished.

The quiet of your chamber soon steals his name, its taunt loud in the seizure of it.

You pull your blanket tighter around your barely clad body, the thin, short nightgown of black you’d worn to match your sinking spirits leaving much of you exposed to the prickling chill of the chamber that never was warm unless he was in it.

“Hurry back to me, Caleb,” you whisper to the stars, hoping they will hear your plea, “I miss you.”

The figures of light nestled within expanse of the endless sky of ebony twinkle as if to tell you they’ve received your wish, and then the only door admitting entry to your chambers directly behind you opens, all the way across the room, makes reverberating rumbling noises that grind your ears in their unpleasant din.

The clock continues to chip away at time as if you aren’t enslaved to it.

He’d have come to you by now if he were on the ship, and so you don’t bother to look away from the stars when you grouse, “If Asta has sent you to examine me out of concern for my performance, you can shove that bullshit up your ass.”

You’d become well acquainted with combat, your own code rewritten by Ever over and over again in their pursuit to make a heartless warrior capable only of doling out death and destruction. But your hardwiring had changed the moment your lover had laid his lips over yours, had professed his love so tenderly that it disassembled the walls around your heart and tuned it just to him.

Footsteps sound from behind you, the thud of heavy boots not lifting a hair of fear on you. Their wearer moves with purpose, never standing still as they cross the open chamber toward you. They do not cease their magnetic pull toward you until they stand behind you, still and unmoving as the planetary systems before you.

So absorbed in the memory of his smile that brought more light to your world than any moon and in eyes that have entire supernovas swirling within them, you don’t even notice the way your body has already begun to seek the one to the back of you.

“I was told that it is good manners to speak when you’re spoken to. I don’t need an examination right now. Leave, because no one except X-02 may touch me.” You adjust the soft velvet blanket closer around you, wishing with the might of an entire galaxy that your lover was here with you. “You can tell Asta I’ll execute whatever Wanderer that Ever wants dead in two seconds flat if he just gives me the word. I’ll terminate it in exchange for what I really want.”

Silence.

A heart’s beat passes before strong, familiar arms encircle you around your middle, and instinctively, you let their bearer bring you against him.

Were it anyone else, your impulse to fight would already have rendered them unconscious and in a heap on the floor.

But you know this embrace. You’ve been swathed in it many, many times before.

Then, with a voice smoother than honey, “And what is it you really want, huh, pip-squeak? Surely it must be me.”

From the very first word he speaks, your entire soul seems to ascend, your attention uncontrollably tugged into those familiar, warm discs of nebulae that make a ring where irises should be that are of purple and pink.

“Caleb…” You say his name like he’s a cosmos that has bewildered you, gazing up from where he stands over a head above you as one of your hands rises so your fingers can explore him in a gentle orbit along his cheekbone as if to prove to yourself that he’s here, that he’s not some holograph you unwittingly conjured up.

The usual black visor he wears is gone, the same powered exosuit of black covering him from his neck down. It was the garb that most shook in terror upon seeing, but for you, it inspired only the weightless feeling of joy and joviality.

The sunset of his eyes bask you in their tenderness as he leans into your touch, a long, drawn out breath falling from between his lips as he relishes in the feeling of softness that only you can summon in a universe so twisted and cruel.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back to you, pip-squeak.” He apologizes, the guilt caging each syllable while he tilts his head down so their sin is left at the crest of your forehead, his arms coaxing you more insistently into him so that not even the air can come between the two of you. “You were in my every thought whether I was awake or in hypersleep. Every second I spent away from you, I wanted to be by your side. I wanted to be with you in any way I could.”

His larger hands that rest on your abdomen move around the atmosphere of you, around each side of your waist, urging you to turn and face him. He rotates you as if you’re his very axis, and the truth of his confessions utterly disintegrates the sadness that had begun to pressurize between your ribs— that had begun to make even breathing a hard thing to do.

In its undoing, however, the bottled up emotions you’d kept so carefully contained spiral out of control, overwhelming you such that you–without even a fraction of your strength–strike your fist against where his heart throbs for you.

“You stopped responding to my messages and calls exactly at hour and minute 22:02. I thought something had happened.” Your eyes start to burn with the tears that threaten to escape, your fingers finding the edge of his jaw before you take his chin between them. He crumbles at your touch, his expression shifting to one of shame over his err as he lets you maneuver him closer like you’re the center of his gravitational field. “You aren’t allowed to do that to me, Caleb. I…I-” your voice deserts you, the tight lump that has formed in your throat forcing you to try to swallow past the worry that had been gripping you with the intensity of a thousand hands.

I can’t lose you.

His dark brows stretch toward each other, concern shooting through his eyes in their versions of meteorites before he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m here now, pip-squeak. It’s alright.” His fingers dig possessively into the soft flesh of your waist as if you might disappear if doesn’t hold onto you tight. “I want you to know that I lost contact with Ever when I went too far past the protofield protecting the ruined kingdom of Philos. It somehow fried my communication systems, pip-squeak.” His voice cracks under the weight of being alone, of being ripped away from you while he’d been able to do little but be Ever’s volatile weapon who it kept from exploding by using you as its collateral. “I couldn’t contact you no matter how many times I tried. When I returned, I demanded to see you, but they threatened to hurt you if I didn’t brief them on what had happened down there.”

“You of all people know that I can handle myself,” you sniffle when the first tear falls, his irises tracking it as it descends down your cheek. Long, metallic digits of his right hand find it before it can douse his foot in your sadness as you croak, “I can handle anything so long as I am with you.”

Your sadness, surely, is his Roche limit in how cataclysmic it is to him. Enough to make him want to collapse everything until only the two of you remain. But there was no escape from some gravitational phenomena. Phenomena like Ever that had invaded every corner of the universe and would never cease to persecute you until he tore it all down for you.

And to do that, he needed to get stronger. No matter what it took.

“I know, honey. I know that better than anyone. But I have to be Ever’s dog to keep you safe. You are their prized possession–but more importantly, mine.” He adds after a pause, irises locked onto your next tear on the other side of your face. He catches this with the same hand where no sensation kindles his receptors any longer–with the knuckle in the middle of where a human finger would have been– the cool wetness of your emotions putting his systems into alert. “Do you remember what I told you when we went down to the remains of Philos together, Y/N?”

You nod against him, too choked up to answer beyond that even if you tried.

You both had crash landed on that planet, only his metallic wings and the tortuous pain they caused him saving the both of you when your cruiser’s engine had failed. He’d become unconscious after using his body as a shield against terrain that had slowly been doomed to death by a planet that’s energy source had abandoned it. It had been your kiss that woke him, the distraction of your tender lips almost enough to negate the agonizing pain that stabbed into your every cell like pointed icicles from where your palms had been connected through the transfer port in your mechanical suits.

You’d felt the grimace and contorted expressions against your lips while you’d siphoned the sounds of his suffering into you, wishing with every fiber of your being that you could have taken all of it into yourself.

So many times you had been forced–trapped– in the experimental glass pod, unable to do anything but watch while the only person your heart longed for had suffered, his heart-rending bellowings unfathomable and unescapable even when the prickling syringes and needles tried to erase your memories.

Always they remained and lingered, just like the name you’d given him.

And his pain… it was beyond anything any creature should have been capable of bearing—an unholy force that consumed every part of him, twisting his insides, grinding his being into pieces. It wasn’t a simple ache or throbbing wound. It was as if every nerve in his body had been frozen and shot with ice, each pulse of agony a jagged shard of frigidity, carving deeper and deeper until he could no longer tell where anything was.

But he never failed to recognize you and he had not hesitated to hold you close in his arms, cradling you there as if you were the most precious thing in his eyes as you both careened into the landscape of decay and desolation. He’d willingly taken the brunt–or rather, the entirety–of the fall for you, the idea of any harm coming to you more horrifying to him than his own death.

His unconsciousness had become his enemy, his worst nightmare exerting itself upon him in a reaper’s scythe that brought only your sharp screams and wails, your lifeless, broken body in a heap while he’d held you against his chest. His own sorrow had flowed forth like a waterfall in the stream of crimson tears down his face, the grief and suffering breaking every part of him into pieces that attacked and impaled themselves into each other over and over again.

He’d only escaped that haunting, horrible hell of darkness and cold worse than any winter was by following your voice that beckoned him back towards the soothing, warm light of life that he only found meaning in when you were the his moon that drew the waves of being forth, his very epicenter attracted to your beautiful, gentle core.

In what once had been a lively, vibrant meadow rested nature’s cemetery. Only the sickly, warped weeds sprouted beneath him where you’d somehow managed to drag him against a dead trunk of a tree that had been split in half by the sickness that had ravaged this land.

But there you were, on your knees between his with your kind, nurturing lips planted between the part of his hair as you’d hummed the remains of the song he’d sung for you since you were children whenever he needed to calm you down.

It was a song only you knew. A song that needed no words when your eyes could speak them so much clearer than any letters could hope to try to describe the meaning of. A song that, like a black hole, called forth everything that you both were to each other. It channels it all together before transforming, evolving, changing it into something so much more than any word could express.

He’d confessed to you there, in that meadow on Philos–a once human inhabited planet that required massive amounts of energy, power, and sacrifice of one sovereign for many–what both of you had been held captive from admitting for so many years prior, your memories chipped and chaffed by the needle of Ever’s scientists that, until he’d grown strong enough to serve as a better candidate, had stuck into you.

In effort to find a way to contain you, to control you, the head of Ever had assigned only one person to ever be your partner when sent on missions meant for bloodshed and annihilation of the monsters it had created.

And oh, how hard he had fallen for you. It was as inescapable as trying to free himself from gravity.

You grounded him. Enveloped and surrounded him in every sense of the word with your cute laughs, your pretty smiles, your glimmering eyes, your voice of silk that, even when you told a bad joke, still trilled softly and dulcetly in his ears. You were everywhere in his head and yet, so far away, as untouchable as the clouds in the sky up until that fateful day in the meadow.

There, he’d let the confessions burst through his chest like some supernova, the bond you’d built together with him birthed anew under the crushing weight of what had been–and what could be–when he’d pierced through the deep space of the forbidden and uttered, the undeniable and undisputable. He’d only ever wanted to be in your world, for he’d for so long yearned for a place beside you that was not one of imagination or observance from a distance.

After all, he had been doomed to that tortuous fate before becoming your hunting partner when he’d been stuck behind that horrible glass wall with you trapped on the other side.

And when he’d coaxed you close in that meadow, those same arms–one cold, rigid, and bionic while the other was warm, pliant, and fleshly– led your front against the strong, chiseled chest covered in the dark fabric that lovingly clung to what little of his human body remained, he’d declared a different kind of need–one that wanted to devour you from where you’d sat atop of him.

You’d never forget the way his mouth had sought your ear, his breath hot against the shell of it as he’d said something that would lay eternally with you every time you closed your eyes. Every second that was spent in the shivering rigidness of his absence.

“I want to feel your warmth, your heartbeat…Everything…I want you to stay with me…Forever.”

When he’d nuzzled his cheek against yours, coveting every moment of touch that made every single one of his receptors charged with what felt like electricity zipping through his body, you’d let him, the obsessive flare in his eyes sparking something baser in you that only ignited deliciously more when he touched you like you were his entire world and looked at you like you were a celestial creature descended from the sun, the moon and the stars.

No amount of testing or experimentation on you could erase that memory. He’d made sure of it, hiding that, among what remained of your memories with him, inside a small pocket of a void in your mind that even Ever could not touch after many attempts spent honing his power for your sake.

Only two months and two days have passed since then, but he’d turned your world upside down and become the equator of your system far, far before then. It was as if your kiss had been the unavoidable calamity that had made his desires collide and converge, their amalgamation too powerful for him to resist in your magnetic pull whenever he saw you, smelled you, thought of you.

And now, as he stands before you as solid as the glass at your back, that same reaction, set off by every atom that made you up, has you repeating those words he’d spoken to you by the remains of that charred yet living tree stump on Philos. The same stump had had the beginnings of moss attached to it, the two bodies of alternate forms helplessly clinging to each other even after their environment had been unforgiving to them.

Under the intensity of those nebulous eyes powerful enough to make you fall to your knees, you repeat what your lover had professed so ardently to you, his yearning dressing the guilt that is draped under his eyes. It is enough to take your breath away when his long, mechanical fingers wrap around your wrist where you had been dragging your own digits down towards his lips.

He leads your digits to them, the pads of your own fingers steered along the edge of his mouth before they follow the outline of his lower, fuller lip. It has become cracked in the aridity of whatever planet he’d been sent to, and you wet your own as you stare, unabashedly at his.

Embarrassment that had once perched heavily over your shoulder at the very thought of him no longer does in the nest he’s made in your chest, and so the words fly free when he draws your digits over and along his thinner upper lip to his defined Cupid’s bow. It, too, is dry and begging for the nourishment only you can give.

“You are dehydrated, Caleb. You weren’t taking care of yourself again,” you whisper, the nerves in your still human digits crackling with sensation when he pilots them so they catch and carry the plumpness of his lower lip down, his saliva seeking you before the pink of his lip returns to contain it after your fingers have been conducted toward the corner of his jaw so you can hold him there.

Your touch sends sparks down his spine, and he relishes in the warmth of you that no sun could ever hope to emit as he closes his eyes, nudging into your hand while he utters, “That does not matter to me when there are more important things that require my attention.”

The meaning of that is not lost on you, and you knew well the lengths he would go to shower you in every iota of his devotion as vast as space itself. His calibration had, for a long time, been warped in its centering all around you, and so descript was it that he often forgot to attend to his own needs as long as yours were. You’d since figured out a way to navigate that, for it burned you to see him neglect himself for your sake.

“I’m thirsty, Caleb. Carry me to the kitchen, will you?” You ask, affection flowing forth like water when he gives a smile that could light up any room at your request. You encircle your arms around his neck, needing this closeness just as much as he does after being away from you too long.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, pip-squeak,” his hands travel down from where they’d been resting on your hips, ginger and gentle as they glide from your sides downward past the curve of your backside to their destination on the backs of your legs.

When he’s wound his fingers around the underside of your thighs, it takes little effort for him to hoist you up against him, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist like he is your own charging port. Unlike you, part of him has been fused with metal, his right arm lost to Ever’s unassailable greed for perfection in creating life that was as dangerous as it was perfect.

Created to serve as your precursor–your corrupted guardian and watchdog–your body had been spared over the trials done on his so that you could be the organization’s angel of blood and slaughter.

With you held closely in his arms, he crosses the distance of the open concept chamber complete with a long, rectangular coffee table made entirely of glass that is accented by two black leather couches in front and behind it. On the far side of it are two lounge chairs, one smaller than the other, arranged next to each other and facing the viewport with its wide view of the stars and dark sky. The larger one is worn and has small tears in its armrests from where he’d gripped them so hard during many dawns and dusks spent either with you in his head, on his lap, or between his legs.

On one end of the parlor is an impressively sized bedroom, grand bathroom, and boudoir, the last of which he’d built himself using his Evol, his sweat, and his hands. On the other end of the sitting room, there is a sleek kitchen of chrome appliances, grey cabinets, and a sizable island of white marble that looked like the moon’s dust had settled across it.

It is here that your lover brings you, unwilling to let you go even for a moment as he strides to the refrigerator and waits patiently for you to open it.

In the short time he’d gathered you in his arms, you’d been swept astray into the whirling domain of his eyes, and when he arches a brown brow upward in a teasing move that gets your pulse quickening, you pry your sights away from him.

Like he is your own force of momentum, your inertia is swift to alter its state and you open the refrigerator door, quickly procuring the pitcher of apple juice he’d prepared for you the morning he’d left. The note written on a sticky note still remains stuck to its side, the words ‘Made with love for my special, beautiful girl whom I miss dearly’ smudged from the oils on your fingertips as you’d held it.

Only a quarter of the amber colored liquid remains, for you’d been unable to resist the sweet taste that reminded you so much of him when it fell across your tongue. He doesn’t question your choice of drink when he notices the bent edges of the sticky note that must have been anxiously fiddled with by your fingers while you’d waited for him.

Instead, he teases you once again as he turns to place you on the island behind you. “Missed me, didn’t you, pip-squeak?”

“You taught me that missing someone is wanting them to be with you even when they can’t be. And every minute you were away, I wished for you to be here with me, by my side.” You confess, the frigid and hard stone under you a stark contrast to the calefaction he radiates. Not wanting to let him go, you ask, “By the way, can you get me the glass I left at the edge of the counter? My arm isn’t long enough to reach it.”

Your admission has his blood rushing to his face, a grin that even Cupid would have been jealous of crossing his face.

“But of course, my lady,” he bows his head in obedience, the playfulness jumping off each vowel tugging at the chords of your boundless feelings for him. “One glass for the pretty girl coming right up.”

As if every second of your touch had charged him up, he dutifully reaches around you for the apple-shaped glass you’d left out earlier. The small action has him leaning forward, his hot breath fanning against your lips. Like this, you can tell that the usual lively color of those lips of his that are vibrant like a flower’s petal in spring had lost some of their vivid pigmentation, the lack of proper nutrition stealing it from him.

It makes your stomach twist, even the basic tenets of self-care eradicated from his mind when all but you dwelled in it during the times he was separated from you.

With the cup in tow, he rises back to his full height, oblivious as usual to his malnourished state that only befell him when he was away from you. Anger worms its way through you, an anger that would bury itself in you until you’d found a way to save him from the assholes that sent him on that godsforsaken mission and did this to him.

“How much do you want, pip-squeak?” He inquires, taking the pitcher from you and pouring the sparkling juice forth from it.

His voice cools the ire that had been slithering inside your stomach, but jealousy over a damned cup that had apprehended his attention away from you makes you possessively squeeze him between your thighs where he stands.

He makes a surprised sound at that, the sound making you ascend as it tumbles from his cracked lips.

Your resolve hardens as you watch him selflessly tend to you through the stream of juice that conforms to the shape of the cup he’d crafted for you.

“Give it all to me.” You tell him, impatient for his attention again to be attached to you.

The burbling stops, and finally, those eyes of his rush toward yours like fucking meteorites.

“I told you before, pip-squeak,” His fingers constrict around the neck of the pitcher, the glass cracking under the pressure of him as he sets it down, “If it’s my unique scent you want,” with his other hand, he brings the cup of juice under your lips, “a uniform filled with memories,” he tips the cup just the slightest bit toward you, your mouth parting to accept the cold, tart liquid over your tongue, “or even the authority to command me,” the last few words siphon something hungry in you despite the liquid that is beginning to fill your mouth, the slender, metallic digits of his other palm slipping around the back of your neck to tilt your head back so more of the juice can spill between your lips with its sweet tinge, “I’ll make sure you get everything you could ever ask for.”

You hold eye contact with him like he might vanish if you don’t keep him held under the whirling pressure of you, tipping your chin back more as he encourages you with the hand he holds you with while he keeps you close, just as unwilling to be too far away from you.

The sight of you–your legs spread with him nestled between them and your wet, soft lips accepting what he feeds you as you let him lean you back, willing and pliable for him–makes the still-fleshy organ in his netherregion harden where he’s confined in his powered exosuit.

He observes you with captivation starring the corner of his purple-pink orbs, watching the honey-colored juice disappear into the cavern between your lips as it pours forth into you. Each mouthful of it down your throat has him feeling as though his internal temperature has begun to overheat, a different kind of steam demanding to be let out when the last of the contents of the drink flow into the chamber of your mouth.

You don’t swallow this one.

Rather, you lift one of your hands, making a come-hither gesture with your finger while intention–magnifying and polarizing–harnesses him to you like a magnet.

He knew you more intimately than you knew yourself, and so the realization that dusks over his countenance casts you into the heatwave of his fierce, intense emotions once reserved only for his mind.

As tall as he is, his shadow shades you in the soft light of the moon that sits in the distance of the dark realm outside as your lover’s front falls forward, one of his hands closing around the edge of the counter as he husks. “You’re a bad liar, pip-squeak. You can’t fool me. You want me to drink from you that badly, huh?” the glass he’d been pressing against your lips is put down, his irises dipping from yours to your mouth before his index comes upon one side of your cheek where his thumb spans your other, his other knuckles urging your chin up so that you can’t escape the all encompassing gravity of his affliction for you. His hot breath fans your lips as he draws inevitably nearer, “You can be such a silly girl, and yet-”

Waiting for him to come to you is an eternity you can’t possibly bear, and when finally he closes the distance between you– two masses of matter inextricably colliding and crashing together as you seek each other’s every molecule in a searingly passionate kiss–the natural release of the liquid you’d been storing for him is diffused into the chasm of his mouth, his groan short-circuiting you as he deepens the kiss, the fusion between you expelling reason and logic until all there is is him.

More you give and more he takes, his long tongue flitting over yours while he explores you like it’s the first time.

Against your mouth, he breathes, “You’re irresistible to me. I can’t stop myself from falling for you. Every. Single. Time.” The words are passed between voyages of his mouth as he returns, over and over again, to his origin point of you, fire licking up at you from where he’s connected to you.

His fingers depress themselves into your flesh as if you are the foundation he needs to stay afloat in the depth of his all consuming weakness for you, the slight pressure that action imposes on you making your lips pucker against his where you feed the still crisp juice to him. Stray trails of it dribble down your chin, your neck and then between the valley of your breasts that strain against the low v-cut nightgown hardly even reaching past your ass.

You’d chosen it knowing it was his favorite of the many he’d stitched and sewn himself just for you. He’d taught you a great many things about feelings, emotions, and that little thing called desire, and you’d begun to see just how much-with the tiniest of actions or words- you jumbled his impulses and want that only you could rewire, rewrite, and reshape.

“Caleb,” you grapple for the leather strap overlaying his powered exosuit below where the amber colored crystal is embedded at the base of his neck, his mouth claiming yours as you pull him closer, needing him everywhere and anywhere you can have him in the visceral summonings only he can make well up within you. Your shallowing breaths and spit swirl together in the clash of your tongues and teeth, neither of you able to resist the other.

He swallows what makes it past the ring of his lips, hungry for more even when your lungs begin to burn from lack of air, and in their enviousness, rip you away from him.

Like the wane of a moon, his eyes have gone dark when he breaks the seal of his mouth over yours, the string of saliva bridging you to him refusing to snap until he straightens, his index smearing the remains of his own essence over your upper lip as he utters, “My name isn’t a safe word, pip-squeak. Saying it won’t make me stop.” His hand slides into your hair while the other now has the counter in an iron-grip as he battles to control himself, his lips coursing toward the edge of your mouth where his finger had been. The pink of his tongue slips from between them to lap up in a long, wet stripe as he collects the pleasing, saccharine remnants of apple juice that had escaped. “You just make me want more.”

Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, his words making heat bloom in the apex between your thighs that you hadn’t even realized you’d begun to rut against him in search of friction where they are still wound, with the rest of your legs, around his waist.

“Y-you made it spill,” you stammer when that knowing muscle betwixt his lips is brought under the edge of the other side of your own. There, he leaves the slick of his saliva from his tongue’s travels downwards as he gathers the taint of sticky, sugary remains on you there, too.

“You think that was an accident, baby? It wasn’t.” His hand slinks toward the back of your head so he can take a handful of your locks and gently guide you down until your back meets the hard plane of the counter. Reduced to a weightless mass in the omnipresent skies of him you could forever exist within, you can do little but wait for him to maneuver you, your own digits holding on tighter to the leather strap below his neck where he hovers above you because somehow, someway, you needed to keep yourself by him, the void of space observing you from outside the glass walls of your chambers both a hope and a curse.

“Mmm… Thank you for feeding me. That was good,” He hums, the transparency of his yearning there in his eyes, showing the basest part of him sequestered in the far reaches of his orbs while he continues his devoted descent, the passage of his mouth one that follows the winding paths of the existing tracks of liquid that had traveled south along your throat and chest from earlier. Each time his soft lips land, the hot of his tongue is there to scavenge for your taste that has become deliciously mixed with that of apples. Between them, he tells you, “I missed you so much, pip-squeak.”Craving more of you, he keeps driving his mouth to the ocean that is you, the wet sound of his kisses on your flesh and devoutness of his touch making everything else sink away.

Before they can completely desert you, you need him to know something. You hardly stutter his name out in a poor excuse for his attention, but it is enough for him to pause, his mouth ghosting the spot between your collarbones where’d he’d been laving the pink muscle along the trails of the sweet liquid that had converged into one before dripping down your chest.

“What is it, my sweet girl?” He questions, tilting his head to the side so the ebony of his bangs falls just over the one eye that he usually sweeps free of his fringe. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re not allowed to leave me like that again. It felt like one half of me was missing. Like there was an empty hole in my chest the entire time you were gone.” You tug him down with you, the metal of the roboticized fingers of his right hand bracing him by one side of your head while his other cradles the back of your skull. His breath hitches when you confess, “It was like that hole sucked up all of the happiness and good in my world because you were not in it.”

Before him, you’d been a stranger to all but death, your swords sharp and your orders from the scientists at the lab unforgiving. But despite missions of bloodshed and piercing, terrorizing screams, everyday you’d both watched each other from behind the see-through wall of your glass cages. You’d listened to his stories and musings raptly while inextricably drawn to his side like he was the center of all gravity, your palms separated by the barrier between you when you weren’t trapped in your glass pod.

He had always been the only source of sensation or sentiment, and in him, you’d found what only he could give: home.

He can feel the vulnerability that has locked your muscles in place, so he croons, “I’m here now. Nothing will take me away from you ever again. We will always be together.”

“Promise me,” you don’t let his words drift away from you, the echo of a vow made when you’d both been much smaller surfacing in the back of your mind, “Promise me again, Caleb. I won’t forgive you if you break it.”

Something flickers behind the window of his eyes. The tenderness that colors his voice dulls everything but him, even the clock’s ticking muted when he answers, the blizzard of the air pushed away when the summer of his breath blows along your chin from where he looks fondly down at you, “I promise, my one and only.”

When you relax beneath him, your ligaments freed from their invisible chains, you use the grip you have on the leather strap to lead him to your waiting lips, the sincerity of his words tangible in the featherlight brush of his lips over yours that makes your heart skip a beat. He must hear that, because he deepens the kiss as if he can circumfuse all of his love into you through that action alone. Insistence takes over, and you relish in it when he slots his mouth harder into yours, not willing to release you from the endless expanse of his ardor for you until oxygen–the damned nuisance–tears you away from him once again.

His breaths are short and shallow while they coalesce with yours, his chest heaving above you where your other hand–the one not already clutching the thin strap below his throat–rises so your fingers can carefully trace the outline of his lips that are fine and fair, almost like satin. No longer are they dry, the sheen of your spit there, embracing them in your care for him while he stares lovingly at you. His lips are so malleable, so nimble as your digit glides across them, his mouth pursuing your hand as if to forage for more of your warmth.

“Affection?” You pose the question, a fledgling still to the ways of showing the indescribable ways he makes you feel when you’d spent so much of your life behind a glass case.

His orbs soften under the silver light of the moon that all but makes him glow when he affirms, “Affection. Do you need me to shower you in affection, my one and only?”

Your fingers gravitate down his chin, his throat, the upper plane of his chiseled, muscled pectoral where his own heart pounds fiercely and quickly, like it, too, is trying to reach for you; like it, too, preens happily under your touch and attention. Your own thrums against your ribcage to the same hurried rhythm as if in a dance of passion, neither able to step away from the other.

Swept into that symphony of sensation that only he could orchestrate, you don’t hesitate when you answer, “Yes. As long as it is you, the answer will always be yes.”

You watch his veiled control crease his thick brows and diverge his lips, a fragmented breath leaving him when the hard, cool, robotic fingers of his right hand circle around your forearm to direct your open palm up, the sculpted realm of his body hidden by the mesh of his suit where his chest is before the rigidness of alloy encases his throat and shoulders.

At the base of his throat that alloy is carved out to contain a golden crystal, and it is here that he lets your fingers hover, waiting for you to tap it so you can press the series of holographic buttons only you know the right combinations to.

“Humans show affection in many ways. But there are ways they do it that are only done when they have found their other half…their one and only.” The metal of his hand ascends up your arm until his palm is pressed against the back of yours, the interconnected phalanges of his fingers bending around yours as he tells you, “Kissing is one way of it. But to let the one person you share the deepest of bonds with feel and see you–all of you– so they can accept and welcome that, too…that’s another way. And I want you to do that with me, my precious girl. I want you to accept every part of me.”

With his digits wrapped around yours, your index lightly pushes against the crystal nestled between the two notches of his collarbones, the familiar amber light of the holographic panel coming to life before you. You don’t need to look down at it anymore, opting instead to glimpse the nebulas of his eyes that glint intensely at you while your fingers move with practiced ease over each of the three symbols amid the pyramid displayed before you.

After you’ve hit the final one, there’s a series of chinks and chimes, the nanotechnology embedded in his suit fluorescing in particles of purple that ripple outwards from around the crystal, the flow of light extending outward from it as the black mesh and alloy disintegrate everywhere the light falls like a tide of violet over the glorious sculpture of his body.

Inch by inch the canvas of him is bared to you, neither of you hearing the thud of the abandoned crystal hitting the ground beneath you when the art in front of you captures all of your attention, the polar pull too strong for you to resist even if you wanted to when your eyeline veers down his body in a mouthwatering view that has both sets of your lips slickening.

Years of modification, missions, and maintained training regimen had corded every bit of him in muscle, his abdomen etched into six defined, sharp blocks across his middle. Framed by two more below, he’s a well-made mosaic of a human being. Even his pectorals are cut seamlessly in their curvatures that cling to the rest of him, his broad, strong shoulders accenting it all where the left arm connected to them looks as if it has been stroked entirely with thick thew from his bicep to his forearm. From the back of his hand, thick veins branch out, the raised lines offshooting up his forearm.

Where flesh and that same muscle should have wound down his other arm, the metal of a robotic replacement remains. Like a restoration piece, it attempts to match its mirror in the sinuous, sinewy make that no longer can receive feeling beyond pain.

He senses the subtle squirm of your fingers where they now rest against his sternum, your basest receptors within itching to rediscover him.

“Go on, pip-squeak. Feel me,” he implores, trailing the hand of yours that he still holds down across his pectoral until your palm rests just over the strong, erratic palpitations of his heart, “This is all yours. It always has been.”

The beat of the organ beneath your hand pushes your own along, your fingers becoming curious travelers that wander along the mountainous range between his pectorals, the smaller pads of each of your five fingers crossing along, under, and around every contour and curve of him upward from his defined collarbones to the blocks of muscle lining his abdomen. Somewhere along the way, his hand detaches from yours, his knuckles turning white where grips onto the counter so you’re pressed between the pleasing warmth of his body and the cold foundation of the countertop.

Each stroke of your fingers along the plains of his chest has his breaths deepening like each touch both satisfies and starves him, and when your fingers roam down a little too far past the slabs of thew settled over his stomach, that’s when he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck, his balmy breath sweeping over the sensitive area on the side of your throat as he inhales the essence of you before he checks, “You want to go there, my darling? Are you sure?”

You had never cared to know what pleased a man before him. But years of tension and longing for this man before you had built up inside you and made you overflow and fucking brim with want that could only be fulfilled by him.

No one had ever asked what you wanted, much less if you were clear on what it was you even thought you wished for in the first place.

But he had. He always had.

That is why your own digits drift downward until they amble along one side of the impressively large shaft standing at attention between his thick, muscled thighs, fingers skimming along the ridges of his proud cock.

“Fuck,” he curses when you reach his base, only able to get half of your hand around him before ascending. “You really did miss me, didn’t you, my sweet girl?”

“Can I show you?” You turn your head, lips searching for his where they linger along your sternocleidomastoid muscle lining the side of your throat. You peer at him with innocent doe-eyes that are enough to make him into your slave if you wished it. “I know how because of you.” You squeeze him lightly–deliciously– under the bulbous head of his cock, transfixed by the way his eyes become hooded while your hand descends down back to his engorging base just the way he’d taught you to.

Unable to ever deny you when you look at him like that, he breathes out, “You know you can do whatever you want to me, pretty girl.” His handsome expression contorts into one of contained pleasure, his brows pulling together and mouth falling open when you handle him just a little faster, your thumb spreading the newly rolled beads of pre-cum over the mushroom-shaped tip of his length that made your own mouth and sex cry out of need for him.

“This body is yours, baby.” He emits a long, drawn out sound of pleasure when you stroke him there and back, your other fingers brushing at the swelling bulbs of his balls beneath his sumptuously sized cock. You feel, fascination pooling in your core, the way the veins that wrap around his member have begun to jump excitedly under your touch, and gods, did the man in front of you look delicious when in the throes of rapture only you could bring.

Watching him was addicting. It was like a drug that you could never, ever, stop taking, your brain and very blood now so dependent and entrenched in the sights, sounds, sensations, and thoughts of him that it could no longer fire correctly unless your fix was with you–or inside you.

“Mine.” You repeat, your hand picking up the speed you rub him up and down with, your other fingers curling around one of his engorging balls and massaging it before giving the same attention to the other. He inclines his head as if in deference, irises loyally bowing down to yours, for he is utterly weak to your ministrations.

Your voice and touch are his aphrodisiac, and in his absence, he’d become so very starved for you.

“You’ve become so good at this, haven’t you? You’re going to make me cum for you if you keep going like this, pretty girl.” He pants laboriously, concentration painting its way across his face when you tighten your grip around him, the vice of your hand making the top of of his length weep, its wetness drawn down by you every so often when you wind and twist your hand around his large, fleshy head before dragging it back down. “Feels so fucking good, pip-squeak. I taught you too well, didn’t I?”

“I had a very good teacher,” you agree, your legs securing around him harder in your keenness to bring him closer because as near as he is, you need him more than the air that hovers between you while you rub at his testicles with one of your hands and other, becoming a vice around his cock, gropingly glides along his length without pause–without abandon– your joined flesh making obscene sounds of his slick and wetness as you please him.

His breaths become heavier the faster you go, knuckles going whiter than snow as he fights to contain his release that he can feel quivering in the base of his balls all the way to the curving arc of his cock that reaches for you in its beautiful, long curvature.

He’s so fucking close. He’s just at the fucking edge of the precipice of his release, but that end that suspends itself over him now is not the one he had envisioned upon his return to you. The appetite he had for you made him hunger for another, more carnal means. One that only you could parch the cavern of his mouth from.

No, he needed you in a different way. He could wait. He was no stranger to that when it came to you.

“Yeah? Well as much as I want to cum for you, pretty girl,” both of his larger hands seize your wrists, pinning them above your head, his cock pressing against the wailing apex between your legs as he tells you, “You did so well to feed me earlier, and now I want more. I’m so hungry, pretty girl. And only you can satisfy me.”

“Hungry?” You moan when he gives a purposeful roll of his hips into you, the tip of his fully erect cock a little ways under his belly button yet the rest of him sliding deliciously along your folds.

He chuckles low when you moan at the way his cock slides against the button of nerves above your folds when he undulates those toned hips of his again.

“Yes, baby. Starving.” The space around your arms shifts and invisible streaks erupting through it before the colorless, leaden matter set alight by embers shoots down around your forearms and hands, his Evol over gravity tethering you in place so his hands can wrap around your thighs, pulling them over each of his broad shoulders so he’s got your ass resting against his sternum and your sex inches from his waiting mouth.“I told you before…I want everything you are willing to give me. That includes your sweet, delicious honey.”

You don’t resist him. You’re exactly where you want to be right now while his irises lower to where you’re bare for him. He sucks in a breath, staring like he’s looking a fucking meal, “You left yourself bare for me…what a needy girl. But you know, I like my girl needy for me. That’s hot.”

He inhales deeply through his nose, your intoxicating scent making his eyes roll back before those heavy tendrils of his power, receptive to his hunger, pull at the edges of your nightgown. They slowly tug it up your body, each sliver of skin you present to him making his salivary glands water as he swallows around a suddenly dry throat. And between his legs, his cock hardens impossibly more when the fabric of your nightgown crests over your perfect, pert breasts, the peaks of which are stiff and demanding of his attention. You’re already glistening with wetness for him, the evidence of your arousal evident in the sheen of it that coats your cunt from your earlier illicit activity.

“pip-squeak…you’re so beautiful.” It’s a remnant of his usual voice that comes out, for you’ve stolen his ability to breathe not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. “Please let me have you right here on the counter in our kitchen. I’ll make you feel good just like I always do. I’ll take such good care of you, baby.”

Ever mindful of you and your wishes, he gives you the chance to decide. And ever the light to his shadow, you could sooner reject him than the moon could halt its wayward journey around the solar system.

“I’m all yours, Caleb.” You muster, your own words rushed under the current of his eyes that garner every bit of your attention.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me when you say that, my sweet girl?” The pink of his tongue peeks from between his lips, stretching and elongating before it gently passes itself along the slit of your sex, licking up in a long, wet stripe before it curls back into his mouth, the thick glaze of you covering it before it disappears between his lips. “You make me want to please you so fucking much. I won’t be able to stop until you’re a moaning, writhing mess for me.” His eyes darken as the essence of you spreads itself across every taste bud, his fingers coiling harder into your thighs. “I’m going to eat you out until I am satisfied, my sweet girl. Until you fill my fucking mouth with your precious come.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond after that, for he attaches his mouth to your cunt like a man starved, his mouth becoming a circle of searing suction that demands everything you have. The tang of you is unlike any savory substance he’s ever had across his palate, and mixed with the sugary drippings of apple juice that had coursed down from your breasts to your belly to the thin thatch of hair that his nose is now buried in, you’re a mix of delicacy and sin that he will never tire of supping.

“C-Caleb…ah-” You stutter when that expert of a tongue of his sidles between your folds, lapping you up like he’s a dog.

“Mmm, you taste so fucking delicious, baby,” he hums against your sex, the metal of one hand glinting in the silvery moonlight as he slides it up the supple curves of your body until his fingers are wound around your breast. There, he kneads into your flesh, loving the show of expressions dressed in your satisfaction that you bear to him while you are made the receiver of his gluttony. “Your tits are so perky and perfect just like the rest of you. I love how they fit in my hands, pretty girl.” The strong muscle that he glides between your labia there and back makes a sweltering heat begin to pool in the basest part of you, the fingers he has on your breast running over the dusky bud of your areola before they roll it between them. “I can’t wait to put my mouth on them later.”

Your spine arches at that, the beauteous arc of that making him ache between his legs as he ravenously suckles you like you’re a meal he’s happy to wolf down, your very essence slathered across his tongue where he flattens it between your soddened lips, dragging it up and over your hole that clenches around nothing while he consumes you with the vigor of a man drunk on the high of you.

“Yes, fuck…more, pretty girl. Feed me more,” his words are muffled with his mouth still swathed around you, the flat of his tongue splaying itself over your hole only to twist around it in frenzied rotations to draw out more tears of your need from it. “You’re so fucking good.”

Freer than water over the brim of a cup, your voice spills from your throat, “P-please, Caleb…Please.”

With your pleas drawn forth from you, thirst saturates his orbs as he sucks you between his teeth, the sounds of his slurping causing an even fiercer wave of desire to engulf you as your sex sheds even more slick for him. He catches it all onto his tongue with fervor, the resulting sigh of his satisfaction joining the filthy sounds of your passion that you make together.

“You want this tongue inside you, baby?” He mouths from where his mouth is melded to you, “What my sweet girl wants is what she will get.” His last word is swallowed by your cunt when the tip of his tongue slips into your hole, and he slowly sinks into you inch by delicious inch. You keen at that, and when he flicks it against your walls side to side, it makes the warmth of bliss surge up through your fucking veins from where he’s fixed to you with each devastating flick of it along your plush, velveteen insides that welcome him eagerly.

There’s nothing languid about the way it writhes along the soft cushion of your walls, the movements of it wild and fevered like he can’t get enough of your addicting flavor as he uses the possessive grip he’s got on the pillow of your thigh to impel himself deeper inside you while you tighten around him. With his tongue still lodged within you, he mumbles, “Be a good girl and wrap your legs tighter around me, baby. I want to feast on you as much as I can. Can you do that for me?”

The vibrations of his voice are carried along his tongue and straight into the bundle of nerves nestled deep within you. You barely manage to comprehend his request, your brain malfunctioning under the burrowing of his tongue farther into you so you’re stuffed unbelievably with the wet length of him while he palms at your breast, twiddling your nipple between his thumb and index while heat coils in your core.

In the absence of your mind’s input, your walls constrict around him and your body obeys him, your thighs closing around his head to keep him lodged between your legs, your ankles crossing over each other so your heels can secure and lock him in place.

“There you go.” His words are smothered by your cunt as he dines on you, “That’s it, pretty girl.” He guzzles you between his lips, tongue grazing and gliding over each and every edge and lineation of your silken basin until no part of you has not been left lathered in his saliva while his other hand joins its counterpart so on your neglected breast.

You feel those familiar tendrils of his Evol holding your hips in place, even his own power refusing to relinquish you while his hand cups the underside of your tit, thumb dragging itself along your nipple while his artificial palm fondles your other.

You cry out at the series of sensations that don’t pause or let up, his eyes misting over in the haze of his desire that demands every bit of you as he breathes in your inebriating aroma that drives him fucking mad.

You call out his name, begging for him once again, and it earns you another twirl of his tongue around the tunnel of your pussy as he intones, “I know, pretty girl. I’m making you into a desperate little mess. But don’t worry, I’ll make you come soon, baby. I want you to cream all over my face just as badly as you do.” He draws in a deep breath of you at the same time that vulgar tongue of his swivels inside you, his fingers playing with the buds of your nipples while you moan loudly as the coil in your core tautens. “You’re getting close already, huh, baby? It makes me feel so good to be able to listen to you sing for me while I pleasure you. Shit...I just can’t get enough of you.”

You entice him even nearer with your legs, squeezing him between your thighs by way of answer, your words lost to the pleasure that steadily begins to wind around your lower abdomen all the way to your brain. Your hips try to buck against him in search of more friction, but his Evol keeps you in place, unable to move while he tongue-fucks you, swallowing every now and again the taint of your own appetence.

He notices that small movement of your hips, listens to your resulting whine when you are halted from that endeavor, because then the tendrils of his Evol that had been binding you still from above and below your waist start to conform to your shape, the makeshift digits acting as hands that support you down your back and ass rather than tethering your hips in place.

“Ride my face, pretty girl,” he instructs as the hot length of his tongue penetrates the tight ring of your hole, immediately striking you frenetically along your walls while he’s swaddled in the vice of your cunt that clenches around him. “Remember what I taught you.”

His encouragement fires the sparks of your action, and you immediately follow his directive. Your hips roll into him, the border of your lips catching on his nose and just barely hitting the edge of the bundle of nerves crowning your cunt while his fingers gently trace the pebbling outline of your nipples. Your mouth soon falls open to emit the wanton sounds of your blissful rhapsody.

Headiness makes the air heavy between you, your back bowing at the tantalizing thrill that he arouses in you while he continues to flit his tongue in rampant, gyrated motions inside you while you grind yourself against his face like he’d told you to while he praises, “Just like that. You’re doing so well for me, baby. You’re so nice to suck on while you’re using my face to feel good.”

Over and over you oscillate your hips against him, for each time producing a faster, fevered rhythm in the back-and-forth of the hot muscle of his tongue against you while he swills your piquant quintessence into his mouth. His hands never stray from your breasts, devoted to the peaks of your tits that have peaked under his constant attention. His irises smolder you in his zealousness, and you can’t escape the wildfires they make you burn with as he lavishes his love on you.

Inevitably, the coil of need that had been building inside you threatens to burst, and he knows it, because when he buries his face even farther into you, angling his chin in this way and that so he can lave his tongue up the far end of your walls before pivoting it provokingly at places you didn’t even know existed in the trench of you, he feels the way you grip onto him harder, your sex contracting harder around him while he coos, “Yeah, fuck, I’m so hard for you, baby. Keep going.”

Your hips hasten their pace, chasing the ecstasy that twines itself tighter in the base of your belly with every sway of them along the lower half of his nose, cheeks, and mouth. Your breaths have become shallow, barely a figment of what they once were where you whimper for him. The globes of your breasts heave up and down even with his hands still covering and rubbing at your rigid peaks while you rock yourself shamelessly on him, deliriousness spewing into him as you careen toward your end.

“Tell me how good I am, baby.” His voice is smothered by you, his tongue drowning most of the syllables in the depths of you, “Tell me I’m the only one who can make you into a wet, dripping mess that wants no one but me. Let me hear your voice, pretty girl, and I’ll give you what you want so badly.”

You grind like a craven creature along the bridge of his nose all the way down to the end of his chin, the gleam of your taint left in your continual passage atop of him, your entire system flushed with the same frenzy he takes you with.

Coherency has forsaken you now, its forebear of wantonness left to overwhelm you in its place.

It is why you moan out, “You’re so good to me, Caleb. So, so good. Better than anyone could ever be,” you throw your head back, and he sees the whites of your eyes when his tongue streaks faster than a comet back and forth within your plush galaxy that he could spend years exploring, words slurred from your efforts as you soddenly cant your hips astride him while avarice incarnate churns your core and cunt. “No one can fuck me like you, touch me like you do, or kiss me like you do. No one, and absolutely no one, can love me as you do.”

The words are but echoes of a chant he’d been your maestro for, aiding and directing your notes of enthrallment for him while he’d pitched you into an impassioned dance your body had responded only to him with.

Your answer activates something feral in him, his pupils blowing wide and nearly absorbing the circlets of compressed morning dawn in them. Metal fingers take your chin between them, maneuvering your attention back to him and all you can see are the dimmed nebulae of his eyes as the space above where you both have become one distorts and distills. The tendrils of his Evol divaricate and break through it, reaching down until-

“Only I can have you like this. Now look at me when I make you cum, baby. I want you to remember this memory of me between your legs and never, ever forget it. You’re going to recognize me by sight, smell, touch, sound…everything.” Your eyes snap open and latch onto him when the cumbrous, corpulent striations of his Evol, all at once, press down on your clit in a feeling akin to hundreds of tiny palpitations and pulses against the bundle of nerves as he manipulates gravity solely for you. Your gasp is garbled and your hips jerk and jounce at the sudden flux of sensations, and then his other hand is there, on your hip, to help you keep going while his tongue makes schlepping noises where he fervently frisks it up and down in rapid succession within your clinging walls. “Such a good listener you are. I need you to cum in my mouth now, pretty girl. I need you to feed me your honey.”

Your mouth falls open in an ‘o’ shape, the sonorous scream that resounds from you making even the walls tremble in its volume as your body obeys his directive and your world goes white with the shattering of the tension he’d founded in you. From its springs a fierce, fiery pleasure that floods you from he’s fused with you, the torrid, intense waves of it washing over you from the tips of your fingers to the ends of your toes that cramp and curl behind his back.

He fucks you through your orgasm, the ribbons under his control winding down your sex slithering around and between his lips before they nuzzle the flowerbed of nerves buried far into you. The hot length he threshes about in your silken channel moves with an inhuman speed as the other hundreds of tendrils of his Evol ruinously ravage your clit over and over again while you wail and whimper for the man beneath you, your cunt cinching and spasming around him.

Your essence gushes forth like a lewd stream into his anticipating mouth where he’s still got it moored to you, groaning deep and low where he receives you before he’s relaxing his tongue and opening wider to thirstily drink up the saccharine juices you have made for him.

“Keep coming. Fuck, keep coming for me. I love your taste. Need it every fucking day,” he sloppily swallows your slick down, “Give me every drop, baby. I want your taste to linger in my mouth forever.”

You don’t have to be told twice, the tendrils ceaseless and unabating in their pressure as they depress themselves over the most sensitive parts of you without pause. They leave no area unclaimed, rushing and lapping at you everywhere over and around your clit and g-spot in their own kisses to you that make their master jealous.

Their master, who pushes his hips into the counter, halting the small undulations they’d been making into it while he observes your euphorically erotic performance just for him. Their master, who squeezes himself between the counter and his body where his cock splutters with pre-cum, a pervasive twinging of an ache declaring its longing for you even when he stifles it with the small, constringing threads of his Evol that force his orgasm down into the base of his balls.

More you spill into his mouth as if a dam had been broken between your legs while he guides your grinding pussy there and back along his nose to his chin, the reservoir of his mouth receiving your release while you gush uncontrollably between his lips.

“Such a tasty cunt,” He drains you like you’re the fountain of his very life, each movement of his Adam’s apple bringing with it the sound of his gratification in the low groans he lets out. When the flow of your juices begins to slow, each of those colorless ribbons of his power disintegrate, his tongue retreating into his mouth so he can sip on you again and again– insatiable for you as an emaciated, famished male who hasn’t fed for weeks.

His want is there, each time he draws you in, and it writhes in the irises that dilate and expand as he besottedly ogles the blissed, fucked out expression that has you mewling, the unbelievable intensity of your climax leaving you feeling as if you’re suspended entirely in some astral dimension that only your lover could augment before you.

“Thank you,” he says it in some kind of daze, like the tart twang and tangy scent of you have clogged his mind of any reasonable thought while he languidly cleans you up, “Thank you so much, my love.”

Fondness makes your heart swell for him, and you’ve forgotten that the ribbons of his Evol still keep your arms tied down and entirely too distant from him.

“Caleb,” your voice is hoarse from your earlier outcries, “I want to touch you. Can I?”

Your plea has the tendrils binding your arms to the counter dissolving and releasing you, your request brushing past the brume of the trance that you’d put him under while the other strands of his Evol encasing you around your pelvis diffuse into thin air.

He cleans you with his tongue, entreating whatever remains onto it, your thighs slackening and opening around his head in the feeling that has been sapped out of you.

Once he’s sure he’s devoured every last morsel of the dinner, lunch, and breakfast that he’d made of you, his hands return to your sides to carefully ease you back down onto the counter so you’re laid against it once more.

“You do not need to ask me that, my love. I love it when you touch me,” He licks his lips, the lewd daubing of your taint embracing the wet length of him as satisfaction morphs his handsome features when the last of you is lathered across his palate. “I live only for you, anyway.”

His confession makes your cheeks flush a shade of red even rubies couldn’t hope to compare to, and it only becomes a mightier shade when you blink up at him with those long, obsidian-like lashes of yours while he uses the back of his artificial, roboticized hand to wipe away the glistening sheen of your essence that still sullies his chin and nose before the pink muscle in his mouth slips out to relish in that, too. “I would do anything for you because I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

Familiar heat simmers between your legs, and you extend your slightly shaky arm toward him, fingers outstretched in effort to make contact with him while you answer, “You would never let me forget.” As tall as he is, he’s too far away even though he’s stood against the countertop, your own legs now dangling on either side of him.

You whine at his unwanted farness despite your thighs that tremblingly try and fail to clamp him between them, and the resulting chuckle of amusement makes wings take flight in your chest as he responsively tilts his front forward, head lowering a little so you can dotingly cradle his cheek in your hand.

“What do you want, pip-squeak?” He rests his head in your hand, his knuckles of his other hand tenderly trailing down the underside of your arm to feel more of your smooth skin while his other, bionic one braces him against the counter so his chest hangs closely above yours.

“You.” Your answer is fetched forth by the attracting force that is him, the debris of hesitation eradicated under the nebulae in his eyes that spin with adoration and devotion solely to you.

“You have me, sweet girl,” he coos. “You always have.”

You’d never been good with words. Still, he made you want to be.

So you try to show him what you mean another way, bending one elbow under you so you can surround yourself in his musky, masculine scent of iron and grass. Like this, you can’t miss the fully engorged, painfully erect member between his thighs that’d he’d left neglected out of his devoutness to you.

You whine at the sight of him, fingers twitching impulsively at the sight of him as he tells you, “I know that look in your eyes, pretty girl, but I won’t last if you touch me there right now. I need you too much right now.”

An emotion your language simply didn’t have a means of expressing makes the whole of your heart twinge and pang for him, your fingers drifting down from his cheek so they can maunder down his neck to where pliant flesh meets rigid, hard metal. The daintiness of your touch makes him shudder, and his carefully shrouded vulnerability exposes itself in the shadows within the corner of one of his eyes as your fingers nimbly meander down the dark plating of iron where his receptors can’t feel you anymore–nonetheless, you don’t stop until your palm lays against the back of his.

“You once said that humans who love each other can mate their souls together if their vessels become one.” Your digits curl inward, filling the space he’d left open for you between his metallic fingers while his other digits reverently follow the curve of your shoulder blade to the dip of your spine. “I want that with you.”

His breath is snagged away by you, and he still sounds so very winded whenever the imaginings he’d had of you are replaced with the reality that is so, so much more beautiful than anything his mind could conjure.

“Are you certain, my one and only?” He asks breathlessly while you bring the artificial phalanges of his iron hand to your lips, kissing each where human joints would be in the middle of every single one of them.

Ever considerate of you and your own will, his question only whisks forth the truth of many moons and suns spent basking in the rays of his care and affection.

“These past two cycles without you made me realize that there is only one thing that has any meaning to me in this place, Caleb, and that is you,” You profess, turning his hand over so you can intertwine your fingers with his. He interlaces his with yours, each fitting perfectly next yours like they were designed just for this purpose. All the while, he admires every bit of the spread of red dusting over your cheeks while you say, “Make love to me until our spirits mate for life. Until we can’t remember what it was to be without each other.”

The kindle of your voice sets him alight with pining that refuses to be doused until his very being is joined in the heat of passion with yours, and he stiffens unbelievably more between your parted legs while the bulbous head of his enlarged, swollen cock leaks his pre-cum that has you wetting your lips, your tastebuds secreting saliva at the delicious sight of him.

“As you wish,” he faithfully utters before using the union made by your hands to help you sit up. His other digits faintly course down your spine, pebbling your flesh as they go. The soft pads of his fingertips don’t disappear until he reaches the small of your back where the globes of your ass hide you from him. “My moon and my stars,” those calloused digits fasten around your thigh, “My one and only in this life and the next.”

You watch him bring your intertangled hands to his mouth, the shape of them pledging themselves to you in the fleeting, deferent kiss he impresses upon the back of yours before he ensconces it over the corded thew of his shoulder, doing the same to with your other.

“However you’ll have me, I’ll come to you. And I will make all your wishes come true. Every single one of them,” His bionic, metal hand joins its counterpart along the home of the backs of your thighs so he can entwine you around his toned torso one leg after the other. While he does this, he angles his head to the side, the hotness of his breath blown against the shell of your ear while he murmurs, “I made a promise to you that I’d bring you to a paradise that is just for us. Whether it is my body or being that takes you there, my sweet girl, you’ll find it with me.” The torrid territory of his mouth skims the cartilage of your ear as he admits, “After all, you have been my Eden from the first time I looked upon you in that garden of tubes, glass, and monitors.”

“Take me, then. Make me entirely yours so that we can always be together.” You declare, wrapping your legs and arms resolutely, unwaveringly around him.

His control snaps, and from its remains, his want takes over.

“Finally,” The word is hurried, rushed from the base of his throat when he easily lifts you up against his body and turns to hastily trudge away from the counter, his mouth tangling with yours in a mess of teeth and spit, the wet smacking of your lips all that you hear past his groan when you move your hips against him, your sex skirting along the tip of the several inches of his infatuation with you before your spine hits a wall, an untamed intent rearing in his eyes when he surfaces for air to husk, “Take it off for me, pretty girl. You won’t need that little nightdress before, during, or after what I’m going to do to you.”

You heed him, peeling it off your body where it had been bunched atop your breasts and discarding it somewhere behind him unceremoniously while his irises roam and ravage your completely exposed form to make heat ignite everywhere they raze.

“Caleb,” you whine, entranced by the unbridled, unadulterated lust that conflagrates in his orbs, stoking you in his desire.

“You looked so pretty for me when you were getting off on my tongue earlier, my love. I would have come against the counter just from watching you, but I couldn’t let myself. Do you want to know why?” He mutters, adjusting and raising you up before the streaks of his Evol quickly clamor around your lower half so he can release you with one of his hands to take his massive, veiny and girthy length into it. “One: you were so beautiful while you enjoyed yourself on that countertop. I couldn’t bear to stop when you looked so tempting. Two: I wanted to come home. I wanted to cum inside you.”

Possessiveness has him slapping his head against your core to sodden you in his own essence, your pussy contracting around nothing while you shed more tears for him there.

He exhales shakily, prodding at your entrance with his tip. “You’re so wet for me, pretty girl. My spit and your juices look so pretty on you.” He lines himself up with your drenched hole and he sighs satisfactorily at the way you gaze at him from under a fan of dark lashes, “I’m going to fuck you until all that you know is me, my love. Until all that you can think about is me. Until all you can remember is me.”

You clasp your arms around his neck, touching the bridge of his nose with yours, “That sounds like paradise to me.”

With your consent, his Evol bears you down onto his cock all in one fluid motion, the delightful fullness and friction from him bottoming out within you making your eyelids flutter while the both of you elicit the vocal sounds resonant of your rapturous union.

“Fuck,” he curses, “You feel like a dream.” He husks, the invisible tendrils under his control holding your hips in place and turning you weightless while he nearly draws himself out of you only to bury himself back into you to the hilt nice and deep. “No, you’re better than a dream. And you’re all mine. Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re mine.”

“Y-yours,” you stammer when his warm, wet mouth encloses you where your shoulder meets your neck, sucking you between his teeth hungrily as the blood that rushes beneath it is coaxed to where he mars you while he thrusts debasingly into your pussy.

“I have to remind you that I belong to you, baby, and leave traces of me all over you. You’ll look so gorgeous with my marks all over you.” Up your neck he travels, leaving flowers of red and pink in his wake while he crosses the orchard of your neck to the other side, the veins of his cock brushing against your walls caressingly as he picks up his pace needfully. “When you look at them, you’ll see that I chose you. That I’d only ever choose you. ”

Your walls embrace him tightly at that, and it earns a long, drawn out groan from where his mouth captures yours, teeth gnashing and tongue thrashing against yours in his insistence.

“I want it. Want you,” You mewl into him, your head falling back when his skilled maw descends to dote on your chest, the hot length of his tongue licking around and then over the pliant area of your nipple. He draws a line of spit with it to your other, taking it into his mouth so he can taste you while he plunges powerfully into you with his bulging cock that rubs deliriously against you.

“I’ll give it to you, pretty girl. You’re taking me so well. You feel so good,” He grits his teeth at the divine and damning sanctuary of your body, hastening the drive of his length into you even through the denial of his own end and continual shunting of it with his Evol that swells his balls and member to the brim in the buildup of his captivation for you. “I was made for you, pretty girl. And you were made just for me.”

Through the haze of your lust that he fills you with, you can vaguely ascertain that he’s fuller than usual, that the network of veins and ridges constellating his much thicker cock pulsate sporadically while he tries to mask it with a bite onto your tit, teeth sinking into you that will surely impart a series of crescents there in the shape of him.

“Caleb-” You barely get his name out before he shoves his throbbing member harder into you so every bit of him is seated in you, his pace quickening with each purposeful drive of his cock inside your willing and waiting cunt that clamps around him as if to keep him there.

The slap of his heavy balls against your ass are obscene even to your own ears as his tip kisses your cervix with each quickening thrust, each one turning your thoughts to mush while his eyes flash feverishly up at you from where he’s got your tit bound between his lips.

“Command me,” he orders, teeth territorially leaving their impression over and around the peaked bud of your other breast while he slams his length into you even faster as he sets a brutal, merciless rhythm, your whimpers wrenched from your throat while he drools around you, spit gleaming licentiously in its viscous venture down your belly. “Command me to let go for you, baby. Tell me to give the seed of my love to you that you’re going to carry inside this pretty pussy of yours.”

You can’t even think anymore, your words lost to the unwavering, relentless pistoning of his pulsating, swollen member that knocks against your g-spot each and every time he pounds into you to make the heat that has spread in your core smolder and flare with an intensity that even a wildfire would fail to contain.

Fingers of steel that can no longer detect sensation grab your jaw in an iron-grip, the manic glint in his eyes sending you deeper into the flames of felicity while his other hand flattens against your belly to feel himself where he protrudes against you while rams himself into your silken channel. “I said,” he punctuates each word with a lurid lurch of his hips, “Command me.”

His order summons your voice from the bowels of your body, your baser being temporarily avulsed from the depths of yourself as your mouth falls ajar when the palm against your stomach turns so the pads of his index and middle fingers can zealously stroke the cluster of nerves of your clit, the heel of his hand pushing into the sensitive area just above the thatch of hair overlying your sex to make his intrusions even more decadently depraved.

“Let…l-let go for me, Caleb,” you incoherently babble, “W-want your…want your seed inside me.”

His eyes darken, and then he hums, “Mmm, I knew you would listen. You’re such a good girl. I’m going to ask you to do one more thing for me. Can you do that?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to last with how he splits you apart until you don’t know where you start and he ends, tits jiggling and jostling where the colorless striations of his Evol don’t pin you in place against the wall while his fingers render aberrant patterns over and on your sensitive bundle of nerves cresting your cunt.

“Fall apart on my cock and succumb to me, baby. Milk me fucking dry.” His fingers push down along your engorged nub while several invisible streaks of the power under his control stretch around and between his digits to consort with him like extensions of his own hand, brutally impelling themselves against your bloated button of nerves in tandem with the catastrophic whirl of his fingers against it. ”Show me how much you love me while I fill you up with mine.”

You dazedly watch his lips move, the meaning of them slow to find you while he ravishes you with his cock with a final, fatal, calamitous blow that hits you in all the right places, not a single part of you devoid of his length as your body obeys him. Your walls spasm and convulse around him as you let out a piercing cry of his name and hot, blinding, white pleasure uproariously makes you its fortissimo.

He’s bewitched by you as you move like a melody caught in slow motion, each breath a note drawn out, deliberate, aching with anticipation. The rhythm built inside you–a private symphony–pulsing low and deep like bass beneath the velvet sky of the dark. You were the strings of a musical instrument and he the composer, your body arched in perfect sync with the rising tempo. When your climax comes, it is a full crescendo–raw, electric, soul-deep–the kind of moment where the world falls away and only the music remains, echoing in your bones long after the final note fades. You don’t just feel pleasure–you become the song, and in that instant, you and he are infinite.

Your voluminous, glorious orgasm sends him into his, and he fucking bursts, shooting his molten seed inside you with a reverberating rumble of groan that sets your blood afire.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he encourages, “You’re so gorgeous when you lose yourself on top of me, my love. Keep going. I won’t let a single bit of me out of you.”

You do as he says, even your labored breaths clinging to each other as he ruts his hips into yours, helping you to ride out your orgasm until your walls have stopped fluttering around him in a euphoric ballad while his mouth secures itself to yours, mingling his saliva and breath with yours in a messy string of kisses that don’t cease until his fingers find the backs of your thighs so he can languidly summon his Evol into the ether just to hold you nearer against his chest.

Still he fills you, each white spurt lovingly caressing parts of you that you didn’t even know you had.

So stuffed full of his cum, a sliver of it slips down your thigh, but several streaks of his power push it back up inside your cunt, keeping it all there while you try to hold the rest of his release within you.

Your limbs tremble from the intenseness of your illicit activities, but it is a pleasing kind of numbness that is left in his wake while your hands dangle from the back of his neck, fresh red lines made from your nails now adorning him there that he wears proudly.

He waits until you’ve caught your breath until he asks, “Are you okay, pip-squeak? Was I too much?”

You smile at him, a different kind of feeling flittering through your chest when his eyes light up at you while you say, “There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ with you. I loved it…and you.” You attempt to card your quivering, jellified fingers through his tousled, mussed hair and he preens at the action.

He croons, his own smile reaching his eyes when he rubs his nose against yours, “That’s what I like to hear. I love you, too, you know.” He gives a soothing squeeze to your strained and still quaking muscles along your thighs, “ Do you need me to give you a massage? You may not be able to use your legs for a little while, pip-squeak.”

Your cheeks burn at that last part, the inclination to hide your face in his neck where he’s shining with the sheen of sweat awfully provocative right now. “That does sound appealing, but you have not properly eaten yet. You need to.”

He arches a brow, and incredulous, he retorts, “What are you talking about? I just did. And it was delicious.”

Impulsiveness wins over your still recovering rationale, and you claim his Adam’s apple between your teeth while you challenge, “That’s not a real meal, mister. I’m not going to let you starve because of me. I love you too much for that. You can make us both something and we can eat together. I’ll tell you about the dreams I had of you while you were gone. How does that sound?”

That piques his interest, and then he’s heading toward your bedroom with you tucked safely in his arms while he offers, “Sounds good to me. But I think a shower is in order after that. I need to clean you up.”

He watches your irises dip down where you’re both still connected, chuckling to himself when you give an inquisitive look. “And you plan to keep that inside me while you do?”

“Oh, pip-squeak,” he muses, “There are many ways to make sure it stays where it belongs. And if you lose any of it,” He takes the bottom of your earlobe between his teeth, “I’ll just make sure you give you some more.”

Familiar heat stirs between your legs, and you playfully nip over the notch of his Adam's apple while you say, “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you, my love,” He passionately professes through a pleased grunt, “So, what do you want me to make for us?”

“Anything as long as it is made by you. You can choose for me. You know what I like better than I do.” Your answer honestly as your lids grow heavy, and when you lay your head against his chest, you can hear how his heart is tuned to the same beat of yours. “My only request is something with apples in it. They remind me of you.”

“And what is it about them that reminds you of me?” His tone is the timbre of music in its peaked curiosity, the plop of his feet against the floor a soft backdrop against it as he peers amorously down at you.

Crisp where he needed to be, soft where he allowed, with a tartness that showed when life bit too hard. The scientists and commanders of Ever thought they knew him after one passing, scrutinizing glare, but they missed the way he carried seasons in his soul– the sunlight, the storms, the long patient ripening. And like an apple, he held your truth at the core– not always easy to reach, but real, and worth it.

You confess the musings you’d long harvested in your heart, they flow easily when he looks at you like you’re his entire universe. Each word nurtures in him a happiness that beams from those brilliant eyes of dawn and sunset that are merged together in them, and he effuses that comfortable warmth through your every bone, cell, and atom, your body fusing itself to his in a manner of seeking that went far beyond the flesh and mortal coil.

Hours pass and he never drifts from you, unable to leave his moon and stars. Time is but a poor construct in his presence, because he instills and imparts in you the rich, vibrant wonders of life that manifest down to his every breath.

When your bellies have been sated and he’s carefully washed you of the sweat, spit, and slick you’d unconditionally made for each other, he takes you to bed. There, his fingers–magnetized to you–lulling each tensed, overused muscle of yours into relaxedness from where he’d lain you atop of him before tracing the outline of your every curve while whispering sweet nothings into your ear where it had been nestled into the crook of his neck.

You’d given in easily into the tantalizing tug of sleep, for he’d enticed all of your energy and ability to move properly, the devout worship of his digits–both of metal and of flesh–too divine not to surrender to.

When your even, measured breaths brush at his throat and your eyes have fallen closed, that’s when he presents his mouth against your temple, surreptitiously delivering a vow of his fealty, loyalty, and faith while you sleep peacefully–blissfully– in his arms.

“Rest well, my one and only. I promise to you that in life and in death, we will never be apart.”

Your peaceful expression lures him into his dreams, wanting to be with you there, too.

The black void of space soon swarms him, his body robbed of its weight as he falls toward a scorched, scarred planet iriscable in the flame of its doomed fate. He’s been torn away from you again, and when he attempts to move, to try to find you, his appendages each fail him, each bereft and depleted of strength.

Dismembered drones, Wanderers, and synthetic droids plummet past pieces of what once were cruisers, the lone, untouched ship of steel above him an abandoned refuge to the holder of his heart who dives toward him unflinchingly and determinedly as you cry out his name.

Your kindling touch, when you furl your arms around his neck, restarts his every nerve and it’s all he can do to warn you of the imminence of his decay, your consuming connection corrupted by the same source that made you for each other of which he’d been trying to protect you from.

There’s nothing but conviction in the pools of your eyes when you confess that this–being with him– is where you want to be. That the world being wrought in disastrous destruction is not scary, but losing him–going on to exist in a place where he is not– that is a nightmare you could never bear.

There, in the pit of space, he makes his final promise to you, sealing it with a deep and devouring kiss that even the sun and moon commit to memory in the passionate profession of your love to the galaxy beyond. Then, the powerful intensity that your souls burn with for each other finally, fatally combusts into an inferno of light and matter.

Like two stars that can’t be contained in their destiny to be together, the spark of your connection explodes, and then, he knows only you as the brilliant phosphorescence your union creates swirls and whirls around you, a supernova of destructive proportion coupling you with him forever that is felt through the far reaches of space.

Subconsciously, he ensconces you in his arms just a little tighter from where you both lie with each other in your bed, your name spoken as a servant addresses their goddess.

And unknowing yet just as perceptive to him, you press yourself against him just a little more insistently, his name a pleading prayer as it flits past your lips while you slumber on in the solace only he could ever bring.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x fem reader #caleb smut #lnds #caleb angst #caleb fluff #lads smut #lads fanfic #lads fluff #lads angst #caleb myth #love and deepspace

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veebeeboo109 · 3 months ago

Text

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You spend some time with Ever...}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence, Angst, k!dnapping, bl0od, t0rture, g0re,

Chapter 19: Ever

There’s a distinct feeling. Losing something. A sort of unfathomable confusion as your brain tries to convince you that what you’re seeing isn’t true. It was just here, your mind reasons, this is where it’s supposed to be!

Only it’s not there. It’s gone.

You’re gone.

Xavier had seen, with distinct, horrific clarity when the wyrmlord had hit you with its tail and sent you flying. The sound of the glass and the hole in the shop window is something he’s not likely to forget for a long, long time. Imprinted in the way traumatic things are. Both hazy like smoke but engraved with a heated blade into one’s psyche.

Reinforcements arrived, and Xavier left his battle with the oversized lizard to go to you. The other Hunters and the one other Unicorn member that arrived could handle it, Xavier was running the instant he saw them. Leaping across rubble and the remnants of the fountain you adored.

He lunged over the ledge and through the open window of the flower shop. An overflowing amount of fresh spring flowers coverings the walls and now, the floor. Pieces of stems and leaves scattered among the shards of glass. Blood coated some of the pieces and there was a splatter pattern along the bottom part of the check out counter.

The pale yellow of the kickboard dotted with speckles of your blood, a sign of where you’d landed. Only…you weren’t there.

Xavier called out your name. And when nothing answered, he called out again. Again and again, rising in volume and desperation the longer you refused to answer him. There wasn’t enough blood to be deadly, but you were hurt at the very least. This was not what this patrol was supposed to be!

Xavier’s breaths are short and tight, fighting out of him like little gasps as he tries to come to some conclusion as to what happened. He grits his teeth, forces himself to take a deep breath through his nose, and focuses.

There’s glass everywhere, and blood dotting the place among the petals from the dozens of destroyed flowers. But when he takes the second to really look at it, he sees the trail. A little line of dotted blood and a shift in the glass. A struggle?

It leads behind the counter. There’s a smudged handprint that’s missing the palm– your fingerless gloves. He hovers his own hand over the print and finds it matches the size of your hand. The ghosting feeling of your palm in his makes his stomach turn.

He follows the dragged glass through the back of the store. The line of blood is distant and barely followable, but he finds each droplet like a breadcrumb you’ve left behind.

When he meets the backdoor, he shoves it open. Back into the shadowy, damp alleyway. A dumpster on one side, and wide enough to fit a truck, but there’s nothing.

Xavier pulls out his phone from inside his coat, thanking the gods that it’s not broken from the skirmish and dials the first number he can.

Xavier looks down at the ground of the alleyway and sees the tire tracks of something recent. With the phone still to his ear, he runs down the alley towards the street.

“Yello’?” Rafayel answers, “Aren’t you supposed to be working right now? What a slacker.”

“Rafayel.” Xavier bites out, and the edge in his tone cuts through Rafayel’s nonchalance.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Rafayel’s asking quickly, and Xavier hears the clatter of what can only be paintbrushes scattering to the ground.

“She’s gone.” Xavier breathes, unable to believe the words are leaving his lips. “Get Sylus. Check the CCTV of every camera around my position.”

“What do you mean she’s gone!?” Rafayel’s voice is a roar, and there’s a pant in it that tells Xavier that he’s running.

“There was a Wanderer. I lost sight of her for a second. A second!”

Xavier makes himself dizzy from looking every which way, searching for a vehicle he doesn’t know the make, model or color of. Like some divine intervention might tell him which one has you. He’s running down the street anyway, as fast as his feet can take him.

The Lightblade hunter runs twenty blocks one way before doubling back, and he can’t breathe by the time Sylus pulls up on his oversized motorbike. Xavier’s hands are shaking, and it feels like his ribs are caving into his chest.

Sylus tosses Xavier a helmet without a word, muttering about showing him where to go. Xavier robotically hops on the back of the bike and they take off.

“Caleb warned us!” It’s extremely rare to hear Zayne raise his voice, and so even the slightest raise in volume strikes all the harder, “He warned her to not leave the house! We should have never–”

“You’re the one who promised her nonsense!’ Rafayel snarls, pointing an accusing finger in Zayne’s direction, “You told her we wouldn’t just sit by. That she could look for him! Now look!”

“Fighting amongst ourselves will do little,” Xavier says and while his words are diplomatic, his voice is a wreck of malice. Tensions are running higher than they ever have. Thick enough in the air to cut with a knife. Layers of fear, disappointment, and rage making up the layers of this shit cake they’ve found themselves in.

Sylus is the only one sitting. Head in his hands on the couch of their home, Mephisto sat on the coffee table in front of him. He hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten back.

They’d spent three hours scouring the crime scene. Scanning for prints, footsteps, DNA. The tire tracks were analyzed. Sylus knew the make, the model, the year. The type of tire and when they’d last been replaced. He knew the VIN number and he knew the time to the very last second that you were thrown into the van.

He knew too much. The grainy footage from the flower shop revealed too much agonizing detail of what happened. They were quick. Professionals. They’d been lingering at the edges of the square an hour before the Wanderer attack, and poised to take you the moment an opportunity arose.

Snatched away as easily as a ripe fruit from the branch. Sylus was replaying the images in his mind even without Mephisto’s screen. Over and over again. The way you’d fought them. The callous way they’d shoved that gag into your mouth.

“She was supposed to be at a safehouse,” Sylus lifts his head. He doesn’t raise his voice. There is no fire. No anger. Only the cold vacuum of a void inside him. “A million miles away from here.”

“Do we have any leads?” Zayne asks, turning to Sylus– a man who usually has answers.

“Beyond knowing what time and where she was taken from, not much.” Sylus admits, feeling nauseous.

“She has my scale,” Rafayel says sternly, “I can’t track her with it, but it should keep her safe. As long as she’s wearing it.”

“A scale?” Zayne looks properly aghast, “A good luck charm will not protect her from these people!”

Rafayel has to bite his tongue from lashing back at Zayne. It is not just a good luck charm but a powerful talisman. You owning that scale was owning Rafayel. To wield that scale is to hold the leash on of the most powerful deities in existence. The power residing in a singular scale enough to ward off malice– those who would seek to do you harm will suddenly find themselves deciding against it. The allure of the scale lulling them in docility.

“What do they want with her?” Xavier barks, “Why take her?”

“She seemed to believe it was Ever. They’re a biotechnical company. Josephine, her Gran, had connections there. We learned this after the explosion. It’s…I only have conjecture. Nothing concrete!” Zayne runs a hand through his hair, pushing back charcoal strands.

“If we have nothing else, then we run with conjecture.” Sylus says as he stands. He goes over to Zayne and places an anchoring hand on the back of his neck, the skin there ice cold. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”

Zayne takes in a breath, and Sylus watches as the ice crawling across his skin spreads just a little further.

“She has an aether core in her heart. Josephine used to work with– or for – Ever. I think…I think Josephine took her in because she was one of the experiments. And it’s not that big of a leap to think Caleb was too. Experiments on Evol and the protocores. If– and this is if– If Josephine defected and took those two with her, then Ever would likely want their investments back.”

“Investments…” Rafayel murmurs, “Why didn’t you mention any of this?!”

“Because it’s speculation!” Zayne uncharacteristically bites right back. “Her history is not mine to share. It’s none of any of our business.”

“It is our business when her life is in danger!” Flames lick at the tips of Rafayel’s fingers as he swipes his hand across himself.

“She hasn’t exactly been hiding.” Xavier places his hand to his lips contemplatively, “Why come for her now? What’s changed?”

“Nothing will get solved if we hang around here!” Rafayel rushes over to the entryway, grabbing a light jacket and throwing it over his shoulders, “I’m going out to look for her.”

“Wait!” Sylus snaps, “Go, do what you can, but we agree to meet back here– six am. If you find her, send a text, but if you haven’t we meet back here, no matter what.”

Rafayel takes a second to pause, and then nods. Disappearing out of the house and slamming the door behind him.

Zayne places a hand to Sylus’ back, “I’m going to head to the hospital, put a lookout at emergency rooms for her. If– when she escapes, she might end up there. I also have some colleagues I can contact for help.”

Sylus nods and kisses Zayne’s temple before he goes. Which leaves the two fair haired men standing uncomfortably in the too-cold living room.

An ominous feeling falls over the room. If any one else were there, they’d break out in inexplicable goosebumps. The hair-raising feeling of death that a prey detects before the predator's jaw clamps down on their neck.

“How much–” Xavier clears his throat and speaks very quietly, like you somehow might hear him, wherever you are, “How many lives is too many?”

Sylus snorts. The question lingers in the air for a moment, the two of them silently debating the answer. How many lives is yours worth? How much destruction is worth getting you back? How far can they go and be forgiven?

Sylus adjusts the bracelet at his wrist, the weight of it feeling a little more heavy today, “Do what you must, my prince. And I’ll do the same. What the others don’t know won't hurt them.”

A sharp sting in your arm, and then you’re awake. The zing of some synthetic drug that drags you, kicking and screaming from unconscious into sharp alertness.

The room is blinding and silver. The fluorescent lights above you sting your eyes and when you try to lift your arm, you find it strapped at your side. Flat on your back on a hard exam table– not even the half-inch cushion you usually get in a doctors office between you and cold steel. Straps keep you secured to the surface across your chest, your stomach, and your thighs.

“Take some deep breaths,” A cool voice says from beside you, and when you try to move your head you find another strap across your forehead. You strain your eyes to find a nurse in silver scrubs, dark blue stitching along the sleeves and her face covered in a white surgical mask. “That’s it. You’re safe now. Just relax…”

Her voice is soothing, but you’re not soothed. You’re strapped down in a brightly lit room on a cold table with an IV in your wrist and probes attached to your chest. You’ve been stripped down and changed into a buttoned up tank top and loose pants. Sterile and white.

“Where–” You’re shocked they haven’t gagged you, “Where am I?”

The nurse holds a tablet in her hands, and focuses on tapping away at your chart, “You’re safe. I’m sure they’ll explain everything, now– how do you feel? Any lightheadedness? Nausea?”

You lick at your bone dry lips and struggle a little against the harsh bindings, “I’m…These hurt. Can you take them out? Can I sit up?”

The nurse’s eyes crinkle in amusement, “They’re for your own safety, miss. Don’t try and fight them. You’ve have a very busy day. Now, again, how are you feeling?”

You grit your teeth, “I feel like I was kidnapped and now I’ve got some nurse asking me if I’m okay while I’m strapped down like a frog for dissection!”

The nurse’s expression is hard to determine under the mask, but she seems contemplative, “Aggression. I’ll note that down here…”

She taps away nonchalantly on tablet and the sound of her fingertips grates on your sanity, “Hey! Where the hell am I? Is this Ever? Do you work for Ever?”

The nurse looks up, “The doctor will be in shortly. You can ask him your questions...”

You thrash against the straps, wiggling your shoulders with enough force the table underneath you jumps an inch. With a satisfying squeal, the nurse scuttles back and shuffles out of the room.

You spend the next immeasurable amount of time trying to wiggle out of these straps. It could’ve been ten minutes, or it could have been hours– the unchanging lights and the lack of any clocks make it torturous, and maybe that’s the point.

When someone else enters, it’s a sharply dressed woman with a charcoal grey skirt suit and glossy black heels. Her golden blond hair is swept up into an elegant chignon and the Ever emblem on her chest shines with neon blue and chrome.

“Good morning!” She greets like the two of you have just run into each other getting coffee. She comes up to the side of your bed and you see the sparkle of her silver earrings from where they dangle on her ears. She’s so put together you’re sure there has to be glue involved somewhere. She smiles tightly at you, red lipstick stretching over pearly white teeth, “It is so good to finally meet you. The previous head of the department never shut up about you, and to finally get to meet you– in the flesh! It’s just– Wow! Such an honor!”

“Wish I could say the same.” You hiss sardonically, “But I find it hard to be cheerful while I’m strapped down.”

“Oh that, you'll have to forgive me for that. We weren’t sure how you’d react to coming out of it, we have the reports from when you were younger, but you know how it is! Times change, and all that.”

She’s annoyingly chipper. A saccharine sort of friendly that makes you want to trip her in the hallway just to make her stop smiling for half a second.

“Wouldn’t have to worry about any of that if you hadn’t have snatched me off the street.” You bite and the woman doesn’t even blink.

“An unfortunate circumstance. We sought more civil avenues, but found them all blocked for one reason or another. Josephine was a pioneer, but also so horribly stubborn! Anywho! I should introduce myself. I’m Carlee Antham, Head of Bioengineering and Biotechnology here. I run the place, so to speak. So, you’ll be seeing a lot of me. Oh! And my colleague, Dr. Riston Clark. He’s the head scientist. We’ll be taking care of you.”

“Yeah? And who do I talk to about getting out of here?” You resist the urge to spit at this woman, greeting you like a hotel hostess. “You can’t keep me imprisoned here.”

Carlee smiles sheepishly and folds her hands together, “Technically, dear, you’re the property of the Ever corporation? You’re proprietary! Your DNA and your aether core and all that belong to the company and therefore, laws pertaining to unlawful imprisonment don’t apply.” She places a hand to the side of her mouth like she’s telling you a secret, “Took our legal team two years to check all the loopholes. What a headache!”

She laughs and reaches out to pat you on the shoulder, “So, nope. You’re here to stay, which is such fun! I’ve been dying to meet you– did I say that already? Well, anywho! I’ll be off. Dr. Clark will be in shortly and then we’ll get you all set up in your room!”

You growl low in your throat, “You can’t keep me here! I have people! People who will find me! They’ll kill you!”

Carlee, who had been in the middle of turning towards the turn, turns back to you on her little kitten heel, “Pardon? Kill me? That’s…well that’s quite harsh don’t you think? No, no, no. Don’t worry about any of that. This facility is impenetrable, and our security team is unmatched. So, let me assure you,” The woman’s voice drops into a near whisper and she leans over you to make sure you hear every syllable, “Should anyone attempt to infiltrate this place, it will be their own doom.”

She smiles, and this time? You do spit at her. Hawing back as much saliva as you can to lob it smack against her cheek. Carlee screeches in disgust and wipes it away, stumbling back and utterly aghast at what you’ve done.

“We’ll see, bitch.” You bark, “Do your worst!”

Her worst comes in the form of a Dr. Riston Clark. An tall, skeletal man. Ironically, he’s exactly what you would have pictured when thinking of a mad scientist. And later, if you survive this, you’ll laugh about it.

Dr. Clark doesn’t bother with long winded, friendly introductions. He has work to do, it seems. Such busy, important work that he’s so engrossed in he doesn’t even look at you. At least, not at your face. He examines the vitals the probes pick up and takes a dozen vials of blood from your restrained arm.

Then, a pair of large men in charcoal coveralls come in. The Ever emblem is on their back, a slightly darker gray than the rest of their outfit. They unstrap you slowly, and you can tell through their build alone that they’re the muscle here to restrain you the minute you act up. And act up you do.

The instant you’ve got movement, you’re clocking the closest guy in the nose, shoving his nasal bridge up into his skull and grinning at the satisfactory crunch that sounds.

The other guy holds you down, and try as you might, they’re a little stronger than you. A little.

It has to be days right? Days that you’ve been here. Or maybe weeks?

All you know is they’ve taken samples of you. Blood. Urine. Saliva. Flesh. You’re missing little one inch squares long your left arm and your back. Dr.Clark assures it’s only to get a baseline– they need to start from scratch since the last time you were here.

You were here before? That doesn’t sound right. But something about these rooms. The sights, the smells, they ring like the memory of dreams you don’t recall.

You’re allowed to rest, and you sleep so soundly on the hard mattress like its feather down with utter exhaustion. That’s one day, you think.

On the second day, you’re able to get a bite into one of the assistants when they strap you up to more machines. A good piece of flesh that you spit out at their feet and nearly make it to the door before the goons are on you again. This time, they pull your shoulder out of its socket, and you’re left to stew with that pain for the duration of the test. A lesson learned, Dr. Clark coos.

That day sucks. They pump you full of something that makes your Evol explode. Like an untamed supernova inside of you it lashes out in bands of searing energy like solar flares. It hurts. God, you’re Evol is going to tear you apart. Each burst of energy makes your skin burn, bubbling with burns from something like radiation.

Dr. Clark just watches. Watches and takes notes and hum in satisfaction when you finally collapse.

You get to sleep again after that. Another day. That’s two?

You’re in a medical wing the next day, and the folks there are a little nicer. The nurses are gentle when they insert an IV, and they even warn you it’ll sting when they inject you with some cloudy liquid into you. Though, of course, no one answers any of your questions.

Though that day, you finally get to meet Dr. Clark properly. He comes into your cramped little room that reeks of sterility with his white coat and badge with a picture of him that looks a decade younger.

“How are you feeling?” He asks without looking at you. His gray eyes examining the tablet with your medical chart on it. You’re not a person to this man. Not even a patient. You’re a number.

”Like shit.” You answer honestly. Your head is swimming a little and it takes effort to even lift your head. You’ve been sedated— mildly, but you recognize the sensation. “Are you here to monologue, Dr. Evil?”

The tight lips of Dr. Clark twitch upwards, “Unfortunately not, miss. I’ve come to check in on your mental state. I’ve found— in my practice— that if the subject loses the will to go on, then the results of our excersizes will be affected.”

”So, you’re making sure I still want to live?” You huff dryly, “How kind of you.”

”I can be kind.” Clark hums, finally lifting his head to look at you. His downturned eyes level you with a lazy kind of attention. “You bonded well with the last head scientist. I’ve read through her notes. You loved her dearly.”

You go to sit up, but only manage a few inches before you fall back limply onto the hospital bed. The beeping of your heart monitor picks up for a moment, and then a sharp sting in your arm sends your eyes rolling back.

”Oh, I apologize. Any increase in cortisol detected will result in an increase in sedation.” Clark walks over to examine the glass vials attached to your IV drip, “You’ve been exhibiting signs of increased distress for the past two days. Higher than desired. Try not to stress so much.”

”You…Yo—‘ve be-en…” Your lips can barely form the words, forming around cotton and the resinous sleepiness of whatever drug they’ve got you hopped up on, “You— cu..ut…me…”

”You mean the tissue samples?” Clark says with a birdlike tilt to his head. It makes you think of Mephisto. That brainless cyborg bird that never lets you get away with anything. You’d give anything to see that stupid crow.

Clark inspects the IV port in your hand, and it stings when he does. “Be grateful for such small samples. We needed to see how your flesh reacts to different stimuli. I could have used the main source.”

You laugh, but it comes out in tiny, ineffectual wheezes. ”F-Fu~uc-k…y-you~u…”

Clark scowls and steps away, “Behave, and this won’t have to be so difficult. You’re a part of something bigger than you. Bigger than all of us. Get some rest. We’ll be back to it tomorrow.”

You wake up back in your room. The little grey space with a single can light in the ceiling, a bed, and a toilet. A utilitarian solitary confinement.

Without any mirrors, it’s hard to check for any scars. You’re not sure what all they did to you yesterday but you want to make sure they didn’t steal any organs while they were at it.

You spend that day in your room. Stuck. Maybe it was a day. But it could have been more. The seamless grey walls of your cell are like the untouched slate of chalkboard. You can scratch little marks with your nails if you try, and so you spend the next uncountable number of hours making shapes. Drawing little cats and crows and fish.

The next day, they have to drag you from the bed, and you kick and bite at them the whole time. By the time you reach some new room, your handlers are just as bruised as you are.

This room is small. Lined dark metal walls with a single chair in the center. You’re shoved into it and strapped into it on your wrists and ankles. There’s a table in front of you, a tiny surface that lies empty.

Once you’re secure, one of the handlers, who you’ve named Knuckles in your head, gives you one good strike across your jaw for making their jobs harder. Kicking a puppy while it’s down. You spit the blood that rises in your mouth at him, and the other one– Stinky, you’ve called him– drags Knuckles away.

There’s a two-way mirror on the wall facing you. You can see the slight distortion at the edges. It’s a mirror to you, but you know Dr. Clark and his imps are behind it. His voice comes through a speaker in the ceiling.

“We’re trying a new series of tests today.” Dr. Clark explains most magnanimously. How kind of him to actually explain what he plans to do before he cuts you open. “You will be shown a series of protocores. Resonate with them, and we will measure the results.”

“And if I don’t?” You ask around the blood pooling in your mouth. You spit it down onto the ground at your feet and feel for the wound on the inside of your cheek. “What’ll you do if I refuse?”

A beat passes, “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

One of the research assistants walks in. A glass cylinder with a floating pink protocore inside it. With a gentle touch, the short assistant with coke-bottle glasses sits it down on the pedestal in front of you. They give you an almost empathetic glance before they scurry out.

The protocore floats in its chamber lazily. It’s a weak one, and you can barely feel the shift in its energy at all.

“Now, Resonate with it.” Clark commands.

For a moment, you debate disobeying. Maybe struggling against the straps at your wrists and ankles again. Maybe spitting again. Maybe screaming and crying and begging. But now…it’s only been two days and you’re so tired.

Faith is a funny thing. The entire premise of it is believing in something you can’t see, touch or hear. Can’t prove beyond a longing in your heart. You have faith in your boys. They’ll find you. You know they will. But it’s faith. Faith and hope and fucking pixie dust and all that.

So, you do it. Obey and stay alive. Give them enough time to find you. What a waste it would be if you’re dead when they get here.

You reach out with your Evol to resonate with the protocore. Its energy touches yours and it's a disgruntled feeling from the crystalline substance. It fights against you for a moment, but then the connection is made. A tether between you and this piece of the cosmos. A chip from a star that fell out of the Deepspace tunnel.

It’s unremarkable. And so are the others. A dozen or so protocores you resonate with. Each one is a little bit spicier than the last. Your body aches in protest from being stuck in this chair for hours and from the overuse of your Evol. What an uncomfortable day, but at least they aren’t cutting into you anymore. Silver linings, you guess.

A red one is brought in, and you feel it before you see it. The assistant carrying it is wearing thick gloves, like oven mitts. And when you resonate with it, you feel like your skin is on fire, burning from the inside and by the time it's over you’re drenched with sweat. Blistering burns wind up your arms, bubbled flesh like someone has poured something corrosive over them.

What’s the point? You’re aching mind weeps. Why? What could they be measuring if not how long you’ll last before you’re torn apart? If death is the outcome it’s not happening soon enough because each one is some new, fresh, horror.

Somehow, when the last one is brought in, you know it's the last one. The molecules in the air bend and twist to conform around this palm-sized crystal the color of the night sky. As the assistant sits it down, the dim lighting refracts around it. It shimmers in multi colors like an oil slick, but hits your eyes wrong. Like it’s being lit from a different source that you can’t see.

You can’t tear your eyes away from it. The pressurized energy expands around the core and into the room around you. Your ears pop and it takes a little more effort to breathe than it had before.

If Clark gives you the command to resonate, you don’t hear it. Because you’re already doing it. Drawn in by this inexplicable pull that laces around your marrow. Every nerve in your body tuned into the protocore like it was some missing part of you, and at long last, you’ve found it again.

The connection between your Evol and the protocore is violent. The smacking of two magnets sliding across space and directly into each other with such force they disintegrate. A scream, tears through your throat, but your ears don’t register it. They’ve long since gone deaf with the static of what can only be the cosmos.

The stars are speaking to you. Whispering to you in hushed lovely tones like life-long friends. Your body wittles down to its very atoms– no longer locked in their quantum space but free to float in the void between universes. And you…remember.

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