captivating-flavors

[captivating-flavors]

The Blobbus

[captivating-flavors]

does this mean that… when it’s night time�� and there’s no camera… he’s just… naked….? 🧍🏻‍♀️

[captivating-flavors]

"Have you never dreamed of me?"

"Before I was sealed away, I did dream of you."

The flower petals have carried you into this dragon's dreams.

Then this dragon will wait every night longing for the wind and petals to arrive.

[captivating-flavors]

FRAGRANT POSSESSION — WELCOME TO OUR SPRING DATE VLOG!

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — Spring and Flowers

↳ RAFAYEL | XAVIER | ZAYNE | SYLUS | CALEB

[captivating-flavors]

🦮

[captivating-flavors]

TheY did again!

Link for Tiktok

[captivating-flavors]

loverboy. ❤︎₊ ⊹

[captivating-flavors]

Another comic for Sylus’ birthday! 🍼🎂

POV: when MC and Sylus finally accept that Luke and Kieran also Maphie are their kids 😂 and their daughter ends up being born in the same month as her dad.

[captivating-flavors]

OH GOD U ACTUALLY MADE THIS INTO A FIC HSHDHDHSJSB

THAT WAS SO HOT IM-

AND OH GOD

It borders predatory, a silent threat: you’re next. 

THAT TOOK ME OUT FR

it takes two | sylus & mc

sum: “sylus likes you,” she says offhandedly, toying with the second button of your blouse. you scoff. humor her, lips pulling. “what makes you say that?” “because i like you.”

cw: non-mc reader, female reader, girls love girls, cunnilingus, p-in-v, threesome, fingering, explicit language, clit slapping, oocness, 3.2k of filth, spawned by this ask, not proofread, mdni

now playing: bolero - bathe

Emcee’s smiling, and you know this won’t end well.

It’s mischievous how she sways her hips like that, pushing through Lux’s private room like she owns it. The other dancers part for her like a school of fish as she makes her way to you, slinking away like they know something you don’t.

She plops onto your lap like you’re her throne as the swinging doors slide shut, siphoning the air from your lungs. Drapes her arms around your shoulders, gaze bleeding sin. 

Instinctively, your hands drop to her waist to brace her, and you bounce her on your lap into a more comfortable position. Sink back into the red leather cushions of the loveseat, her body sliding further up your thighs with the shift.

Her smile is infectious. Melts away your surprise, making way for a sly curve of your lips. You get a whiff of her perfume, the conditioner in her hair, as she leans close until your noses bump, hair tickling your collarbones. 

You’ve got a face full of teeth and bad intentions. Her laughter is bewitching, furling in your stomach like the smoke occupying the red-tinged atmosphere, and the other girls trickle out of the room with knowing cants to their lips over her shoulder. 

“I’ve got an idea,” she murmurs beneath the thumping music, blurring back into focus, breath fanning over your already warmed cheeks, your lips. 

You lift a brow, studying her mouth. Back to her eyes. “Really?” you reply, intrigued. Enamored.

She nods slowly, a hand slipping from your shoulder to splay against your sternum. Fingers the second button of your blouse until it slips free.

“Sylus likes you,” she says offhandedly.

You scoff, sticky, disbelieving. She must’ve been drinking, because there’s no way in hell your boss likes you like that. Not when he looks at her like she’s the center of his universe, the star he orbits in slow, methodical rotations. 

Sure, you’ve quietly pined for him for years. Followed in his shadow like an obedient mastiff, ever faithful, ever watchful. But you could never imagine him returning your affections. Not with your hands stained red and scars littering your skin.

You humor her, lips pulling. “What makes you say that?” 

Emcee laughs, throwing her head back, hair spilling off her shoulders, as if you’ve said the funniest shit. You get a look at her throat, the tendons jumping there. Your mouth waters. Thighs twitch beneath her warm weight.

You track the glide of her fingers along your cheek, the slope of your jaw, in your peripheral vision until they curl around your chin, tilting your head back, and you’re faced with irises that bubble like heated liquid. 

“Because I like you.”

You’ve barely time to process the implications on her tongue before she’s pushing it into your mouth. Soft yet insistent. Commanding in a way that leaves you fucking spinning, out of your mind, sighing all hot into her mouth, fingers tight on her hips.

She kisses like bonfires and sea sprays. Like peaches growing beneath the sun, like drive-in movies in the summer, a band-aid on nicked skin. She sucks the air from your lungs into her own body like it’s hers. You can’t get a grip on things, for she’s shifting on your lap until she’s straddling you, full thighs bracketing yours, hands cupping your cheeks to keep your face in place.

You kiss her with equal fervency. Or at least, you try to. You pull, stroke, and bunch up the back of her blouse in favor of the supple glide of her skin, lost in the wet swipe of her tongue, in the slow-weighted roll of her hips, in the husky, pleasured sounds she bleeds into your mouth.

She’s pulling at the lapels of your blazer, and you catch her cue, leaning forward to help her tear the offending garment off your shoulders. You pulse beneath her, her mouth slanting possessively over yours, fingers threading into your hair, pulse roaring, nipples unbearably tight. 

Emcee tears away from the hot suction of your mouth with a sticky click, and you catch a glimpse of her lips glossed with spit in the low light. She blisters your chin with pecks before she finds her way to your neck. Sucks and nibbles on your throat, tongue licking out to ease welting skin, before she’s at it again—a vampire trying to siphon your life force through your skin. 

You exhale, craning your neck back, eyes sliding shut. You don’t know what you’ve done to warrant such treatment. But you don’t deter it, fingers curling around her ass to encourage her to grind against you. And she’s ruthless in her assault, bearing down on your lap, pussies dragging across each other, drawing the sweetest little noise from your throat. A laugh, disbelieving, breathy.

She busies herself with pulling your blouse buttons free as her mouth seals around your pulse point, sucking, licking, wide, wet. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been at this—making out with your partner, your charge, like some hormonal teen. But your head lolls forward, the space beyond her shoulder blurring and bending until you’re able to make out discernible shapes and colors through the haze, and, oh shit— 

“Really?” rolls a voice so deep, so enthralling, it disturbs the dust particles around you. Like the crackle of a fire burning through the underbrush, and you feel it curdling in your chest. 

Shock ripples through you once you put things together. Cold mortification. You sit up, Emcee not at all perturbed by his entry, by your rigidness, her fingers crawling over your sides and down to your hips after she’s pushed your shirt open, baring your torso to the crisp air.

Your mouth spills open, a slurry of excuses on your tongue, face heated. 

Sylus watches the pair of you from the bridge of his nose, arms crossed over a broad chest, finger tapping his bicep, hip cocked out like an impatient parent. He quirks an offended brow, lips thinned with mild irritation, and he’s a dangerous, dark cutout of power amid the steady scrawl of smoke. Satan incarnate, limned by Lux’s customary red glow, the columns casting ominous shadows across his face, that right eye glowing a corrupted shade of scarlet. 

You wince when Emcee sucks on your shoulder, the wet sound of it jarring, and a pitiful noise is pinched from your throat. Before you can offer an explanation, beg for your life, Sylus sighs, dropping his hands at his sides, seemingly resigned. He crosses the room in measured strides, like a panther prowling through a jungle, not once releasing you from the intoxicating pull of his gaze.

The cushions on the loveseat dip beneath his weight when he plops beside you, draping a long arm along the backrest, still staring like he’s witnessing the ultimate betrayal. What audacity you two must have, getting along without him.

You watch with a constricted throat as he snatches up the whiskey glass, stained with condensation, you’d been nursing earlier, dumping its contents down his throat in one go.

He scowls like a child who didn’t get his way after he sets the glass down with a definitive clack. And finally, finally, with your cheeks in her hands, Emcee draws back, face smooshed up against yours, smile wicked, playful. All teeth and sin, like a youth caught doing something they were clearly warned against.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. Mouth hovers around words that never come. Sylus could kill you with a snap of his fingers for touching his girl like this. For being so brazen in his club, in his territory, getting all handsy without his permission. 

You flinch, anticipating your demise. But it doesn’t come, and you peek an eye open, surprised to see he’s redirected his ire to the little temptress in your lap.

There’s something in their staredown. A quiet exchange you’re not in on as they study each other’s faces, brows and mouths twitching as if they’re inwardly mulling over something together. A war of the minds, a muted battle, almost like telepathy, and you’re their unwilling hostage. 

You feel like prey between two predators. Carrion waiting to be picked clean, hands stiff and wide around Emcee’s waist. She giggles again, her breasts warm and doughy as they push up against yours, and you cast her a warning look. This is no time to be laughing. No time to taunt the Devil when your life's on the line.

Sylus’ gaze slides to you, and you’re stricken. Something cold spills into your belly, branching down to occupy your nether regions at the weight his eyes carry. They’re hooded. Slip into a mysterious shade of garnet as he tilts his head down to scrutinize you, lips slightly parting, brows pinched in the inner corners. 

You blink wildly when, in one fluid motion, Sylus snatches Emcee from your lap onto his. You’re remiss of the warmth of her body despite the moment, watching wide-eyed as Sylus tugs her close to nip at her throat.

She snorts, burying her fingers in his collar, clinging to him as he dips her back to bite her shoulder. 

You feel like you shouldn’t be here. Like you’re impeding on something intimate, a glacial spike of disappointment lancing through you. But those eyes slide to you again, punching the air from your lungs, petrifying you. And you can’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so…

Ravenous? Needy? Towards you?

There is no warning. No preamble when long digits curl around the nape of your neck, when rigid features pan in. He tugs you to him, sealing his lips to yours, tongue probing the wet cavern of your mouth, swallowing up the surprised little noise you make. 

Your shoulders drop once the shock peters. And you know you’ve lost your shit because you’re kissing him back. Your boss. Your employer. The focal point of your affections, your fantasies. You’re kissing him, tangling your tongues, pushing a breath into his mouth, tearing your fingers through his silken locks.

He groans into your mouth as if he’s waited lifetimes to kiss you. To experience you like this, and Emcee’s like a little imp, snickering as she occupies her fingers with unbuttoning his shirt, with sinking her teeth into his ear, dragging them across his lobe.

Sylus pulls away, lips imparting on a journey down your neck, blazing a path opposite where Emcee branded you. He sinks his teeth into your collarbone, and you toss your head back for the second time that night, breath all shaky, mind turning to smog. 

He alternates between kissing you and Emcee, and the positions are awkward as he tries his best to hold you both in the wide span of his arms on his lap. Tries his damndest to divvy up the attention, never leaving either of you enough time to catch your breath. 

You’re on your knees now on the cushions, lips sealed around his throat once Emcee’s set his pretty, warm ivory skin free. She’s opposite you, licking up his neck, along his jaw, and you pulse when he releases a shuddering breath, voice all ragged, pretty lashes sweeping over inflamed cheeks.

He’s gripping you both. Palms full of ass as the pair of you render him speechless with the devious scrape of your teeth, hands smoothing down his sculpted chest, his stomach, to knead the thick of him pulsing in his pants.

You part every so often from the salty tang of his skin to kiss Emcee, tongues wriggling, messy, giggling. Sylus humps into your kneading palms when you get too distracted, sighing so pretty, voice so sexy, so guttural, so needy. 

He’s leaning towards you now, ingesting you with those dangerous eyes before he pushes you down. Eases you onto your back, and Emcee’s crawling off his lap so he can moor you to the loveseat with his weight.

He’s kissing you again before you can catch your breath. Like snuffed out hearth fires, like the shifting gears of a muscle car, like the welcomed burn of brandy at the back of your throat. He notches himself between your splayed open legs, rolling his hips until the thick of him throbs against your swollen labia, and you see stars.

He’s commanding in everything he does. A steady, comforting pressure, swallowing you whole with overwhelming heat and the meticulous stroke of his palms. And you feel you’re dreaming, pulling at his neck, his shoulders, your body undulating like the lazy lap of waves against him. 

You almost forget she’s in the room—the source of this debauchery. Almost, until she’s maneuvering herself behind you on the loveseat, settling your head onto her lap, petting through your hair, laughing so sweet. 

Sylus flows like smoke, perching himself on sturdy palms to kiss her over you. And where you should feel left out, jealous of their unspoken bond, you burn, watching their mouths fuse, their tongues dance, hearing the sounds of their pleasured sighs taking place overhead.

He returns his attention to you, forgoing your mouth to brand your throat with kisses, down your shoulder, towards the swell of one breast. 

You arch against his mouth when he bites down, eyes hooded, peering up at the beauty overtop you. She’s all smiles, messy hair, swollen lips, before she angles herself down to steal the taste of your lips. And she’s got your nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, twisting through the lacy drag of your bra. 

You bite your lip, so deliciously out of it. The attention’s too much, the scenery hazy, your mind slowly disconnecting itself from your body, ascending.

Sylus is on a mission, blistering kisses down the ripple of your rib cage, groaning with each press of his lips like you’re a meal worth savoring. Down, down, down he ventures, teeth scraping the meat of your belly near your navel, before he lines the stretch of skin just above the cut of your slacks with reverent kisses. 

You lift your hips to help him pull your slacks off once he’s unlatched your belt and snatched the button free. And you can’t focus with his lips so close to your cunt, with his breath so hot, kissing where labia meets thigh, groaning at the earthy scent permeating through your damp panties.

Emcee pulls your tits free from your bra, kneading them in lazy arcs, testing their weight, their fullness, pushing them together, occasionally swiping her thumbs over your puckered nips. 

Her gaze simmers like heated liquid when she wets her fingers with her tongue, doubling down on her nipple-pinching efforts. And you’re rocking your hips, one hand reaching up for purchase of her blouse. Something to cling to while Sylus swipes his tongue up the seam of your cunt. 

Before you can think, Emcee’s on her knees beside you on the floor, licking your nipple into her mouth, massaging your unattended breast with her free hand, gaze unyielding as she watches you like something to be devoured. A meal to be licked clean, not a morsel left to spare. 

Sylus has your panties off and flung somewhere on the stage in the room’s center. And he’s gazing at you with equal desire, drawing your thigh onto his brawny shoulder, nosing your pretty, sticky cunt. 

He breathes against your muff, the heat of his breath making you twitch and throb, and you wiggle your hips pathetically, not sure if you want his mouth on you or off. 

In hindsight, this still feels so very wrong. Sandwiched between your boss and your partner. The catalyst for your heartbreak and your envy. But is it really so wrong if they’re both here, ravaging you like a prime cut of meat, writing the most sinful words of all against your body with their mouths? With the reverent scrawl of their fingers?

“Relax, sweetheart,” Emcee coos, dragging her mouth to pay similar homage to your other nipple. “Let us take care of you for once,” she breathes around your teat, fingers sliding down your stomach to tap your swollen cunt.

Once, twice, and your hips surge off the couch. And Sylus is there with that hot, devastating mouth to catch you, groaning into you, palms cupping your ass to keep you sealed to him as he spreads you open with a sweltering, wide tongue.

Your fingers instinctively thread through his hair as you ruck your hips up, humping against his mouth, calves strained as you roll on the tips of your toes. 

A moan swells in your throat. Emcee swallows it, having abandoned your pretty tits to push her tongue into your mouth, to render you speechless. She disconnects to suck on your throat, your pulse point. Crawls back overtop you, her clothed pussy pushing into your face as she pitches herself forward to spread your labia apart for Sylus to draw your clit into his mouth.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. You’re desperate, one hand curled around Emcee’s thick thigh, quietly beseeching her to put something in your mouth. You’re eager for a taste, eager to please, to reciprocate. She peers down at you with pitying eyes, lips crooked in a smirk.

She leaves you momentarily to shimmy out of her shorts, panties sticky and kicked off, before bracketing your head with either of her legs. The earthy aroma of her cunt fills your nostrils before you bury your face in her muff, sucking, licking, and nipping to mirror Sylus’s mouth on you.

You lose it when a thick finger tests the pucker of your cunt before dipping inside. He digs a little deeper with each pump of his finger until he’s knuckle-deep inside you. And you’re remiss of the hot suction of his mouth before the sticky click of mouths fusing reaches you. Instead of Sylus’ lips sealing to the seam of your cunt, a smaller mouth wraps around your clit, wrenching the sluttiest little sound from your throat.

They work in tandem to undo you. Alternate whose mouth is on you, whose fingers are in the tight clench of pussy, before both their tongues attack your clit. They feast on you, groaning like they’re appreciative of the meal. You can’t focus, releasing Emcee’s clit to bite down on her inner thigh, eyes screwed shut, fingers tight on her thighs.

You break at the seams, that sparkling feeling washing over you. Pins and needles in your extremities, vision white, voice lodged in your throat as you cum. 

By the time you return to your skin, float down, chasing the even push of your breath, Emcee’s hovering over your legs. Hands braced on either side of your hips, face screwed up in pleasure. 

She’s so gorgeous, panting like that, tits bouncing, Sylus’ fingers bruising, tight on her hips. She’s reaching for your hand as Sylus takes her from behind, and from your vantage point, you can’t tell where he ends and she begins. 

You twine your fingers with hers, still descending, and you smile. A sloppy, enamored, tired thing, holding tight as their grunts and whimpers salt the air. The clop of wet skin to skin stains the air, breathiness, pleasure,

Your gaze slides up, blurry, body boneless, and Sylus studies you, mouth hanging open with the effort of breathing. Even long after Emcee’s fallen onto her stomach, wrapping her lips around your clit for something to muffle her voice, the power of Sylus’ thrusts too much to bear, he watches you, a reverent, hungry gleam to his eyes. It borders predatory, a silent threat: you’re next. 

You throb, smile crazed, fingers filtering through Emcee’s hair to hold her in place.

You’re counting on it.

[captivating-flavors]

the current state of fandom needs to be old yellered immediately. im loading up the shotgun as we speak

[captivating-flavors]

Death… When the storm surges from the deep sea...

[captivating-flavors]

so i was playing kitty cards with caleb and i- uh i did a thing

spicy blurb under the cut, not edited lol

warnings: edging, begging, caleb being kinda mean (MDNI)

"f-five. c-caleb... please... n-no more. i-i won't cheat at kitty cards anymore."

you were flushed, frustrated and thrashing against the silk restrains tying you to the headboard as caleb pulled the wand away from your clit right before you hit your peak, yet again.

he chuckles, "i'm not saying you can't cheat, pips. i'm saying you've had your fun, it's time for me to have mine."

the wicked grin he lets out as he looks up at you from between your legs was enough of a tell for you that the vibrations were about to start again.

this time, he decided to also use two of his fingers in his torment. plunging into your wet heat, accompanied by squelching sounds as it curls and scissors inside you. it was too overwhelming at this point.

as your moans start to crescendo and the coil in your stomach tightens once more, ready to burst, caleb pulls his fingers and the wand away.

"s-six. p-please. i-i want, no, i need to come." you were crying at this point, still thrashing against the restraints, thrusting your hips up towards nothing, causing him to chuckle cruelly at your desperation.

he placed a hand over your stomach, pushing your hips back down onto the bed, "you cheated ten times, pipsqueak. it's only fair that i get to edge you ten times too, is it not?" he chuckled and gave a light slap on your clit, which made you jerk.

he added, "look at how red it is and how it's gushing all over the sheets, clenching on nothing. what a greedy little cunt."

"p-please, caleb." you beg, the sound sweet and pleasing to him.

he shushes you, "shh. four more and i'll let you come all you want, okay? surely, you can be a good girl for me and take it."

you shook your head, "no more. p-please, caleb."

"be a good girl. or you won't get to come." his tone a tad bit more stern than before. with that, he leaned down and the vibrations started once more.

[captivating-flavors]

"I'll always be strong and remain undefeated. As for that last one... that place and person — I already found them."

-Where Hearts Live

[captivating-flavors]

He let you get away with too much.

The teasing. The eye rolls. The smug little smirks every time you pushed his buttons and got away with it. Zayne, the stoic one. The doctor with nerves of steel and hands steady even in chaos. You liked to test him. You loved it. Because every time he narrowed his eyes at you, every time his jaw clenched just so—you knew he was keeping himself in check. And you were the one rattling him.

But tonight? Tonight you pushed too far. You’d been snappy all day. Rolled your hips against his thigh during a kiss. Bit his lip harder than necessary. Whispered a filthy dare in his ear right before his scheduled surgery. Left your underwear in his coat pocket.

And when he came home—exhausted, drained, still in his scrubs—and found you sprawled on the bed in nothing but a shirt that wasn’t yours, asking in your sweetest voice, “Are you gonna fuck me or just keep pretending you’re not losing it, Dr. Zayne?”

He cracked, but not loudly. No. Zayne didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t bark orders. He just locked the door, walked to the foot of the bed, and gave you a look so quiet and cutting it made your stomach drop.

“On your knees.”

You blinked and hesitated. He stepped forward—calm, collected, commanding. “Now.”

And you moved. Because there was no room for bratty behavior in his tone. No space for giggles or eye rolls. Just the raw weight of his control finally slipping into place.

He undressed you slowly—shirt first, then the little gasp you made when his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up.

“You wanted my attention, my love.” he murmured, voice soft as silk and sharp as glass. “Now you have all of it.”

The next few minutes were a blur of command and contact. Face down, ass up. His palm against your skin—no fury, just purpose. Deliberate, measured swats that had your legs shaking. Your moans were half apology, half praise, but he didn’t let you speak. Every time your lips parted, he pressed a finger to them or pushed your face deeper into the mattress.

“You act like I won’t put you in your place,” he whispered into your neck as he lined himself up behind you. “But you forget, sweetheart…this body belongs to me and it knows it.”

He didn’t slam into you. He sank in. All the way in. One long, devastating push that left you crying out, clenching down, back arching in surrender. And once he was buried deep—hips flush, breath shaking against your spine—he stilled.

“You’re going to take every inch like a good girl,” he said softly. “And tomorrow, when you’re limping, when you feel every bruise, you’ll remember this is what happens when you act out.”

And you did. Because Zayne didn’t need to raise his voice to ruin you. He just needed to decide he wanted to, and you were already too far gone.

It only took a few days for you to regain courage. At first, you swore you’d behave. After the last time—after he left you sore and breathless, legs trembling for two days—you said all the right things. Promised you'd be good. Promised you’d learn.

You didn’t. Not really. Because by the end of the week, you were right back at it—this time more subtle, more teasing. At breakfast, you bent over in front of him in nothing but his shirt, letting it ride up just enough to show that you weren’t wearing anything underneath. When he reached for his coffee, you took it and sipped instead, licking the rim slowly while staring him dead in the eyes.

“Thought you liked it when I misbehaved,” you purred.

Zayne didn’t react, not at first. He just stared. Calm. Cool. Collected. But you knew that look too well now. His fingers clenched slightly around his fork. His shoulders held a quiet tension. And when you finally turned around to walk past him, his voice cut through the air—quiet and controlled. “Bedroom. Now.”

You glanced over your shoulder, feigning innocence. “But I haven’t finished my—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

And that was it. Because this time, Zayne didn’t plan to be patient. The second you stepped into the bedroom, the door slammed shut behind you, and before you could so much as gasp, he had your wrists pinned against the wall.

“You don’t get to act like a little brat,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “and then pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I was just—”

“No. You were testing me.”

His hands slid down your sides, slow and firm, grounding you in that way only he could. Your breath caught when he lifted your leg, forcing it around his waist, pinning your body between him and the wall.

“No warmup today,” he whispered. “You think you can play games? Fine. Take what you asked for.”

He pushed inside you in one brutal, perfect thrust. Your head slammed back against the wall with a moan, fingers clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into skin through his shirt. His pace was unforgiving, breath hot against your neck, hips snapping forward with punishing precision.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, voice still maddeningly calm. “To limp again? To cry because I’m too deep?”

You couldn’t even answer. You were already gone—voice breaking on every thrust, legs shaking, walls fluttering around him like your body couldn’t decide whether to take him or worship him.

And Zayne?

Zayne was unrelenting. Not angry. Not cruel. Just... intentional. Every thrust. Every grip. Every soft, cruel whisper in your ear.

“You want to see how far I’ll go, my love?” he breathed, kissing your jaw just before biting it. “Keep pushing. I’ll make sure you remember just how badly I can wreck you.”

[captivating-flavors]

BY NAME, ON PAPER.

warning: reader is non!mc, angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage, one sided love. I'm not trying to misromanticise him it's just my brain, you might hate me, well I hate myself too (for this)

You woke up to his empty side of the bed.

Sylus had left early again. No note. No message. As if he had disappeared without even leaving behind the silence he carried. Maybe he came during the night, laid beside you, and then slipped away again without noticing or caring that you were there. His scent was gone from the pillow. Long gone.

You still prepared breakfast for two—just out of habit. You placed his favorite coffee at the end of the table, tried to keep it warm, but as the hours passed, the steam faded, just like your patience. In the end, you cleared it away, untouched. You were used to it by now. Used to waiting.

The rest of the day passed with no trace of him. Your phone was silent. And yet, Sylus always knew everything. He watched people, had them followed. Even you. But now? Now you weren’t even worth watching. Or maybe he just couldn’t be bothered anymore.

In the afternoon, you locked eyes with Kierian as he passed through the hallway. He didn’t look away, but his face wore that familiar expression: a silence mixed with pity. Maybe he felt sorry for you. Maybe he still held some fragment of respect—for you were Sylus’s wife, after all. By name. On paper.

In the evening, you sat by the window in the living room. Waiting for Sylus to come home. A shadow, a sound, the jingle of keys… Maybe he’d notice you this time. Maybe tonight… But instead, darkness came. Cold crept in.

When night fell, you were still awake. You told yourself, “I’m not waiting,” but your eyes kept drifting to the door. Your heart kept beating in the same place, stubborn. It had even grown fond of not being loved.

He came home past midnight. Heavy boots echoing through the hallway. His gaze landed on you for a second—blank, tired, distant. “You’re still up?” he asked, like he was seeing you for the first time.

You didn’t answer. What was there to say? That you missed him? That it hurt to go a whole day without a word from him? You only lowered your head. Smiled. That was an answer too, wasn’t it?

He walked past you to his room and shut the door. Quiet. Firm. You stayed in the living room, standing in a house that wasn’t yours, waiting for a man who never really was.

You were Sylus’s wife. But not his partner.

Just a hollow title draped over your shoulders. And each day, it grew heavier.

[captivating-flavors]

Erotic stories often involve dislocation and disruption. Dirt ... offends because it disturbs the taxonomy of social order. Shoes are not dirty in themselves, but they are when placed on a table. Food is not dirty, but it is when it is on one’s clothing.